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 Aug 2020 A W Bullen
Yenson
Its better to milk a fallacy
for all its worth
than admit the truth and own ones stupidity
for the last things
weak fragile egos need
especially when dealing with proven talent
is confirmation that they are indeed
worthless
fake it, twist it, roll it, jack-knife it
hide it, gloss it, turn it, smoke it
anything anyway way
but just do not admit the facts of truth
they can't take it, no no no no
they can't lose face when they've already lost face
 Jul 2020 A W Bullen
Dema
The Moon
 Jul 2020 A W Bullen
Dema
From heaven hangs a lonely branch,
And hidden from the city eyes,
Dangles a fruit from paradise.

The world, a noisy avalanche,
is blinded to the breathless sight.
Forbidden fruit asway at night.

From heaven flees a silver chain,
So intricate a work of art.
So jealous were the shining stars.

And people, with their broken brains,
saw not the jewel, saw not the spark
at the chain’s end to mock the dark.

From heaven, weary from its bliss,
sneaks a seraphic orb, a guest,
to keep our foolish lovers blessed.

And I can never dream to miss
his face when surly he descends.
We spill our hearts till the night ends.
I turn out the light
And my room grows hushed
Like an audience that has come far
And braved the weather.
Then I hear what sounds like angels' strings
And there is singing
Your voice, softly at first
Like snowflakes on a window
Clearer now, a morning star
And it is your music
Stepped out of the firelight
Danced out of this world
And taking me with it.
 Apr 2020 A W Bullen
CarolineSD
Where will I ever lay this love down
Like the mist above the mountains
That gathers and suspends within the waking sky
Until at once
The sun rises
And it falls
Like a child into her mother’s arms?

And the valleys
They rest
Quiet and calm
Sheltered within the soft fingers of a curling fog

And my heart
Is just like that

Heavy with the condensation of love

Held aloft by a darkness that refuses to rise
Thirsty for the first faint tendrils of light

That I may then, finally,
Release this love
And let it lie

Down

Thick and soft and warm,
Curled around the valleys

Of a heart
Like my own.
On the edge of autumn,
I see the sky and trees all
ablaze with color.
I can still smell the
smoldering fires of fierce youth,
when the landscape of my
heart was wild;
a wilderness that wouldn't
be tamed.
But I'm afraid that
old age has quenched my
thirst for adventure.
Even my poems have lost their teeth.
Gone are my scabbed up knees and
swords made out of sticks.
No beautiful maidens to rescue;
Just constipation to overcome;
as I listen to the
ticking of the clock.
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