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Pauper of Prose Jul 2018
We attach ourselves to oblivious ones
Their carefree, we’re careful of acting dumb
They drum up excitement, we listen to their fun
And slowly or quickly we attach to their beings
Refine our perception to make them our dreams
Then reality hits and we never duck
Ruthlessly rattled we’re forced to wake up
Shredding our attachment, our well-being in flux
Then our ears disintegrate making deafness abrupt
Now careening and careless, our feelings corrupt
Learning a lesson that's too hard to instruct
The oblivious ones were us
For we attached to delusions that were destined to erupt
Snow-like, soot settles over fragments of a fallen heart
Pauper of Prose Jul 2018
So sweetly sit’s the muse
She’s graced you with a gaze you can use
Lava-like ruby eyes rile and rivet you
But one wonders when she arrived
She came in the dead winter of your sorrows
She came after life harpooned hopeful tomorrows
She came when friends became frigid and hollow
And why? Well it’s your pain that she came to borrow
Her actions lacking rhyme and reason, are so hard to follow
Tears that turn hard thoughts to liquid,
Are the polish she uses to make her crown glisten and glow
Cries that crowd your chest in chronic pain,
Are the notes she plays on her lyre for magnificent melodies
Despair that drips like acid until your soul stews in steam
She dips upon her eyes to see all more clearly
So though we may not know her whim or ways
Mysterious muse will mingle with you on your most defeated days
In the depths of despair..she comes
Pauper of Prose Jul 2018
How great Venus’s journey has been
How she’s dabbled in pureness and sin
And confused the concepts again and again
Doing bad in order to win
Doing good only for it to turn sour in the end
How tired Venus has grown of tripping over many rules
Let her rest upon your heart, to dream and drool
Don’t dare wake her slumber, for it will keep away fools
And to senseless burning passions, her soft breaths shall soothe
Eventually you’ll see her sleep enlivens, all that is you
So lay out a hammock, lay her on it, and swing it softly too
For as long as she slumbers upon thy, your feelings are true
Don't wrestle with love grown weary let it rest...
Pauper of Prose Jul 2018
I know you seek adventure don’t deny it
I see it lying in your eyes, the resting riot
Pupils pricked with perilous desire
Gaze situated on a blaze of blistering fire
I know you seek a way from the baskets of bores
That life delivers upon every person’s door
Hoping to enslave all who lift it, to routine and chore
So don’t grab at it, slowly walk away
Instead be a muse for a poor poet for a day
But what my lips will never betray
Is that if I make a masterpiece off of your life's lever
Then you'll be a muse who'll be mused about forever
But don't get your hopes up cause I'm rarely that clever
In a summer breeze I'll paint thy with my words if you'd only freeze..
“Truly,an abstract masterpiece,
you have just finished Picasso!”

“No, my friend, it’s a disaster:
everything in it is wrong….

…..so bad, I’m throwing
it away. I can’t stand it.”

“Don’t do that Pablo,
that face could  be
improved: just paint over it?”

“Hmm. Amigo, I would
not know where to start…”

“Start at the nose Pablo,
if I were you…”

The artist studies the canvas:
"the nose? The nose? "


“Qué lástima! I would
if I could find it.”


TOBIAS
Pauper of Prose Jul 2018
Desire watches through the tall grass
Blades skipping past her face with no class
The target sipped from the stream of routine
Believing itself well equipped
Sometimes all alone at other times in a relationship
Then the wind whips, and desire is quick
Chasing down the target till it’s in her teeth
A struggle ensues but is brutally brief
Suddenly through the air a shrill whistles soars
Desire retreats to its master, happy with its score
And there stands a childish figure, famous from lore
Sensing the mayhem, from above cry the sparrows
Cupid winks and says “I don’t always use arrows.”
Days when feelings strike in unexpected ways...
Pauper of Prose Jul 2018
So many scream and cry of the worst
Those people inflicting hurts that bubble and burst
Yet I’ve encountered ones who are much crueler
Who invite madness and chaos by unmeasured rulers
They are the many who never really care
Whose emotional cupboard lay blank, bleak and bare
Who raze instead raise their kids, like barbaric hordes of old
And the kids grow to be monsters that don’t even know,
That the many screams and cries that they’ve heard for years
Are derived from the neglect that nested between their ears
And even the righteous can be blind to those things they left behind..
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