Has every Poet felt THE Pain?
Well...considering we are human beings, and every human, at some juncture, has Been in Pain, then Yes, every Poet has felt Some Pain.

THE Pain is the brand that tunnels in and twists You through the Grate, until SNAP! You Break...wide open, a blazing bonfire, Flame of THE Pain has digested and phased Your Matter into Vapor, You are released in Smoke from the Fire,
Catharsis of Inner Core,
revealing an own
Inner Nova all Your Own.
As Your Essence mixes within the Mist of the Etheric Brain, you find your Calling, and your Mind breathes again and releases an expression of Healing.
Found In the passion of Musical Musing, the stories of the Glory of Redemption, the Color Splashed Canvas, the Prolific Poetic Artist, the Kindred You shall Find.
Those Deep Works that Speak to the Seat of Your Soul,
the Goosebumps that Follow,
the Feeling of Connection are just but a Reflection of a Kindred Kind.
The Kind that if You Met You would finish each other's Words before the first Sentence need be Spoken.

If You can Know what I mean, then I bet You've Felt THE Pain.
If You are a Poet, then Yes,
You are a Poet who has Felt
**THE Pain

....in hushed tones of porous
red, eye bled
too much sour fragility
born of nobility's bed

~<⊙>~
watch me crack Pandora's box
breathe the spirit's aftershocks

~<⊙>~
I'm wheezing the nauseous
dread instead
the chloroform storm
is brewing

I'm locked and loaded
bloated and bad
oh me oh my
too mad to be sad
                     
**~<⊙>~

Were it motionless moments of Vacuum,
a nowhere Awareness,
a blackness of Space.

so full of Color yet self-contained,
where toroid cannibals feast on each other
never satiated nor satisfied~
Nothing is leaving and Nothing goes in.

this is a place in my memory,
a chip in the wood.
Devoid of a thought worth conceiving,
a sleepless hollow,
deprived yet still not Broken.

This is my precious serene,
a darkness deflowered,
a Secret no more.

Loudspeaker Monsters Awaken
Food as fodder for feed in their gullet.
Pronounced for Announcement
I proclaim to the World.

" I Can't be around People,
Because
I
know
what
they're
Thinking."

Images of All the Ages rush in relentless, haunting Me.
Come then, I Welcome, Don't Restrain

For what good comes from forgetting of one age, giving preference to remember some Other Age that We may feel better.

It only seems better because we forgot to forget those Ages of Painful days.

Contrast creates strokes Forming Contours with Likeness of moving Color
Shows Us Dislikes with shading of Heavy Hand.

I say, Paint your Story Full with Palette of All your Ages.

**Makes for Interesting Art.

((((••••))))
___••••___

Here lies below a (very) brief list to review, welcome to my nightmares,
I bid you adieu....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Back in the day, when I was a kid
I'd so many nightmares, oh Yes! indeed I did.
There were monsters in my closet and under my bed, gnomes that would hunt me and hags on my chest.
Zombies were mobbing, roaming my street, right out of Thriller, minus the beat.
I would get so scared that I'd tremble at night, restlessly sweating, awaiting the Creeps, I muffled my sobbing under my sheets.
~~•~~••~~•••~~••••~~•••••~~

So, now that we've visited those very few, let's look on to my Teens for new mares to review.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sooo....Nighttime falls, and here we go, where I meet up with sleepers, ghouls, the undead, on stretch of empty highway, I'm deserted with dread, except for the drones swooping down overhead.
I've had my fair share of falling dreams, nighttime terrors, and muffled screams, ones where I'm blind, buried alive or running like molasses while helplessly knowing that something is coming to do me harm, all filled with a chill~guaranteed to alarm.
••~••~~••~~~••~~~~••~~~~~••

As I grew older, into my twenties, I'd dream of ex~lovers, back then I'd had plenty.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Some were seductive yet chillingly cold, setting a jealous scene to unfold. Some were so vicious, I would wake up crying, still others were heartless and hauntingly frightening in their callous displays of cheating and lying.
<<==>>===<<====>>=====<<=>>

Of course, now in my thirties most of my mares center upon guilt, and regretful dispairs.
Reliving my shame, the losses and tragedies, taunting me with the full scope of all my inadequacies.
I still often get the nighttime paralysis, I can't move a muscle, though lucidly I realize that this time the fight seems to come from inside.

--|[{}]|----|[{}]|----|[{}]|--

So now that I've shared an abbreviated list of some of my nightmares, well, you get the gist.

I hope you've enjoyed a jolly good read, just don't be afraid when it's your time to sleep.

**EN SCENCE

We come unglued in this life, we come undone. That which is not lost to youth must surely wander on...

Frozen movement, wearing scapegoat fur, cracked creation of warred disorder cast settled souls upon yonder plains ~ twisted paths in chattered maze of spiral green
~ my mist, your haze ~
I'll walk your mile of pained duress
~ from violent fog, my sweet caress ~
come beside me, not behind, we walk along forever tied by spirit words~
(the Churchman's kind)
~What once was lost, in you I Find.

If truly there be no hope in life
~ no will, no chance admidst this strife ~
then never would we have cut the cord,
come into life to journey forth
~ this is our birthing that feels like death ~
the Lookinglass sees this Best.

Can't you see that's how we're dressed
That's why We come **Wireless

I am not a hypnotic, nor an ******
I am more like over flowing
a waterfall, of rushing Stimulant

I am an empty vessel, made of flesh and bone
I am not a hollowfull of mindless  things, gathering moss on stone

We are with one another, separate yet not apart
I am the Voice at the end of the Receiver
You can hear my Voice, but may not hear my Heart

If I talk to you with Words,
You might hear my Voice, or rather your perception of it, I will not know how it sounds or what you have heard

You might prefer it that way, I assume that's why you read Poetry

You can take a little bit of every poem and make it all your own

You create the image, the fantasy, the meaning, the mystery of the Soul that holds the Pen that wrote the words that touched your Heart.

Heart to Heart the Poetry bonds us, so simply, it's hard to conceive, how real the closeness, how deep the Intimacy.

....Of Poetry, It links Us together, not locked in time, but binds us forever.

Sweet, Sweet Poetry...Ahhhh