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Adrian Alberts Aug 2016
Hooks of bone
A canvas of skin
Frames the gift box
Our souls hang in

From the mind
Our emotions walled
Brushed to the surface
When hearts are called

A picture equates
To a thousand words
But few words, if great
Renders all pictures blurred
Adrian Alberts Jun 2016
My thoughts
like the guts of a jellyfish
Swirl under a fragile sheath
that is my stare

From dormant tick
to fortified tock,
time has had its hands full with me
For silenced words only fester
within the absence of light

Soon I will take my wounds, my scars
and cast them out to be
To dance among the waves
of my tongue
and sting who they may

How I will embrace their sharp return...

To rip this placenta of pain
dawning a coma white
that expends yet again
Adrian Alberts May 2016
Poetry is just scratches on paper
forming dramatic words
by an overemotional character

Poetry is certainly
not a pen that digs trenches
for the blue blood to follow
draining a soul to a sterile existence

Who Needs Poetry Anyway?

Poetry is all
roses are red
violets are blue
blah, blah, blah
I'm so in love with you

Nobody cares about books
Notice how the poetry section
in the bookstores continue
to diminish with every look?

Poetry is certainly not as profound
as the inert words
lay gutted by the rapper
which boasts his materialistic empire
that his target audience consumes
yet cannot honestly digest

And you'll find the album
in an abundant display
set in the center of the bookstore

Who Needs Poetry Anyway?

Poetry is just something studied
from history books to obtain credit
A time before the internet
and a true social status
Before days rapt in vanity

Poetry is certainly not a self sacrifice
to explore the wilderness of the heart
and the shutters to the mind
An outlet to tread another day

Who Needs Poetry Anyway?
Adrian Alberts May 2016
And in the night
We danced among the dead
Our feet moved swift
The strike of a match on its head
The Earth, black with dew
Whistled for me and you

We drank under the moonlight,
Velvet and pearl
And put ourselves to rest
Upon engravings of the past

Death never felt closer
And as we woke in the birth of dawn
Our passions were remembered
By the traits of the moist cement
That so generously scuffed our skin
Adrian Alberts May 2016
It happened in the 50's.

Nineteen year old **** stars
Drive to the edge of the city
In hopes to lure a cheerleading ******
Onto their prize list
Of testosterone driven pilgrimages

Girls would fault hearts
Rapt in their own justifications

It happened in the 50's.
Adrian Alberts May 2016
The consumption of your confessions
Makes haste for heavy storms
Shall we not lift these shadows
Which were derived
By the lies of darkness?

Have they not been told enough
That the light which guides the universe
And all that dwell within belong to you?

Does not your hand nor lips
Feed for the touch which you inspire?

What shame to I
For closing my eyes so tight
When under the arms that ease me!

There is no mending
For this bleeding heart...
The depth of my love
A thousand oceans
And I have forever
Been pulled by the tide
Adrian Alberts May 2016
With you I share
This special key
To open doors inside of me

Whether we're close
Or far apart
You'll have a place
Within my heart

For the future
Present and past
This key portrays
Moments to last

Now everyday
You wear this key
You'll feel our love
Faithfully
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