I ask the price before buying.

There's a price tag for everything
upon the breakeven a levied charge
for life has not one bit
bought sans the urge to profit
taken home void of bargain
friend, lover, companion
at a price not to be alone
without a fallout of gain or pain
of sweet or bitter taste
lifelong joy or sooner regret.

Do I have a price?

As for my own
I feel always underpaid..

the woman I took to the bed
the child I raised
friends and companions
seem all miserly in paying the dues..

maybe they rue too
I haven't paid theirs.

Take me to a theme,
Explicating love, when blue.
Hype the hyperbole,
Metaphors aren't boring,
And similes are true.
Take me to the meaning of love,
When love is new.

Letter your signposts,
Your verses aren't lacking,
Figures of speech are attractive.
Dole out the affection,
Infect with injection
Dilating, collapsing veined roads.

Take me to any theme,
With your GPS,
I'll obey all directives,
Noting imagery along your path.
If inferences go astray,
I'll backtrack your way,
To a predetermined destination.

when we kissed there was a spark,
you kept my heart calm,
your smile was my art,
i was happier,

wondered about your scar,
i am broken and in parts,
remember when we watched the stars?
i was happier, way back with you,

ain't nobody hurt me like you do,
but i know nobody could love me like you,
promise i won't fade away, not because of you,
if you do find someone new,

because i was happier with you,
your sweet words echoing my mind,
and i will smile to hide all of my pain,
but you don't know that i was happier with only you,

baby, are you happier without me?
does that someone new kiss you like i did?
but if she leaves you like all the others,
just know i am waiting for you to come home to me.

all I gain is clarity from the clouds
while adding more weight to my inertia
disordered thoughts only form orderly mounds
in order to confound the pin searcher

Downtown on Mainstreet, a sarcinarious empty feel, Mr.
Jones, so cold, alone, once
Hadst a home, sold his
Life for a bottle, clear
Liquid his daily meal.

Nothing in his touch but biker
Bars, where women art strung
On pills, men nightly jailed,
Life plans for prison bars,
Knives for cuts, and dope
For cars; This side of the
Street was where the
Dealers art star's.

Mr jones once a high-degreed
College lad, moved out of his
Home, he became the unknown,
Dropped out of public vision,
Traded knowledge for rich
Men's wishes, worked in
High elite positions, a man
Of superstitions, once a time
His pockets rolled with
Hundreds and fifties,
Now his clothes smell
Of cheap wine, as his eyne taste
Of death; now a holes in-
Side of his chest.

Dreaming one day, on the side
Of the cement, a being of grace,
Not of human race; an angel of
God to Mr.Jones was sent.

"Mr. Jones", the Angel didst whisper, I came to let thee knowest, im thy guardian Mr; for God almighty hast sent me to thee, to show thee second chances do exist, and sir im not make believe, mine light is God's kiss.

©Brandon nagley
©lonesome poets poetry

lover, melt my kiss
like mist drifting from the sea
on the tide's dark leaves.

I had a dream
I was in your bed
Painting pictures at 3 pm
We weren't together
But I was still there
Comfortable in the friendship we still have left
You came home
Started painting too
We finished up
Cleaned our brushes
And made plans to start picture two
Next weekend, then the next
I nice rotation
A series of paintings.

There will always be a storm to reckon with
Beware of things marked new and improved
Wear earplugs at work and work like a mule , friends are like buying a bag of potato chips , they're normally only half full
Sometimes being alone is perfectly right
Stars change their positions during the night so
pray for the path by the light , defend your house with
all your might , remember love is a lone star shining bright
Avoid cliques , their like swimming with a bag of bricks
Leave church at church and work at work
Build a fence and build it right , keeps men honest in the dead
of night* ...