The sun comes up each morning
Every time the same
Yet it is so beautiful
Waves roar almost on repeat
Only subtle are the differences
Though it easily draws me in
Clouds drift in the sky at such a slow pace
Having little care for shape or form
But can entertain humans for generations
Why am I so worried?
Anyone will do
Any touch could be love
Any whisper, your name
I think I’m beginning to understand relationships that grow real quick
Catch me a body
Give me a vessel
One that I can deposit in for future savings
My safety net
My last call
My first account for the day
Tonight I realized
I wouldn’t hear your voice again
Your tongue will speak but
It’s heart shall be of another
There will be no more familiarity
No backdoors to my soul
All because of a choice
First of yours, now mine
I must choose
To avoid temptation
Keeping my door shut
And avoid standing by yours
There is more that I feel
But I won’t deposit more in you
Love, four letters. How many words can be four letters?
Four letters to lead woman pregnant.
Four letters short of proud, regretted.
Four letter adjective miracle to earth.
Four letters added to she, rebirth.
The numbers game got lame it's gain was vain and plain insane no stain on Name.
1, like the ultimate golf swing.
1, second beating the buzzer.
1, master stroke, Picasso.
1, up beat frown on Model.
Need my pain be so dramatic? Why oh soul, are you downcast within me. Rejoice and delight in salvation.
I can’t fully remember why I wrote this or what feeling drove it, but it’s here
11 comes 12, then 1 for a new rotation
a fresh start too close to previous victory
"This is what you're made for !
Only you predict the sun"
yet here is the heresy
the sun will only be measured
as a cup is filled to brim
and when each value is tested and weighed
small gold surpasses tin
so when a watch serves its one purpose
who determines its value?
Prisoners can serve one purpose
as leaders do the same
What makes them separate?
What dictates gain?
Condemnation without future reconciliation is too much for humans to bear. I think we’re designed for more than this
A picture paints a thousand words.
Why won’t you stop shouting?
I’m already close.
My stimulus can’t take it.
I wanted to finish each line rather than have them continued as part of the metaphor.
Sometimes in the pursuit of expression or content, I lose track of what is now. I’d much rather be able to accept it