A toast to vicissitudes
That turn the tides of ones will to live
Let us revel in debauchery
And all that is self-deprecating
Prompting grandiosity and delusional accusations
From all that are looking in from the outside
For there are blank faces in public spaces
who can never simply feel content to just be
Fathomless fates from the freezer
Awaits all those who stray from Frey
A festal procession leads the congregation to
Perdition and soon complacency will follow too.
Predisposed to a predilection
for the neglect to has come before.
Effectuating apathy with every day that passes
Am I forsaken to be eternally ****** to the void?
3 A.M. tears float in the air
Like the somber fall of autumn leaves
Under Atlantic sea breezes
Whose siren songs lead them astray
From the sweet release of slumber
3 A.M. tears irrevocably eloped with depression
Oh sweet mistress of the night grant me
Safe passage through your troubled waters
I don’t think I have it in me to have 4 A.M. tears
3 A.M. tears are the sea that which I am sailing
My sails are tattered and taciturn and interlaced
With enigmatic prayers for help.
4 A.M tears when will Poseidon listen to me
Do all my prayers go un-answered
I have drifted far from the shore
I am unsure of how to navigate back
I am lost to 3 A.M tears
To me you were extra ordinary
To you I was a temporary nothing
Loyal with the morals of man
I was dying to try you
I wish we could be more than friends
Before summer ends
You are ever so callow and shallow
I mustn’t wallow
I shall no longer dwell
Consider this my farewell
Deep in a fox hole
Orange and Black intertwine
Hands dashing to be clasped
Wet noses longing for a warm winter
Ever flowing skies of gray and red
Paint the trail ahead of summers end
Ravens roost low
On fragrant cypress knees
Preening each other
For the nights to come
luminous bursts of lightning light our
flight path towards southern warmth
Loyal with the morals of man
Have you heard about the fox?
I abhor what will become of me
in the belly of depression
irrevocably subservient and malleable to
The sweet mistress of sorrow
Her sweet and succulent kiss
Holds me hostage against
My worst impulses
Somehow as I learned how to speak, I lost my voice.
Somehow as you taught me to love, I lost my heart.
Somehow as I stayed up for days, I was well rested.
Somehow as you held me in bed, I was so restless.
Somewhere is where I want to be, I was found
Somewhere is where you met me, I was lost.
Somewhere is where I cried, I was happy
Somewhere is where you found love, I was angry
Something is what I needed, I had everything.
Something is what you gave me, I had nothing.
Something is what I hated, I loved.
Something is what you are, I hated.
Someone is all I am, I know
Someone is what you want, I forgot.
Someone is what I need, I am not wanted
Someone is what you are, I want you.
Our tongue-tied minds are
interlaced with the heat of the moment
Fill my mouth with your saliva and
be pleasured by the roiled and rolled ridges of my tongue.
Thoughts dripping through my teeth, Unable to speak them
As her warm breath burns gently into my skin
Her tongue dances between each thought
Hearts palpitating for the next sentence
Drowning in her saliva, choking on paragraphs
That have yet to be moisten by her
Tell me you love me
I laid listening to rapid music.
A flow of gothic fusion,
refusing the lull of that to reuse it.
This is the great illusion,
a hero to them of mass confusion.
The myth and curse of ******,
a high with little need of intrusion.
Introducing the conclusion,
scarecrow thin self-satisfied skeleton.
Because the ego needs no bone with marrow in.
I stopped waiting for reciprocation that would never arrive,
I stopped leaving the doors open for you when we left,
I stopped letting others give me the purpose you
Enigmatic locks of brunette hair let out a cathartic release
Now watch as the man flees with the upmost glee
As he is faced with emerald gazes
Fear Fear L
Fear Fear o
Not of the reaper but which was sown
Of ones own ilk.
Envy a Envy
Even Narcissus was brought down
In a pool of his own grandiosity
Doubt No more
From my throne, I gaze at her
In our busy kingdom, I only look for her;
From my throne, I listen to her songs
It sounds likes the choir singing;
From my throne, I read her poetry
Her words paint pictures that no artist could paint;
From my throne, I see her weep
It feels as if my first born son has died;
From my throne, I love her
Even though, I am afar up in my palace;
From my throne, I feel as if she is my wife
Even though, we are not wed locked in holy matrimony;
From my throne, I cast many stones
Even though, her house is made of glass;
From my throne, I fall
Even though, I have wronged I hope she catches me.
When I was Five,
My mother told me I was loved
Years later, she loved me with her fists
For I was the vessel for her to re-enact the scars left by her step father.
When I was Ten,
My Foster Father told me I was the son he never had
Years later, I was the son he never wanted
As my “Real” Family was weeds to be pulled from his garden.
When I was Fifteen,
My friends told me I was there for them.
Years later, they would all abandoned me in my time of need.
What a Gullible and Naïve teenager I was for thinking friendship was a two way street.
When I was Twenty,
The love of my life, Told me that I was worthy of love
Years later, she would tell me that I was un-lovable
What a fool I was to over look my obvious character flaws.
So, I’m sorry for not having faith in us,
For doubting your intentions, endlessly questioning you
When you told me that you wanted to marry me because
I didn’t want it to wind up years later.
The warmth of your body next to mine
Unaltered and ever present to my own
To lay here simply yearning for an almost
Infinite supply of time to spend on each other
Like the hopeless dreaming of how they
Are to spend lotto winnings not yet won
We mustn't wither away among frivolous
Thoughts of time we have yet to spend.
When the hands of the clock have arthritis
hours cease to exist.
The past is not to last
Nor is the future the cure to our ails
Your nails look awfully like the time
Slipping through our clasped hands
My future is built upon the sand,
Foundations that cannot stand alone.
Apologies that go unsaid
Lies that are nearing truth
A nervous tremor veiled by a graceful smile
The ground quivers with anticipation
Plows steadfast in their work
Create furrows of hope
A taciturn demeanor broken
By the most mundane of small talk
Joyous laughter erupts over the nourishment of minds
Thoughts racing ever so faster for the next words to say
We walk for hours through the field that which we plowed
Planting vibrant blue seeds as they go
Not thinking of what the rest
Of the day holds.
Reaping the euphoria
That which we sowed in the midst of of anticipation
As the warm orange Florida harvest sun begins to set
Thoughts of tomorrow begin to form in the young man's mind
The field is barren from the harvest yet the soil remains fertile
For many more soul sustaining crops to be planted
The ground no longer shakes with nervousness
The ground blossoms with passion
The longing touches us
Infinitely deep and familiar.
Your hot breath
burns gently into the skin.
Do not think tomorrow,
If you hope to leave.
Secretly and silently,
The wind carries us along .
Secure in ourselves,
Trust is formed without a wors
We are driving,
Endlessly into the night.
Close your eyes.
Let yourself fall, I'll catch you.
Only once and forever,
Come with me.
Do you wish to feel my last breath?
Take it and be its vagabond.
Sigh to know it's accomplished, will you let me leave?
Allow me to walk with the cold in cloak.
All of you, I smile to.
taking of needs, wants, and wishes,
simply to forget they were pieces of life,
never returned or acknowledged.
May I rest in an empty urn,
These aches are old and I want them as memory.
To an unnamed do I speak now to,
may I look to you, may I die in love?
Do not fret, for I’m no Tyrant.
Nor, am I a Liberator
I’am, the path for which you seek.
Do, you care to see it?
I can not mend wounds, for I’m not a Healer.
Nor, am I a tormentor.
I’am the vision, that you dream of.
Do, you care to hear it?
I can not forge steel, for I’m not a Blacksmith
Nor, am I a saboteur
I’am, the unity of which you desire.
Do, you care to taste it.
I can not be wise, for i’m not a Guru.
Nor, am I a apprentice.
I’am that of which is void.
Do, you care to feel it.
Beauty blinds the eye
Kind words deafen the recipient
Sweetness numbs the taste
Sensation paralyzes touch
The grotesque expands vision
Hate speech amplifies thoughts
Bitterness broadens the tongue
Hedonism frees ****** tension
You musn’t not control
Be supple as a newborn
This simple wisdom is flow
Like the widest of rivers
Carning not of the next bend to come
Not resisting allowing the water to pass
Be the river and all things are possible
I speak to you as a blade of grass,
Or another cloud in the sky.
A grain of sand in the hourglass,
That counts the days 'til I die.
I am blade of grass,
Tread upon by your feet.
So small in mass,
Without even a heartbeat.
I am a cloud in the wind,
Gazed upon by your focused eyes.
I could only look as you grinned,
You face so young, yet your mind so wise.
I am a grain of sand in the hourglass,
That casually blends with the others.
Though my heart is fragile like glass,
It reflects the light in many colors.
Blind to it, you slip away,
Falling quickly from my grasp.
Everything I do or say,
Loosens reality's clasp.
Rice is thrown from the pews
Flowers are embroidered upon the
Faces of those who stare at the stage
Mustn't we not decry departure
Are we to lay idly by
**** goes astray
Speak, for you have a voice.
My fate was a blank page,
paper can be so patient,
awaiting the description of life,
to flow simply onto it.
Awaiting to be encumbered,
By the burdens of verse,
Only to be brought down,
By a simple spill of ink.
Ink stains the paper
like tattoos scar the skin.
Am I truly blank
If i’m covered in ink?
Thoughts of you fill
every facet of my inkwell.
Every, stroke of the quill
resembles your warm touch,
Each, verse mimics your
this collection of stanzas,
reflect your empathy.
This poem is about
the joining of two souls.
will tell the story of us.
String like vapors move erratically
With the slightest quiver of joy
Woven and interlaced with the
Most benign thoughts of petulance
Deep and warm purple crystalline
Structures jutting out from the ceiling
Beckoning sorrowful emotional
Tapestries of childhood terrors
Immense crystal looms ever so fast
To increase productivity thinking not
Of domestic market forces let us set
Forth to foreign ports in distant waters
Exporting fear is the name of the
Game we play as we idly lay about
In lukewarm blankets that cover us
With layers of facades sprinkled with hope
The internal placebo is passed off as truth
The external stitching is connected with
Saturnine fibers of immense darkness
A duality is lost to a perpetrator that is long gone
The fabric of time remains in the past
Unable to think of the prosperity to be had
Washed out and faded the vibrancy flows
Out his sore blistered blood drenched hands
Onto the floor where the old one would knit
Quilts of silk and iron to protect the boy
From the assailant that bends bones and thought
No longer armed with the quilt that once preserved
The boys sanguine esque demeanor
He lurks in the low places for a crone
That he can call upon to be his tailor of wards
Alas, that which is seeked is found
An opaque tri-color cloth made of a liquid
Unknown to me appears and whispers
Sounds of the great blue oceans of afar
It sings the song of greenest meadow
It mumbles the laughter of the reddest of deserts
The voices stitch together a fleece of gold
To be worn by the man troubled with neurosis
Omitted from thought the man is colorfully liberated
— The End —