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Leng Jul 2023
Sitting on a wooden stool with a sunflower, pulling the petals wondering if I should love again or should I not.
Asking this simple object a question that has caused the rumblings in my mind to bang against my skull.
I should love again.
Love fills me with hopes and dreams that the white picket fence is no longer just an old romantics imaginary scenario.
That it doesn't just slip through my fingers when I try to drink from its divine essence,
Quenching the thirst of butterflies in my stomach with every passing thought.
I should not love again.
Eventually the love flies away when the cocoon is ready to break after taking everything that I have offered.
Flying eastward, westward, or upward. Wherever you're not.
Dragging your heart through the mud, ****, and kicking dust hoping that it'll soon be over but its shadow follows my every step, constantly reminding me of what once was or will never be.
Give me respite or give me death.
If Death is ready to receive me with a loving embrace, perhaps I can find the warmth I've been constantly seeking atop its White Horse which will carry me beyond the borders of long forgotten stars.
Hope you all like it.
Leng Apr 2023
I feel winter's grasp around the very being of my soul.
It twists and turns with a desperation and tenacity that uncouths my being.
Trying to squeeze out any pulp or sustenance whenever it's convienent.
Although already spoiled and soured and bitter, it must'nt stop for there has to be more.
There's always more to take, even if all the lemons are gone.
Go farther into the roots, tap into the sap that runs along its trunk and branches.
Life has given me lemons so why not take every single one of them for a glass of lemonade?
My leaves turn yellow with fear but I must continue to keep giving.
To keep producing lemons, to keep the leaves green.
For if I can't anymore then what is my use? Where shall I quench my thirst?
The gardener who provides water and shelter shall surely cut down my tree if it no longer provides and only takes space.
But what is a lemon tree to demand such intricacies?
Haven't written poems in a few years. Wrote this and tweaked it a little within 40-45 minutes. Hope you like it.
Leng Feb 2018
And so it begins,
Like a wispful waste in the wind.

It begins to tear and grind me down to nothing but a pulp of a mind,
Nothing connected or healed, only beated and untwined.

I begin to sense the depths of my perception become foolish,
With a darkish grin to rule with.

Shaking, trembling with every step I walk,
Yet I know not.

My mind tells me that it's THE END,
The INEVITABLE END.
I can feel it's seductive claws pull me into the abyss. Believing its words.

Darker and darker I begin to reside, I begin to fall like a raindrop on a stormy night.

Only, the sun isn't going to come out nor will the night end, my wills bend.

I can feel a fade become bigger, and seepin in is shadows that surrounds.

Oh my, what a sickening insightful time.
Leng Dec 2017
So I walk this salted Earth,

Making sure these craters are heard and observed.

As they've bursted into flames at the seams of the end,

Hoping not to quake its fragile surface once again.

Broken crystalline structure with its municipal feat,

Finding trouble making end to end meet.

Making the tied obsolete,

As souls and spirits are reaped.
Leng Dec 2017
And my words were like water which spilled through each crevice,

The starving thirst of need for an understanding as your own,

Felt through the gullet of self-hatred and intense guilt,

For the waters of love came but only in drops like rain on a cloudy afternoon,

Mis-used and misinterpreted as a hurricane which swept its path and stripped everything naked,

As the passionate, ***** creation replaced that of a scarred and battered young hopeful,

Continuously dreaming of a calm moon and soothing stars in wake.
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