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Sam Manfre Aug 2019
Oh Death!
Adjust your curtain
for the blaze of divine love
tore down your roof and shutters.
Now it leaks through the cracks of your ancient home.
Oh Death!
Alas, I am unhindered by your crushing gaze
and I could finally look forward
to the almighty force that bears no heart.
But a pair of arms
guiding us to worlds untouched by epitaphs and tolling bells.
Oh death!
Where do you maintain the upper hand?
When may you ever lead a victory march?
Where my grave lies
does not lie the truth.
Yet the proof,
of a life spent loved
of a garden which flowers have bloomed
of a lion who has bared its roar.
BTWALLTL PAGE NINE
Sam Manfre Aug 2019
Do birds know when they are flying?
Do their sparsely feathered wings lighten as they ascend?

Do streets know they are driven down?
Do they brandish the slick tracks in which they are garnished?

Do the people begin to enjoy the domestic and mundane
when they notice the ancient man of death trotting down the road?
As he listens to their grunt work,
as he whistles to their boredom.

Do they awake and long to rest once more?
Or do they get up and sit with the day,
upon catching the glimpse of unceasing silence?

Do we focus on the end as we partake in the beginning?

Do birds know when they are flying?
Do their beaks warm under the midday sun?
Or are they facedown,
their only care with where they land?

Do they appreciate the flight?
Or upon resting do they look up once more,
longing for the wind to braid through their feathers
as they explore their miraculous sky?
BTWALLTL PAGE EIGHT
Sam Manfre Aug 2019
White lamb
even after herding you in,
as you slink through murky puddles of sleep;
you follow me through the night.
Making earnest promise to reconcile at dawn.
White lamb
even after herding you in,
I ponder why you follow me down every street.
You trot by my side.
Obedience, loyalty, gripping.
I never knew a kiss I daresay more binding.
You’ve set me aside from the others, making me your truth.
White lamb
even after herding you in,
I am speechless.
Your love gazes only at me while the drums bang on.
Frenzied by our pasture,
our laughs,
our time.
BTWALLTL PAGE SEVEN
Sam Manfre Aug 2019
I cast my eyes to her sleeping waters.
the water goes up to my knees
and offers a gentle caress as I tread towards the mainland.

I lay among her brown sugar sand and let out a sigh.
My troubles leer over the hill,
frolicking and dancing to celebrate the sun rising once more.
All the ready to wheel me away from her bay
and onto theirs.

She smiles in her sleep 
and it makes me dive in once more.
It makes me press my lips to the water.
Everything we are and everything we can be 
Afloat.
And maybe it makes me even more of a fool,
but I cast my eyes to her sleeping waters
and leave my mind in bed with her.
BTWALLTL PAGE SIX
Sam Manfre Aug 2019
Who am I?
Just a romantic with an agile tongue.
To claim to relish the gusts of change
but flee to sandbanks when the winds knife at my neck.

To claim to purge during the ****** of a storm
but arm myself and take shelter
when the rain trembles down my window.

The twists and spirals of fate
lure my anchors of confidence from immobility.
Down
down
down
they go ricocheting from impulse to impulse.

Like a train muffled by distance,
change always lurks even if you’re not there on the tracks.

Change is the master,
while love and death are mere students.

Love the mother.
Cradling you at her breast,
blurring the face of death
with midnight kisses and a lover’s sword.

Death the father.
Cradling you by the last color to be seen,
allowing it to be your final applause.

Change the conquerer,
change the constant.
BTWALLTL PAGE FIVE
Sam Manfre Aug 2019
Like ancient debris floating among the ocean,
I lay on my back and become one with the tide. 
Pulling me in and and pushing me out,
like an indecisive tango.
The Miami sun granting my flesh scattered tan lines,
making me appear as a discarded flag.
Saturated black nests behind my eyelids.
Water worms up my nose and I fall from space. 
I stand now;
reality loud and abrupt like a dog had barked in my face.
People. 
Beach. 
Vacation. 
Yes, of course.
I felt like an alien then,
but I looked just like everyone else.
All of us softened by silent understanding.
A sense of self-awareness follows me back to my pompous beach umbrella.
Behind my shadow tags along even envy. 
The hideous emotion flares up that much more when the ocean stares back at me.
Calmly, confidently, knowingly.
Still one, still complete, still final.
BTWALLTL PAGE FOUR
Sam Manfre Aug 2019
I shamefully tuck my guts back into their holsters
and look into the mirror,
which bears the reflection of dimming boldness.
Definitive tears
speak more for myself than my caustic mouth ever could.

I feel like an exposed piece of meat.
Pre cauterized
and plucked out of the red and blue
to wallow in ashen greyness.

I feel like an exposed piece of meat.
Behold! I’ve shouted my truth,
yet stale tears lay ungrateful on my crimson cheeks
failing to see I have jumped off the brink.
Failing to see I have fled to barren land where all that is
is all there is.

I sit under the waterfall of my wrath,
as a vampire with a guiltily full belly.
I feel like an exposed piece of meat.
My words and tears have shone too bright
and now the temple has burned down,
thus leaving behind all the hidden riches.
Alas, hidden no longer.
Twinkling and uncloaked
there and heard.
BENEATH THE WOMAN A LOVE LETTER TO LIFE PAGE THREE
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