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Pauper of Prose Jul 2018
Sometimes I think we’re all mere magnets
Pulling towards this, pulling away from another
Getting closer to your grandmother while fighting with your mother
Moving out to find your identity but shielded online by anonymity
I swear we’re all mere magnets
Tired of running towards our goals but happily running from boredom
Telling others we know so much but then adept to play dumb
Wanting a bigger slice of success yet unwilling to gift the beggar a crumb
Aren’t we all mere magnets?
All relationships looking for some big reward
And pulling away if our emotions become too sore
Yet, what if some weren’t really magnets but pretended to be
Could those outliers find one another and stick for eternity
So my dear, are you a magnet?
Searching Seer- like for unfathomable forms of connection
Pauper of Prose Jul 2018
Her Royal Highness Passion, swirling and sipping molten fire
Then spills its drink into the chests of mankind to make a pyre
The burning of diverse ribs can be seen in streaks
In national and foreign streets
Resonating throughout the strong and meek
Yet all eventually meet
To bend the knee before Passion’s Royal seat
Unable to stand the staggering celestial heat
Pauper of Prose Jun 2018
I miscalculate my fortunes and searching in pain
Find my lovely and ask her for another change
She says “no”, to my requested exchange
Baffled, I make myself clearer but she still refrains
I pull out crisp bills and push them in range
She shakes her head but doesn’t explain
Yet we’ve done this before, it’s simple and plain
Traded currencies without concern or complain
Her thoughts are riding some otherworldly train
Finally her lips depart and she exclaims
That I must leave her station without a backward glance
So I walk from her in a dazed, dull, trance
Then a friend lets it slip by happenchance
That I confused the words change for chance
When she's going, going, gone...
Pauper of Prose Jun 2018
Falling past those that wish to press
Compress, and arrest their feelings
Along with mines because it’s appealing,
That life seems easier when others
Conform, like twin sisters and brothers
All crushed under cotton like cover
Dealing death to any trying to discover
Uncover
Recover
Through Boredom's layered blubber
A shining, soldiering, standout that streaks star-like then ruptures
I'ts shimmering strangeness slicing stale structure
And showering all souls in a serene we seldom explain
Only calling it a brilliant boisterous big BANG
Those in the know knew to beware of the new....
Pauper of Prose Jun 2018
Born from dove like divinity
Eros emerged in the freest fiercest forest
Far from the sights of man
And it effortlessly enchanted all it ever met
The branches, critters, air, and ground were,
Consumed in continual craving
That only Ero’s fair gaze, sweet touch, serene scent could quench
And for many eons Eros ran and reigned
Until by chance it happened upon a new source of light
Stepping closer, it saw the outskirts of an outpost
Running into the town Eros encountered the children of mankind
Lamps, roads, houses, wagons, and strangest of all, animals bound
Then finally Eros met humans
At first they were awed by it to the point of freezing
Then snatching back their senses they all sought to win her
Men and women, babe and elderly,
All wanted a piece of Eros
Overwhelmed, Eros tried to explain
That it could never dwell in a place so compact, close quartered,
Constrained
But their ears were clogged by lust, and
Eyes clouded in heat to conquer
So Eros ran, later referring to civilization as,
The Champions of Chains
Treatise for the freshest feeling that makes us fall...
Pauper of Prose Jun 2018
She picks my veins like chords
Tunes my tongue to record
A melody she’s been working on
And I sway along as she plays her song
Then she says the pitch is wrong
Starts to repent
Leave’s me to play another instrument
But once alone I sip whiskey and recline
Waiting for her to set up our next studio time
Pauper of Prose Jun 2018
I sigh for the many awash in despair
My attitude attuned in a devil may care
All clamoring for Poe not knowing of Baudelaire
Or that Ovid’s Bleak Black books of exile are out there
Content to coil in their own content of the unfair
Not understanding that Depression’s hosting a centuries long fair
So rejoice for others have long paid the fare
And like starlight from afar your suffering is fair
And through artistic labor, you set tables of tantalizing fare
Hope heaped underneath hollow hells...
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