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The Ragged Poet Nov 2017
Breathing in vain through these cold days of pain,
Of disdain, while this life gets completely stained.
All the red withdraws from the body without dread,
My head does not think and my heart is no friend.
I am just a dash of indifference parading in coherence,
With no particular semblance just perpetual transparence.
Don’t bother to comprehend me, for there is no way to amend
The undulating folds and bends. You shall never find a definite end!
The Ragged Poet Apr 2017
I felt a shimmering light a mile from where I was sitting.
It was the only thing that my eyes could feel.
As my gaze began to look into the light,
I saw my past crawl out of time.
My sight broke into fragments of images and sounds,
It was as though my past was calling me.
Almost as an ethereal being,
extending its arms towards me.
My pains and sorrows of the present diminished my sight,
And the hands moved closer and closer.
I stood there entranced,
Almost paralyzed.
Quite suddenly, I felt the hands of my past,
Reaching out to choke me.
It took a moment for fear to surge down my spine,
By that moment the light had gone off.
The hands vanished along with that mysterious time,
And there was darkness all around.
All except for the kindle in my mind,
Which made me realise the illusion cast by time.
Isn't a day time's greatest illusion?
The Ragged Poet Apr 2017
It’s happening all too fast, I must find a place to sit.
Entrapped within the strangest hour, I lie here divorced from sleep.
Thus plagued and miserable, life is excruciatingly nauseating.
Reacting transcendentally at the fear of turning ill, Firing up
The cauldron of insomnia, welcoming it to slaughter any rest.
Sleepless miseries fleeing in vain, in fleeting days so easily forgotten.
Muddled in a search to find quintessential moments, to etch some memories,
To find a beacon that saves the day, convincing me that there is meaning.

A pale dark sky, a fading moon shining for its final few hours.  
For what I see in these bounded moments is fated for an interminable end.
As I already know the hours will pass by, the sky will be gone, only I will remain.
Why is it that I am always out of time? As I do nothing and relentlessly wait.
Yet there is one comfort, one hidden hour which is now. As I feel unbounded,
Free, being able to write  and comfortably sigh. For this hour is solely mine.
In this hour I find some peace in thinking of you, I see you as I close my eyes.
The Ragged Poet Dec 2016
As I silently will to lie down and forget,
To delete things ringing, scattering above.
An unceasing noise is emanating from a bell.
As I await fatigue by what the evening promised,
I start shutting each window, and then every light.
Yet my eyes remain open, ever so wide
With slumber slowly fleeting my eyes,
Why is it that I am sleep deprived?
I hasten to question: “Am I high?”

It’s a wretched site, the breaking of dawn,
A constant reminder, of a battle daily lost.
I hope, still, and try to wield my exhaustion.
Would it not be simple for me to be able to write?
The fate of blinking, each and every shut-eye?
To escape reality and to command its return!
However, these are but my empty thoughts.
I burst obstinate from this miserable unrest.
I beg of you, do not pay this any mind!

“This mind of mine is severely plagued,”
As I say this I hear but only laughter.
Deranged voices from the callous-ignorant,
Unaffected, unmoved, and empathy-sans.
I sense myself conceding, losing yet another battle.
My sanity begins leaking, draining away
As the walls of reason begin closing inward,
I am coerced. “I am now a condemned man.”

Compelled to reconcile, I raise a white flag.
Proclaiming my insanity, this laughter begins to fade,
And a giant voltage surges through my brain.
I surrender my body and my tools of experience.
Anguish, fear and despair is all that I have left.
There still is no sight of sleep in my eyes.
Imagine the plight of a fatal insomniac,
Well, what is he if not simply a maniac?
I beg of you! Do pay heed to these manic cries.
The Ragged Poet Jun 2016
The night falls often, as she turns her back,
Her sun casts shadows, bleeding radiance.  
A second’s brevity is ignorantly understood,
And starts fleeting with her turning face.
Staying clear from the certainties that elapse,
Emerging discordant, in escaping lights

Seeking escape from the elegance in symmetry,
Contemplating, while never forgiving.
Bursting obstinate in all her resentment,
Childishly, the world darkens to hysteria.
Seeking another devilish eye, shining radiant,
Stopping only to gaze at the gleaming dazzle.
Coughing out promises in insincere words,
Wielding her in with an illusive wind.

The veil is cast; diamonds piercing inwards;
A stage of indifference is stubbornly forged.
Resolute, unaccepting to anything unpleasurable,
Desperately drenched, and intoxicated in search.
Walking endlessly on aching legs,
Gasping in and out of the houses of decadence.
Comparing insanities with estranged figures,
Unwillingly enraging the growing distortion.

Ceasing in exhaustion through misplaced exits,
The doors lead only to the roads that circle.
A giant sea appearing in recklessness,
Lost men and women, walking deranged.
Then the bodies tire, turn and fall,
Sinking in loss and fading remembrance.
The veil detaches, seeking the vulnerable,
And she struggles to break the anchor pulling down.

With another gasp, she suddenly awakens,
She stares at the sun, and fails to forget.
Overcome in a daze, which causes her to cringe,
And then paralyzing her every attempt to change.
She sits idly by awaiting subsequence,
A different night? another wail?
The Ragged Poet Mar 2016
Striking through a cloud of void,
Before my eyes, strange and misty.
The walls between the shimmering notes,
Like an image of my heart thumping.

A raging fire is caged within.
Trapped in a cauldron, it tries to escape.
Growing, shriveling, deceiving my eyes
With a subtle burn. It injects agonies.

As I turn my face from this raging fire
It shatters immediately; light breaking against me.
Transcending into a million pieces,
With noises turning into slithering whispers.

The raging fire only grows and ignites a familiar taste.
And there is darkness all around now.
Warped visions start bursting out of phase
As this lattice of thought disturbs me. How?

Between the raging fire and the surrounding void.
I begin to see strange things of manner absurd.
Time moves in circles above
As the shadows shift inside a glove.

This raging fire captivates me. I start falling.
I look up and I see, once more, this lattice of thought.
These visions from time elapsed begin calling
While gently transforming into clear sight.

The raging fire starts to swallow,
I close my eyes and let my heart frighten.
Pulling me down, with a touch I reminisce;
Is this really me? Am I really so hollow?
The Ragged Poet May 2015
Oh, Tangerine do stop by,
Help me **** the fleeting time.
The bitterness keeps peeling,
Bleaching me in every bite.
My dented undulating heart,
Bleeds the very orange.

My heart was once young as well,
It soared over life's boughs.
It dazzled over a grassy hill,
Brighter than the midday sun.
Even with the obscuring clouds,
Which kept the blowing winds to shun.

As the evening did spring,
The hill began to swallow.
My heart seemed to color,
Fondling orange with yellow.
Climbing up, this mellow girl.
Had her eyes on my heart.

As she began walking closer,
The rattling wind left it shaking.
But as the breeze blew away,
My heart’s rind felt her touch.
While her eyes kept staring,
Picked me out into her boughs.

The rattling wind did stop,
And I felt I was still shaking.
Her bright shining eyes though,
Seemed too piercing to be true.
In a seasoned moment,
Her grip began to tighten.

Comfort felt crushing now,
And the shaking continued on.
My heart to her open mouth,
As she took my heart, it feared.
But she stopped only to smile,
And threw it down the grassy hill.

And I say to my Tangerine,
My beating heart, come back.
Desolating me on the hill,
The bitterness hurts even more.
Time has fleeted the hourglass.
So my Tangerine do return.
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