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Sep 2022 · 1.1k
This is for the King
Odd Odyssey Poet Sep 2022
So this is for the King—the one who died for my sin, and also
for putting fresh breath inside of me. As an adolescent teen, I
was trying to put together all the useless things that I believe.
I was just being a human being; with not a lot of things to give,
still I do have this thing, called his Holy spirit within. This is for
the King.

I was so tired of lunch dates—deep fakes. So I had to pray for the things that aren’t as straight. With love, and grace shall I give of myself;
I am in His control. I give of my soul, and with it my all. The Lord who still cares for the lesser, giver of all  things in endless blessings. I am restless, relying on a man of this world. It’s always so cold, as the longest winter within my bones. But he told me of my self worth. Goodness deemed upon me, that renders me free. I'll sing praises to him. This is for the King.

I was born, baring the many of life’s struggles. Wasn't good to
mix in with others. Or to get along with a few cousins. What have
they made of me now? An older boy, not feeling too proud. Wow!
As fit, I’m not built to take on the entire weight of the world, I've often been told. But I'm rejoicing in those sufferings, knowing my heart gains great endurance. That my praises to Him be amongst the purest. I’ve surely endured my life’s greatest struggles, into this character. So to me, this struggles don't really matter. By they own; it has given me hope, so hopeful to be what the Creator has made me to be. This is for the King.

The devil tries to make my God seem small. But he doesn't know
anything of my God that he is to me—he's my all. What are peddles to a rock, rocks to a mountain, and mountains to a King, Greater is he that has Christ who lives in him. So shall your faith in Him; move all the mountains that you see. This is for the King.

This is for the King, it's all for the King. The King of kings
who resides in me. I am part of His royalty. He taught loyalty,
as I know all enemies are against me—but the the Lord is always
there for me.
Odd Odyssey Poet Aug 2022
This a weekend shirt, that some people wear you
down on a weekend shift. I met a nice girl at a party,
where it was a plus one, yet the body was a plus two.
If she fell in love with my sharp mind, I'd plead to her,
"I hope it never cuts you"

But here's a plot twist; when you share your heart
with someone so heartless, You pray that they would
love you regardless. But here's how the continuation of
that story goes:

A young boy activity, activities of extra curriculum,
used of messing around with girls. Open conversations,
with closed results. Still needing them all. Energies so little,
but loads of choices we can make to be safe. Riding the front
tooth for a bite of love, and kissing in perfect waves.

I’ve got nickels, quarters and dimes, of all the money on
girls overspent. So maybe there’s a cost to the regrets.
Of the lack of sense I’ve got left. Owed the change, to the
better things of my life cares. Or those truths after dares.

Resemble this, when you remember this.
When you’re still young calling any potential a Miss.
“I miss you texts,“ under the blankets, with the lights glaring
in my eyes. I send happy emojis, as if that’s how I really smile.
Don’t forget to say good morning, or at least say hi after your
tender goodbye. Oh wait! Never mind.

I’ll just type the message with my data off. Turn it on in
the morning, and the message is sent to look like the sweetest
actions of sweet words.

“Hello,“ we open ourselves to casual talk.
Cheering each other up for the day, and the struggles we’ll
face at work. “Of course I’ll be thinking about you till the last,"
I’ll say as a start into sexting for some breakfast lust.

Put on that mask, not for my mouth or nose,
but for the face scars. Untrimmed beard, awkward growing hairs,
and a comb making sparks through the sounds of knots.
Put on my favourite red long socks, and pull out my jewellery
out of their treasure box.

I get a quick text from her, and read the message as a notification.
Thinking about the best reply to use while putting on my shoes,
and promising to make it to her place, if she shares the right location. Lotion on my face, heavy cologne on my neck.

Spray, Spray!

Vaseline on my morning dry lips, lick it into place
so petroleum stays in it’s grips. Spending the Friday morning skipping through work. The final whistle blows, thinking I can
get my whistle blown. And here I am again; off into the world.

In town on my phone long texting this girl. Oh how will
this story go? Who really knows, but just it’s end. As her and I pretend to still be friends.

A word to hide behind our guilt. Making myself out as
the *** guru in quick words, but that’s not how I was built.

So as I got close to the deed’s door, I just run off.
I couldn’t play the song to the dance of chance,
without the right chords. So in the end, I just found myself
better off staying the weekend at home. Peacefully alone.

I'm that weekend shirt. And feeling like a piece of shirt.
Aug 2022 · 775
~Black sheep
Odd Odyssey Poet Aug 2022
The same blood you have, is also a curse to have!
I should be glad, but I'm mad as the one dealing
with the pride of some forefathers dad.

I was taught not to place all of my blame on
how my parents had raised me.
But I can't keep blaming myself; as if they'll praise me.
I often grew up wondering what actual resemblance I
had of my dad.

The last born nobody knew, the other son all the relatives
thought was just some random nephew.
The family picture felt too big for me to be noticed in it's frame.
I felt as a son; but only a son by just the family's name.

Seems I wasn't born the same.

All the first impressions of thinking my mother
was just my aunty. Thinking I was adopted by relatives,
because my real family didn't really want me.


"Maybe I was switched at birth," I thought to myself.
We all could be walking on the same ground,
doesn't mean we're all so down to Earth.

I guess I was buried in it,
for constantly being the one to take up the family's dirt.

The theory of a twin, who died in the womb.
I've felt so incomplete. Missing the other half to make me fit.
Hoping I had died that time as a baby; when I had my first fit.

But to my twin up in Heaven I hope you're keeping that space
for both of us. By the chance my sins get ahead of me,
Could I get into Heaven by the chance of your luck?

To my father on Earth, I grew up wondering if I was ever
the son you wanted, or the one you deserved.
Maybe I secretly got on your nerves, as I felt the
disappointment in those many cuss words.

To my mother in church, I'm not your little boy anymore.
Neither that daughter you treat me as.
My manhood to peers, seemed so poor. And yet I'm the ear
that listens to all of your words, but not the mouth to tell
you my many truths by the galore.

To my brothers by name, we all knew we were never the same.
But as life went in one direction, I was the child who went
the other way. I can remember all of those harsh words
you often said. As if I'm tasting them all from too many past
yesterdays.

To my sister I never had, life could of been easier if you
were the child the family actually had.
That's all I can say, because that's all that I have.

Sighed;

The Black sheep.
Aug 2022 · 174
The potter's son
Odd Odyssey Poet Aug 2022
Hey Mr Potter, it's your son Mr Artist.
Moulding structures of a liquids fill.
Your son moulds words into a tears spill.
From the clay of what story we've shaped of the day.
You and I are the same.
Aug 2022 · 312
Verse 4 [of Heaven's song]
Odd Odyssey Poet Aug 2022
In blades of grass—so young under the tears of sky.
Shattered, fragile in a forest made of glass.

Under a moon's walking due; as the sphere of Sun's pass.
I throw my heart's mass into the winds whisper—guided
in the voice of above compass.

I shall unmask beauty pinned in the skies, painted in the
natural scent of Earth. I yearn as the birds; singing a pleasing
song of day's first. The last sweet symphony till the earth is
no more. Before the Collapse.

Let me die singing to thy Lord,
in the following song of Heaven's chords.
Aug 2022 · 114
Famed last words
Odd Odyssey Poet Aug 2022
The price of a critically known, costs me being
secretly alone. Torn in all of the successes,
and what it took on all the stages I now perform.
Oh where is my soul, where is my soul?

Children of a whole lot of broken homes,
too broke for the things they can't afford.
I just wanted to buy things I could hold,
a little successful wealth to call my own.
Oh where is my soul, where is my soul?

A crying voice in a cheerful poem,
a choking **** disguised as a rose.
In my heart—all cracks and holes,
and I hope you don't see into it, to question it's morals.
I'm a thousand hurts, in a few hundred acclaimed poems.
Oh where is my soul, where is my soul?

A desire to love; desired to have been loved,
to an open hand joy, not trapped in a glove.
Not laughing at myself, as being less than enough,
feeding on my pleasures, and but still to starve.
I have no place for my heart—but just the scars pus.
Oh where is my soul, where is my soul?

Really I don't know!
Aug 2022 · 74
Mockery
Odd Odyssey Poet Aug 2022
And how they mock you still,
but to use your name to sight being righteous,
of their famous words to say, "I'm doing God's will"

The scales are peeled off my eyes—I see all
those stars, like the past fallen angels.
Falling stars, falling stars; as they brightly mock God.

To make you seem odd—oddly enough to say
they do it out of love. Out of expression, speaking proudly
public of what Biblical reading calls ungodly transgressions.
It's just another form of weapon—Lucifers walking this earth,
in innocent clothes. Church clothes of expensive taste;
letting themselves be praised by using your name.

The name of your Son; to profit off the prophet.
Marking mockery, in calling you an inspiration,
but conspiring to sound like they're doing your will.
But still, they mock you without ill. To use your name to
sight being righteous, of their famous words to say,
"I'm doing God's will"
Aug 2022 · 1.4k
Dark rooms
Odd Odyssey Poet Aug 2022
Hotel ***—of neighbours dealing in services, buying into
the idea of momentary love by the high purchases. It's like
swerving in traffic, avoiding real love and looking for some action.
Well out here relaxing, feels **** fun. Sort of tragic, but these are the ways things happen. Imagines.

On the other side, the creep behind the hole in the wall.
The married husband, setting up a *******. She's a young girl,
and a ****** to all—of what it costs to make it big. He's not so big, but will drive into her like a heavy rig. Pay her off, call a cab to
take her back home. Rinse himself, spray a little cologne to cover
up his immorals. And switch his clothes. What she doesn't know, won't hurt his wife at all. Sort of tragic, but these are the ways things happen. Imagines.

But she's in another room downstairs, getting tongue licks
downstairs—downtown. The young man isn't to proud, at least
with the fact he wasn't the first one pointing her down his south.
The fresh taste of adultery in their mouth—his pants are
half down. His business is hanging out; ready to close the deal of
an interesting affair. Then he'll kiss his girlfriend back at their house.
I know she's cheating on me too. Sort of tragic, but these are the ways things happen. Imagines.

The cheating girlfriend is actually over eating in another room
alone. With shoes off, to stand herself and her weight.
Running to the bathroom with a finger down her throat.
A little choke, and upbringing those distasteful words. Her body
isn't her worth, and doesn't feel like the one she deserves.
Sort of tragic, but these are the ways things happen. Imagines.

These are the dark rooms, of all the stories in my head.
A couple stories high, to keep me up on my bed. They turn into
dreams, or have been premonitions for a later reality as it seems.

                                                         ­            Who really knows?
Aug 2022 · 718
Who destroyed the world
Odd Odyssey Poet Aug 2022
The object of an eye
is dire to entrap my love towards,
An orb filled with desire, but as the life too—
of those suffering, and desiring to die. The figure
with his long dark coat, keeps the world in a right pocket.
His eyes red as the blood they curl. The sky is black wherever
he walks. His breath is heavy, and a black cloud of smoke.
One word swallows all, and as so—he destroyed the world.

The Devil, Man, or perhaps both.
Aug 2022 · 1.3k
Stars 🌟
Odd Odyssey Poet Aug 2022
—let the stars of your celestial align to constellations
    of my sight; drawing the beauty of you. All so like
    the Heavens of it's warmth, I embrace you of warm
    remarks, into the heavenly scented perfumes while
    in your arms. In all of your open encouraging love.

—the desire fill; a fullness of seeing you fulfilled
    in joyous love in yourself, others and that of it
    that came from God. I'm in love with your love.

—set fires that can't be contained. Passionate red,
   burning tears of the redness running down my
   cheeks. I'm at peace; even as this head aches,
   of when you swept me off my feet. Brushed by
   a fade of love. It cuts me in half; straighten me
   to align at your appearance. I rest in your stars.
Aug 2022 · 536
To him (Prov 18:22)
Odd Odyssey Poet Aug 2022
To him,
she's the calm in the blustering of his mother,
a goddess against the devilish charms of the libertine father,
a dry land away from the wettest inequities of coitus,
a blue violet in the skies of her affection—love and compassion
grows of her red lotus,
far apart from peers; they shunned her from their groupings,
a series of events makes her love home; so unlike, amongst
many few, to seem fictional as movies.

A queen; diamonded on the silk of her skin,
maturity read in her eyes, and red as her passionate lips,
fetching to behold—spirit, looks, and within.
"He who finds a wife finds what is good and receives favor
from the Lord" (Prov 18:22 NIV)
Aug 2022 · 1.0k
Verse 1 [of a poet]
Odd Odyssey Poet Aug 2022
As to start all conversations, with an ending thought
to all discussions. "I choose to say a few words"
To express more in an after action; a moving poem.
I self identify as a pen—how and when?
We both bleed the same. We both could be weapons stabbing
at your side again, and again. And again!
But I’m not violent; I’m priceless—priced less for being
like this. Now isn’t that so priceless?
Rebellious and outspoken when my pen feels profound,
only when the right words are found.
And I’m actually funny, but no wait—not so funny.
I’m broke, but not referring to not having money.
I’m a joke, that I sometimes find funny. But in the current
currency, we sometimes fold like money. Easily at times
as a worthless currency.
Looking always for the perfect piece —well you’re looking at it.
Guilty of being authentic; point you finger out to say he did.
The poet who knows it!
Aug 2022 · 365
Verse 3 [of grief]
Odd Odyssey Poet Aug 2022
This life is bitter; dearly to me—as only a moment
is sweet. My eyes deafen defeat, defending it's right
to channel violence with peace.

There's a war inside of me!

A looming shadow is every brick, every corner, every
tiny echo of the walls. Of my room, my mind, heart and
unfortunate life. Fortunes of which are counted in Heaven.
A golden castle —I'd trade every brick on earth.
Trading my life away of this unsettled grief.
Aug 2022 · 372
Verse 5 [of beloved]
Odd Odyssey Poet Aug 2022
To the awaited vineyard—as shaky lips are no more.
A taste of Devine; desirable passion burning as a fierce
fire. —As like my God, who has consumed my bare heart
of ravaging love.

My hungry eyes, burn eternal for my spouse.
As like ten million stars—so bright; I am blinded by love.
It is young, and untamed. As the mighty steed, wanting to
seed mates. Love is wild; but under the one you truly love,
shall it be tamed.

Shall your ears quake at the voice of your love— as your
lips call their name. It will be as the flower, twisting itself
towards the glory light. As the appetency of waters, the
nurturing and care. I pray where you set your dreams, your
love be there.

May the shape of their love be pleasing in your eyes.
As the romances be anew, of a new experiences night.
Prize them as something you could never afford, care for
them as the only you hold. Bring them up as righteous,
and blameless to the Lord. Pure and untainted —speak to
their ear the beauty of His Word.

I entreat to all. Love your beloved, as Christ loved the church.
I entreat to all. Respect your beloved, as they see you of your
worth.
Aug 2022 · 1.2k
Baby tooth
Odd Odyssey Poet Aug 2022
I said goodbye to my baby tooth; it went away
with all my youth. Goodbye—bye, bye, bye.
In my mouth for too many years, and now it all
tastes like tears. Goodbye—bye, bye, bye.

You know were gone to soon, and you've always
been my favourite tooth. And then you went to
steal my youth. Oh my—my, my, my. Goodbye—bye,
bye, bye.

You've inspired,—despite. Despised,—you were mine.
At your prime,—inside. Outside,—you were mine.
Goodbye—bye, bye, bye.

And I could never get you out my mind; even if I
pulled and tired. Oh my—my, my, my. Goodbye—bye,
bye, bye.

Goodbye—bye, bye, bye.
Having a little fun.
Aug 2022 · 401
Psychotic break
Odd Odyssey Poet Aug 2022
I've been writing as an adolescent, as a teen filled
with adult lessons. Somewhat a mix of all my confessions,
and a touch of  my deepest depressions.
I use them all as a weapon, to **** away all thoughts
of suicide. My escape is in the words I write. The pictures I
try to describe, in all the lows between my little highs.

I question a lot about life—like why the talented famous
supposedly have to die so early. To have never aged poorly;
they only respect you now out of paying respect for your death.
To pretend they were your biggest fan, or closest friend.

Why publications ask me for fees they know I can never afford,
to invest in your royalties, and never gave a chance to your
dreams worth. I've battling all my addictions, trying to fill
myself with empty pieces. Seeing girls for only kisses,
considering getting paid for being involved with a mistress.
Just to afford to start up my business, to help those in their poverty.
But obviously that's not a possibility, but it doesn't stop me from wondering.

I've had my fill of gluttony, in pleasing my flesh.
In the thresh of cutting away my chances of being blessed.
Pretty am a mess—while putting on my face of the best, and
keeping a little pride on my chest. I still don't know how to dance,
but I pretty much prance in my room before I write a poem.
Switch between writing a little more or riding my way into
watching a little ****.

I don't trust my morals, if they're not on a placement of their
foundations. Ethics are kind of shaky, if you spirit is out of
concentration. I'm seeking for good relations, but hate to be basic.
Or basically falling over a girl who's just hungry for money chasing.
And it's so frustrating, when the right one you rightly push off.  
And now it's just awkward for you both. I'm not to good with my
feelings around pretty girls.

But that's me I guess,
writing late hours when I should be in bed.
Acting as I if don't really care—so oftentimes rare.
A habit rabbit, that my eyes are a black hare. Self destructive,  
self distracting kind of traits. I'm in dire straits, Lord please
save me from psychotic ways.

I hope this isn't where I die today. After having the usual
psychotic break.
Odd Odyssey Poet Aug 2022
As my father likes to say,
"same ****, but a different toilet"
With kids at the age to loiter. Sitting on all their
dreams, that they feel discomfort. There's a taste of
***** in the words mixed with a little chronic.
In between the lines of sort of psychotic, and iconic;
scornful eyes of adults who think we're quite ironic.

Broke ties, with the broke kids with empty pockets,
filled with their dreams; to then having a blast with
older girls—launching your pocket rocket. Three, two,
one, is count down of when someone is coming.
To yearn for love we never got from adults, as we're
always longing. Always copying, the styles of the famous
to seem relevant in the topic. While getting high in between
classes, and pretending that feeling is so awesome.

Some skinny jeans to fit in with the masses, rip it up a
bit to be the latest in the fashion. Snap your life away,
and add a little cute caption. Looking for a bit of romance,
but my favourite genre is a little action. A little traction in
between us, until I'm tired of smashing and passing.
Falling in love—as casual. To question my worth, while
buying things more valuable. Things of the world so intangible.

Searching for answers on the wall, writing out our wishes so
you can relate to them all. Dreaming of being stars; but every
star eventually will fall. Help me, help me please, do you here
me at all?

Would you kindly be a help to your young?
I'm dying quietly in the loudest of fun.
Aug 2022 · 1.4k
Prove!?
Odd Odyssey Poet Aug 2022
Gave you a taste of magic,
Sticks and stones in love—so beautifully tragic.
I’d give my world to be around your planet,
Was there anything else to do, anything else to prove!?
A taste of line stuck in your jaw,
Decorating yourself—there’s a little decore.
I’m your centre piece in place of more,
Was there anything else to do, anything else to prove!?

All cuts and lip burns,
I was the very last—of every first,
Stars in perfect alignment; but all by force,
I was lost for words, biting my tongue; but not tasting hurt.
Was there anything else to do, anything else to prove!?
It’s a waste being young,
But adulthood is so painful—really no fun,
And I’ll be insecure knowing how not to make a girl ***,
Coming around to my place, and accidents of making a son.
Was there anything else to do, anything else to prove!?

The high life highlights,
Bite size feelings, drinks of nightlife—so high!
Still scared of heights, and not having the right size,
As the killing factor of any man’s pride.
Why won’t it fit right, it doesn’t feel right, or quiet tight.
Was there anything else to do, anything else to prove!?

Being around the block,
Waking up to the rooster—tickling ****.
“Where are my socks,“ letting borrow tops,
While topping someone off the top in slob,
Twisting your emotions, as you twisting the ****.
Just a tip cob—ain’t nothing wrong till it repeats tomorrow,
And there’s nothing more left sweet of that fleshy flower.
Was there anything else to do, anything else to prove!?

Just two curious people trying to prove they're good at ***,
Just an excuse to tidy up themselves after being a mess.
                                              They’re both just a mess!
Aug 2022 · 151
Thoughts of haiku
Odd Odyssey Poet Aug 2022
It rises high—falls
kicked around carelessly,
children love playing soccer.

I hurt, plead
filled with guilt, the thief steals—
a heart in love.

Tension, tedious talk
propaganda all in speeches,
a room of politicians.

A quiet night was
under the covers of love—
a husband decides to ****.

A black surface
lips before were cold—
as a cigarette burns.

Swish, and swash
an imaginative game
a stick used as a sword.

Brown jam
blaring sounds an hour—
earphones with wax.

Speedy words
hates another colour,
the racist is here.

The covers white,
the covers red and love—
POP! Virgins no more.
Just having some fun
Aug 2022 · 482
Ikhaya yami
Odd Odyssey Poet Aug 2022
To expect trials and storms along my Christian
walk is a given. And under these storms; let me
find refuge under the house of my Lord.
My shelter, refuge, and haven; as where the
Spirit of the Lord is—ikhaya lami.
Aug 2022 · 127
The prayer of Day
Odd Odyssey Poet Aug 2022
Father God,

Shedding light on the matter—the stillness in being in
your presence, is faith to move still mountains.
Let my flesh not be aroused into all manners of the world.
But as I seek new compassion in the romance of reading your
Word—speak through me as your living poem.

Let man behold the promises of you, set in my destiny's
stone. And lead me onto that road; Lord set me straight on the
righteous path you send me to go.

Discipline my heart of it's wickedness, aligning my spirit to
the chords of your love. I'll be your song—a melody symphony
of the Son making a new dawn.

Burn my lips of their scorn, and rest the words of blessing on
my tongue. Let my hands not work to work a way into Heaven.
But let my labour be genuine, my first fruits yours, and always
be thankful of the strength you gave to do all.

And as I lay my head, may my dreams be as sweet as your love.
My dreams also bright as the stars, and that my day's successes
be as righteous as you are. I praise you as the first, and as the last.
Guide my future, teach me in present, and forgive me of sins past.

I bring forth to you this day, and thank you of it whether good,
bad or moderate.

In Jesus name,

Amen.
Aug 2022 · 927
The colour of love
Odd Odyssey Poet Aug 2022
Is it black, or is it red,
as it mostly makes me feel blue,
when a lover is just a memory in my head...

Purple shades in the passion of our love,
a yellow delight, if it feels destined from above.
But for some, a whitish-gray when their about to ***.
Those who believe they're shooting out their love...

Green for the envy of those displaying their
affections in public. Pantone 448 C, for some
people's love is quite ugly. But in the warmth of
us being orange, I warn the woman I love to ease off
the long hugs. As my tenderness is a light pink, so a
quick hug if you please...

                               We've all got our shade of colour,
                                                 to the feelings of love.
Odd Odyssey Poet Aug 2022
—in all of my ways, I'm not ashamed to
call your name. But so shameful of me to only
say a prayer when things don't go my way. Echoing
the final phrase, "in Jesus name" hoping everything
magically becomes okay.

Seems when I'm in trouble, I only choose to pray
a spiritual prayer that day. And I'll go back to sinning
in about two days.

But let me rephrase, "God loves you, and cares for you"
whether I'm telling it to the crowd, or secretly trying to
remind myself. "Don't envy another," says an envious
colleague, after he congratulations them in an overexaggerating
tone. But when I'm home alone; it's either myself tearing myself
with tears, until my face is torn. Or punching the wall, then
after using the other hand to cope with a little ****.

Actually it's a lot—a lot of the times I'm lost in empty
picture screens, till a quick satisfaction is found. Then after
washing the sins off, while staring in the mirror, and not looking
so proud. As the realism comes to light, as the realist sees their
misdeeds way past the dark.

Like a pick-up truck, hauling heavy loads of these burdens.
But we like to pretend our backs don't snack while forcing
to look like an always good person. In third person, we don't
see all the places you're hurting. But it takes first person, for I
to realise I'm inwardly cursing of those new struggles soon
to worsen.

To oppose another, being the face I choose during the day;
opposing my loving father. And in it feeling ashamed, and so
afraid to call His name; only when things aren't looking too okay.

But here's a glass to all CC's, raise your voice if you know you've
been that type of way. Let me keep you in my prayers; perhaps
you'll learn to speak honestly by tomorrow, than with a mouth of contradicting yesterdays.

                                                 ...don't worry children,
                                your father still hears your prayer!
Aug 2022 · 78
Silent writer
Odd Odyssey Poet Aug 2022
A silence of a writer,
with a echoing pen of profound speak,—
it's their next piece. But still searching for the
perfect one; if such perfection does exist.

Do not listen to words of the mouth,
but words of their beating heart.
Lub dub, dub lub, could be the sound of love.
The sound of pain, tragedy, beauty anger, restlessness
and mere doubt. Lub dub, dub lub, passion at every
heart beats count.

Rather be quiet, to let inspiration speak it's
mind. Shut your eyes to see powerful words in
their hide. Lub dub, dub lub, for out of a chest,
beats a silent writer's pride.

       In silence comes the best write.
Aug 2022 · 65
The end of the world
Odd Odyssey Poet Aug 2022
The stars fall, as angels dance in the skies;
spinning twines of time—around a turning world.
This turn of the Lord, is the Rapture to soon come,
dawn present as where the Son walks the earth again.
Earthquakes, and colliding planets. I witnessed all's
Judgement day.

As pieces of the sky were falling; oceans boiling until
dry. The sight of darkness spread across all the land, like a
blanket swallowing all. And by the trumpet call; I heard the
rustling of that scroll.

The echo praises of the Lord, each name listed to be called
one by one. The final judgement for all. It was a vivid dream
of the end of the world.

         And I wasn't afraid. But overjoyed to meet my Creator.
Aug 2022 · 2.3k
Morn' flower
Odd Odyssey Poet Aug 2022
Cries of a wolf—howling in the
burns of a shadowy night. Preying eyes,
seeking, pouncing to hunt you out my dear.
Chasing love, or rather being chased by love
behind a trail of youthful winds. At the time
we still could count the scars on our knees.

Seems we've barely got skins holding solid
on our bones. Time is a she-wolf feasting on
once was youth. Her sharp tooth digs into my
eyes—gnawing my ability of sight.

I'm haunted by the long nights; seeming longer
if you're unsure you'd wake in the morning.
Death is a mistress of non screaming echoes,
but a peaceful whisper of her calling. She knocks
at the door of my cold feet; a deathbed unlike
no other rest to your eyes. (It's subtle goodbye)

But a longest night, makes expectancy of the day
brighter than it's tomorrow. But a few extra hours
is never what we'll borrow—still the hours of
wisdom we left behind is hoped to follow.
To let new things grow in the rises of one's
written experience, as the story of a Morn' flower.
Aug 2022 · 935
Calls of the night
Odd Odyssey Poet Aug 2022
Cherry bumps, bumping to you in the preceding
of your body's prequel. You're looking like a sequel,
I just want to see you in that see through.

Let me hit it till I quit, quit it till I miss it.
I know it's been a minute in the warmth of your body
and long socks. Advances of awkward romances is all I got.
Could I be the key to your secret lock, walking through your
door after a long tongue knock?

Knock, knock, knock,
to taste the sound of love, the pleasing ears of raining
down drizzles of when you come—around this time
when I'm done. Could I be your night's desirable secret?
I'm quite good at keeping secrets; fulfilling pleasures in
your imaginative wishes.

Okay maybe that's just wishful thinking; sinking in
the loves of night—your love is what I'm seeking.
You're what I'm missing, to be hopefully kissing you
the next time we're meeting.

Ring, ring, ring,
please put on your tone, call for my company anytime
you feel alone. The distance seems far, but close to my
heart when your embrace is my home. Living in the
moment—capture it all in my focus. Who needs a bed of roses;
you're already my pretty flower I'm holding onto the closest.

                              Just pick up the phone my love.
Aug 2022 · 906
YOU!?
Odd Odyssey Poet Aug 2022
But what do you know about love,
when you can’t show trust—but you know about lust.
Always thinking about how to fu—nction on your luck.
And that’s going to be a quick bust; infatuations are a rush.
We’d swear we don’t cuss, as you’re drinking coffee for
a buzz—I'm just drinking to keep up.

You say you love me, but I know you also love other girls,
so yeah right, yeah right! Just a shareholder in your life.

You love to talk but we don’t speak, you take life at ease,
but disturb my peace. Feels like you cut my wrists; there’s
no love for me to reach. But I still got a lot to give in a week,
till it leaves me feeling weak.

A heart made of stone, in the echo tone that you can’t
be alone. That’s a quarry of your love, when we quarrel
outside. So it’s hard to swallow pride, when we’re prideful
on both sides. In the shapes of drawing hearts, we’ve always
crossed a line. The outline is this relationship is not fine.
In the tune with a misconduct’s  due. And I wish I could say
I’ve never known, but I always knew. So the wrongs you
do now, are nothing new.

But why the heck did I choose
YOU!?
Aug 2022 · 818
Passionate
Odd Odyssey Poet Aug 2022
To describe beauty—isn't by sight,
rather insight.
The mind is beautiful,
a *** *****; pleasing of the know how it shows,
of how much experiences it has catalogued.
As the heart—filled with passion flowing,
lips of course express the words of love.
The hands place action to the physical of one's
love to their own, given once by another.

To a resting place, is a forest of ten thousand
trees,
Where sweet nothings echo into their final bite
of one's words bark.
So as the two make love, under the canopy of
two's embrace—
Seems the passionate partaking, wisps the morning energy
for the day, and a reason to leave.

Too passionate beings, two lovers making
love.
Under covenant, as the circling ring,
she is his, as she calls to him.
He greets her always with a wet kiss.

It's bliss; ignorant forgetfulness.
"I forgot what we were even fighting about"
Aug 2022 · 665
An encouraging poem
Odd Odyssey Poet Aug 2022
Scornful words; as a resting tongue reliant on lies.
Bitter sweet intentions, intentive of it being intentionally
sound. I'll be loud, overly of being too proud when
humbleness isn't found.

The wise know when to hold tongue, not being boastful
of knowledge's gain. They do not entertain the rantings of
fools. Those so few—do not conform to a standard of pitiful
stance. But instead stand out, as ones of content in their
struggles. As with feet with scars, but unafraid to dance.

So trade off those scornful words, but instead let be
encouragement, lest scorn. An encouraging poem.
                    Share your encouragement in action,
                    as much as you share them in words.
Aug 2022 · 366
The Dark's light
Odd Odyssey Poet Aug 2022
As the likeness of dark; a pathway into
the mind of a depressed tormented soul,—
The beauty of their expression is a walk in
the park. There's a spark to a passionate flame to any art;
But also a hurt of creation from the echo cracks of their heart.

A mountain top I'd have to climb, a large hill made
of stone. A thorn in my side, as the bleeding anguish
to paint out favourable dreams. The kiss of so real;
in a reality painted in the colours of tears.  I've seen things
so clear, to see nothing of this world was meant to be so real.

Yet the realest tears of unanswered prayers, falls upon
the bruises of my knees. Real as knowing not all will
believe in you and your dreams. The Dark's light—is
seeing past the shadow of ominous oppressiveness.
A lasting restlessness of wanting to impress all those
around, the larger crowd, of painted smiles of daily clowns.
They'd easily praise you being brave—the loudest voice of cowards.

They would shoot you down, (bang, bang)
and after you make it big; turn around and say they're so proud.
(Enemies becoming fans) letting it be the case, humble character
wouldn't make a boastful sound. In the end I know my God has
and always been so proud.

There's always a light in the dark.
Aug 2022 · 972
Greatest poem
Odd Odyssey Poet Aug 2022
My greatest poem—in every letter, creation
of new words and those profound sentences.
Line breaks of the metered stanzas, patterns of
end rhymes, All those wanting to be messages
in cryptic form. A wordsmith written in stone.
—I'm still searching.

In similes alike, metaphors based on everyday
pictures of life. Food for thought; in second helpings
of a secondary meaning. Allegory, an axillary joint
of alliteration. The alluring allusion of a shoulder
none present; I refer to being a connection. In all
other pieces written before, written in corresponding.
—I'm still searching.

In these continuing words—a couplet, in the irony
of a leading conclusion not intentionally lead.
But what is once read; is best to be read again....
a repetition. What is once read; is best to be read
again, what is once read; is best to be read again.
—I'm still searching.

In the deepest parts of a piece; the meat is on
the bone. To describe what's at stake, to be words
thrown at your face. A reminder the second time
of when we'll meet again. In puns of patting myself
on my back—these a self praises of being an ode.
—I'm still searching.

             And will I find my greatest poem,
                             ...Rhetorical question
Aug 2022 · 958
Head full of stars✨
Odd Odyssey Poet Aug 2022
Blind figures, statue representative of
a forwarding thought. Ahead of myself,—
decisions, decisions, decisions, decisions.
Too many of which, walk along the path of life.

To see as much, is seeing through the dark for
a hint of light. A sense of life; in dead still waters;
running deep of a depthful mind.

It's pen *******; is of words cutting deep,
a favourable piece, seemingly rightmove as I write.  

A sight for words, breathless at times.
Annoyingly simple, but overly complicated to piece
together the masterpiece of imagination.

So as I looked up to a night sky, it filled
my head's constellations of lining routes to thoughts.
In the end—a head full of trillions of stars.

           My ideas could be bright.
Aug 2022 · 1.7k
First Kiss
Odd Odyssey Poet Aug 2022
To applauding of the stars
the pleasing sight of God
  Mesmerising were the words spoken on
    to have loved, to have once been in love.

To as a Queen; ruling my heart
she—black beauty, as the blanket dark of
  night; filled in angel’s stars.
   Mystic dust, upon the early virtue of time.
     To have loved so young.

To have tasted a fruit of passion
  minor still, but a major experience
   That which is in present, a memory entangled
    in my dreams. I’m restless,—

As my lips quiver of a then long before
  Longing presently; ‘verly for more
   As so—how could I ever forget...
          forget the first I kissed a girl!
Aug 2022 · 604
Before you met me
Odd Odyssey Poet Aug 2022
A summer experience, all the time while
the kisses were bright—in warm regards.
The careless fall; we'd spring up a conversation
on talking about love. And how you fell for my
charms.

Retracing scars of past loves, (so few actually)
still I've been gunned down by such a handful
of quests. You'd see those marks on my arms.

By far—I'm no perfect romantic. The type to
chance his chances of the first awkward advances.
My wit to say, only comes out of less pressuring
moments. To impress you only when we've known the
shape of each other's humour.

I was a late bloomer. The sort of nerdy kid, throughout
school. Constantly anxious to impress a design on; as
a daily tool. And as usual, too full of myself thinking
I was overly too cool. But really just full fled fool.

So when we met, it was my season of necessary
growth, in the journey of my life of a revelation's show.
Questioning self worth, the ways of the world, and
YouTube videos of how to kiss a girl. And the highest
being what is means to be a man. Soft with the emotions
compared to others, and finding it hard to fit in with their
clan.

Before you met me, I was teased for walking like a
duck. Yet you told me I walk with such confidence,—
but I was a chicken towards standing out, that you could
hear a cluck in my gulps. I'm still the type to start a
conversation with, "what's up"

As being up to no good with other people my age,
but none at the drinking age of the clubs we snuck in.
Still at an early stage, I learnt I wasn't that big on going
out clubbing. But a few drinks at home, good food for at
home and sometimes drinking alone was more my norm.

Before you met me, it was what you'd call my BC days.
Still I went to church from a young age, but the Lord
wasn't the first call to hard situations. Or even ending
my prayers with a, "in Jesus name"

I'm still learning more about myself present day,
and that's okay. Because the learning experience never
ends until we're dead. So there's more to my story by
every new turning page. I might seem strange, but all
in all—I'm glad of the person I became. And the After is
beautifully being discovered today.

             I'm glad I discovered you.
Jul 2022 · 1.5k
Authenticity
Odd Odyssey Poet Jul 2022
Till seasons come, and those that go,
in dreary skies, clearing forecast, and behind
clouds of snow. The sun still shines through it
all—true to personality, values, and spirit, regardless
of the pressures in the surrounding atmosphere.

Authentic as the day it was born,
authenticity—aren't we all authentic as the SON,
who will come again, as He came before!
Jul 2022 · 646
One missed call
Odd Odyssey Poet Jul 2022
Please call me back,
written message in the network's text. I don't have
enough airtime; so I'll borrow some. Knowing it's
not the best—in the fact of being underpaid.
I haven't been paid this month, so it's still a dream
of moving house. The funds are never enough,
but just tuck shop money, and a gin allowance for a
couple laughs.

But I'll call you soon.

7.50, left in my bank account. Maybe I could
pull out six to make the call. Insufficient funds to
complete this transaction,
the screen read in bold.
Feeling insufficient, sufficiently to say I've worked my due.
If I had a girlfriend; which place could I take her to,
and what would we do? As I'm broke and empty on funds
and dreams in my pocket. While driving past the mansions
of my two bosses.

But I'll call you soon.

I'm running out of rhymes, without any airtime
to Google new ones on Rhymezone. So I'm just
staring at the phone, hoping you make the repeating call.
I missed it the first time you beeped me, knowing I was
feeling tearful in my room alone. I must have been so focused
on staring at the pictures on the wall, to hear your call.

But I'll call you soon.

As both of my lines have pending debts, and I'm not
keen on borrowing  money to have debts with friends.
But in the end—your fun size pride rarely cares.
Still the anxiety of not making an effort to call back,
pushes a reason to swear. To pull my hairs, struggling
on why—why I can't return your call. As if I don't care
at all.

But I do; I'm just fighting to call you soon. Unfortunately
in the end; I never had the chance to support you my
friend. I never returned that call, and it's doing in my head.

It's an unfortunate one missed call.
Jul 2022 · 899
Death in Paradise
Odd Odyssey Poet Jul 2022
Cold as the winter's tooth sinking into
my skin. A creep sneaking into my sleep, to
disturb every last dream. I've been choked
up by regrets—the exhausting feeling of Black
coughs; out of an exhaust of a neck. I can't breathe.

panting, panting, panting, panting,

Overexaggerating, and it's so saddening to
tell them you're dying, (inside) but non believe.
In the slow drum beating—it's a slow beating heart,
symphony of a night crying angels; amongst the stars.
Looking to heavens, wondering who we are, imperfect
creatures under a perfect Son. Those waiting patiently
in anxious worry, for Jesus to come.

And into a river filled with tears, is where I'll
wash His feet. Gleaming waters; reflecting not
my image. But the stream reflects my sins. My black eye,—
fighting myself and those shivers of my ***** skins.

May he kiss my forehead for my clemency,
for that value worthy of peace. A golden cup in
my eyes—but so empty. Walking on the staircase
to heaven; a thousand steps away from paradise.

If I'm dying a night, let me die in paradise.
As with my resting eyes; I'll close them one last time,
and walk into that Light. Let me die in paradise.
Jul 2022 · 1.2k
Sinking head
Odd Odyssey Poet Jul 2022
To no fault of my own, the little I own
To the words that ask me to conform.
I feel so alone—in the deep chasms of a petrified soul.

An open door, shut by a closed mind to make a move.
Unwillingness of that to do.

Oh what a world to live in.
Searching, always seeking; in the depths be,
Of a tempestuous sea. I still can’t swim.

So comes that sinking feeling again. I’m sinking in
Deepest thought to the very END. My always sinking
HEAD. Especially when pride gave you a big head.
Jul 2022 · 560
Distance
Odd Odyssey Poet Jul 2022
120 miles away; at the speed of love close to decay.
And the sinner in, asks if you’re giving up that cake today.
I’m stuck in a parade, matching bands matching your
movements in those shoes. Revelry of gossip in front of friends
—excusing ourselves on calling it important news.

We’re no good, no good for each other.
But if we meet in Heaven, I might remind you how I was
once your lover.

The very first to add worth in your first kiss. To rest my
head besides your cheek. And finding it rude to call
you my chick, or to call you my b…

Still hard for me to say even in the things that past.
You could hate me more for knowing things wouldn’t last.
Staring at the half empty glass—filling ourselves on cheap laughs.
Cheap thrills, expensive meals on an empty pocket of a kid.

I was weird, I had a piece of a beard to appear grown.
The king of your heart, knowing Lucifer fell for trying to sit
on that wasn’t his throne. The crown turned into thorns.
I’ve been torn by unsaid words.

The unsaid truth, is I still love you now. But I’m foolishly
in love with a love long gone. 120 miles, so far away.
A distance so long.
Jul 2022 · 702
Fire🔥
Odd Odyssey Poet Jul 2022
To burn...in these echoes of warmth, the
warm regards, warmest hugs and a hello
of a long seen friend. Fires burns in my chest.

Till the face glows; in the light of a friendly
smile. We'll all be the stars under the sun,
deeming light of inspiration in their lives.
The lives of those lost in the dark—guide them
with your spark.

Soon my child...you'll find that match,
fuelling the already passionate flame of love.
To rest your burning eyes of desire on loving
your spouse by fireplace of your house.

We'll be dreaming of the stars set in our names,
searing the old till ash—enkindled in this hope
you'll find. The future is bright, at the end of the
tunnel is that shinning light. You've got the will
to survive. Keep up the good fight!

Blistering scars do come with time, in the degrees
of many scolding hurts. You were created well to
take the heat.

There's a fire in us all. A fire unlike no other,
there is a fire in us all. 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥
Jul 2022 · 410
The way of the world
Odd Odyssey Poet Jul 2022
Slit wrists, stained kisses; the night of young
and dark thoughts to succumb. All at once, was
dreaming so fun, before the nightmare of daily life.
Surpassing the intent of suicide, staring at that
knife in pen. Then again—ink bleeds out onto
the paper's spread. ~the dark thoughts of my head.

Where I'll lie, laiden on a maiden I'd want to kiss,
a girl to call a Miss. And a softer wall to my fist.
Knuckles cracked in two by the bone; the flesh torn
as I'm fighting my demons on my own. ~what's the score?

                                         10-0

Ten of the times I feel like a zero, in the eyes
of imagining myself a comical hero. I'm a villain;
self antagonist in doubting my potential. Eggshell
walking steps from taking a risk. ~a little too careful.

Mediocre—the media oak of it's power to grow
in longevity, endurance. Enduring the worst parts
of me—in a Hell pit swallowing me. The burn marks
of scratching shoulders of the crowd to acknowledge me.
To be called a young Prodigy; ~with great honesty.

But honestly; I'm waiting for things not seasoned
in the time. In the directionless ways of a life with
no signs, or boundary lines I haven't drawn.
Covering a heel to bites of snakes slithering on my lawn.
If I got a loan for a night's success, what would the
world want in return? ~hopefully not my soul.

All my confessions; these deep depressions,
counting out my sins with the fingers of my blessings.
Hoping they aren't lessin, in the world's quick call to
change, is to keep on weaponing. ~wars are all we know.

Even the ones we never fought. We've been taught
how to fight back before the fighting began. Perhaps
we try our best at fighting alone. ~that's the way of
the world.

Jul 2022 · 295
Love pencil
Odd Odyssey Poet Jul 2022
love; an essential
but only the brave do truly love themselves

love; those who hurt you, spoke ill of you
made them feel less of yourself

love; isn't written in pen but in part
what we draw out into a beautiful picture
—in the end of pencil.
Jul 2022 · 1.1k
[Falling sides]
Odd Odyssey Poet Jul 2022
As the stars aligned, in constant of a Moon.
The dancing oceans; twirling and twirling in circles.
Eyes focused—on the horizons of waking under new Sun.
Warm as the lips that kissed me with it's light.

I did have a question of...there being a life in between;
Settling on the grey areas that are non existent?

The answer...

Life is simple as black and white, darkness and light,
As there's only good and bad. We fall only on one side.

To fall in love: would it be a good, or a bad experience,
To fall into depression: to inspire courage, or fears of dark,
To fall back: avoiding rebellious conflict, or being too comfortable,
To fall asleep: in the rest of hard labour, or sleeping on our dreams,
To fall out: of those pulling us down, or those who value us,

We fall only on one side. Which side do I choose to fall?
Jul 2022 · 1.2k
Blade works
Odd Odyssey Poet Jul 2022
—an echo sword cuts through the sounds,
time is made of glass. Fragile as the brokenness
in pass.

—a dagger tilt into the chest. The very part,
where all sores dawn. Rising until you see
the pain appearing as heavy breathe.

—sheath; putting away sharp ends of past hurt.
Piercing deeply as longing to be free. The battle
is plenty, as the many who feel so alone.
You aren't the first!

In these blade works, working hard to survive,
on the killing of time. To bat an eye; swinging on
the looks of acting out of pride.

—it cuts anyone deeply, fighting to survive,
fighting in the many struggles of this LIFE.

Is it to hold a knife in defence, or attack,
the question of every human being.
Jul 2022 · 1.0k
Darling I love you.
Odd Odyssey Poet Jul 2022
Brush of grass,
the emptying winds of a clearing sky
I sit on my feet crossed under new Sun,
—a beautiful scene. Darling as you and I.

The first love,
best remembered that was found in youth
I covered you under the rest of my Love,
—a pillow covering. A trade of tooth.

Questing heroism,
searching for a knight of a tale of fairy
Dragons flaming voice he fights for a Princess,
—an expressive word. Impressions do vary.

So many ways to portray my love,
that of which strait tongue is narrow broken in two.
But in these complex feelings towards,
—I'll say it in simple. Darling I love you.
Jul 2022 · 1.1k
Love is in the air ☁
Odd Odyssey Poet Jul 2022
Heavy day shifts,
and comes the lonely night shifts.
Breathe the pheromones, the body tones,
ashes in a cloud—before we experience yesterday's rain.
Purest skins, and innocent eyes of the dirtiest brains,
thinking I'll do in myself, soon after doing you in.
Love has you sore in the chest; swept you swiftly with the
bruises on your knees.

Love is the air,
in the atmosphere of what we breathe daily.
Carelessly blowing in the wind; pieces stuck in your hair.
Like written messages on the wall, surrounding the
room's resting memories in crayon. You could count them all.
In deep chasms of emotions—I'm not only falling in love,
but also floating in the air. Love is the air.

It grips me by a click,
pointing at the sounds of my mouth without words.
Without too many girls, to express how I feel.
Or the dues to pay for new love experiences of someone
who could fit the bill.

She's in the air, along with the Heavens,
the birds and the bees. The mountain views, and the
closet reach I have to my dreams. Love is in the air,
but I wonder how far I'll have to jump to reach her,
(kiss her) My love remains stuck in the air.
Jul 2022 · 611
Just friends
Odd Odyssey Poet Jul 2022
I've never known how to romanticize,
so I just fantasize about you. In my dreams rules
a Queen~ she's decreed a picture into my eyes.
How your skin shines in the night; must be inner
beauty bright as your smile.

But how to put it all in words—like finding new
chords to a training song. I wonder if nowhere does
exist, and how far close to the edge are we close to
our love's end?

A descent into my descending thoughts;
downwards of all my hanging lows. Do bare with me
for being unlike those bare essentials...like yours.

I learnt to you love you quickly, soon after
cherishing you as a friend. With care, and trust
—in a world where the two are so rare.
I considered myself always there, as much I could.
Amongst dreadful woes, as an ear to your cries,
plunging into the seas of deep meaningful conversation.
I wiped those eyes, and comforted you in truth,
over the many lies.

I'd climb your mind, to measure distance of the sky
to prove your worth in timeless imaginings.
Let me remind you time and time again, constantly
—that you're a marvellous creation. I couldn't be your love,
but here I'll rest my loving affections as your family.
Jul 2022 · 1.2k
Transformation
Odd Odyssey Poet Jul 2022
Valleys turn into hills, hills into mountains
Life into time, time into sands we from,
drifting oceans of waves—waters of before,
clouds at first.

Crush into love, first kiss into memories,
memories become experience.
Experiences into story—stories into legend,
and those new legends to be born.

Loneliness into depression, expression out
of hurt. Hurt into echoing words, words immortal.

Must life be like the butterfly;
birth, caterpillar that grows,
cocoon~ hidden in the dark.
And of course the beauty at the end.

                                Life is transformation
Jul 2022 · 451
My love
Odd Odyssey Poet Jul 2022
My love, Our love,
chaos in calm whispers,
burning, yearning of that not.
A ringing bell, a belly full of butterflies,
both are only sombre, only as so holy to me.

My love, Our love,
tears young, the will not of our own,
The resting dreams of future; though the past brittle,
only a piece of the present held in the moment.

My love, Our love,
a force of the stars, a state of their decay,
Marvellous beauty implodes on itself,
so as I—prideful filled till death.
A man still a wreck, still a child,
****** to he's emotions; those first to be
expressed.

My love, Our Love,
tornado of words, hurricane of emotions,
I'm but a tree by the secrets of love
in their winds.
Summer's spring—my heart skips a beat
in the heat of the moment.

My love, Our love,
wild, free as wings stretched out to the skies,
A tender goodbye, by the end of the night.
Sweet lullaby; a resounding sound.
Orchestra of our love.

My love, Our love—Us.
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