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  Jan 2017 Allen Robinson
Rapunzoll
my mother always said
"don't fall in love with a poet"
they pretend to love you
but what they really love
is writing about loving you
you are mere words to them
feelings cheapened by a page,
dusty grey typewriters,
and many unfinished drafts
of lovers both old and new,
you are the question mark,
but not the answer,
they are searching for ?
person unidentified: mystery
the page wanderer,
each poem a missing
person poster to cover their
bedroom walls.
they cannot love something
that is in their head
poets are the loneliest of
all people, my mother said.
they write to immortalize
what has long passed.
to live within their words,
but not reality,
lost souls writing suicide notes
and proclaiming it art.
© copyright

NOTE: i've noticed people sharing this to other sites without having spoken to me about it beforehand, I do not give permission for this and all poems are copyright, keep this in mind.

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my mother never actually said this to me, but i figure i'll probably end up saying it one day if i have children.

it's pessimistic yes, but i know there are exceptions. please don't take to heart. it's more a criticism of myself than all poets. :)
  Jan 2017 Allen Robinson
Pax
1%
There's something about
Love that you
wouldn't
know.
×
if 99%
of your life
ends up
in failure
that 1%
of luck
for love
is enough
to rebuild
yourself.
I guess in my file i never got that 1%, one of the reason why i wrote "unlucky". I think its enough for me to say this hypothesis. My failures are always on a safe distance to be okay, so even though this is just an observation, i still think 1% though very small, its enough for a person to stay tough and move through to life and love. Thanks for reading.
  Jan 2017 Allen Robinson
r
Love is a word
like a sword
that has worn
out its scabbard,
a lonely *******,
or a red rose
that opens alone,
a dream that lingers
for too many seasons
and passes in the shadows,
furrows in the dust
on a bannister,
a rock in the garden
of lust,
an empty place
at a table,
a ring on a cobweb
in the rain,
a long hair on your bed,
a nail in a blank wall.
Allen Robinson Jan 2017
Breaking Oppressive Chains
in ones mind can be paradoxical
Holding back ourselves from
moving forward in one accord
We act political and self serving
and yet priorities fall short
A puzzle to be sure and we
take for granted the minute
details to steady the ship.
Allen Robinson Jan 2017
Like any other day
I awake to give thanks
All senses and limbs
in complete tact
ever GRATEFUL I am
Seeking the meaning
of my existence on
this complex rock
I ponder all things
large and small
Limited in my slumber
time passes swiftly
supported by my
blood shot eyes and
semi-weary body.
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