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 Aug 2014 Carm Carnes
Revenant
Electricity doesn't fly off of your fingers and rip it's way into the bones of mine.
Your hands are worn and clammy, instead.
I don't feel a deeper meaning when you stare into my eyes like a cat before he pounces.
I feel a longing for understanding, and a desire for comfort and solace in the anonymity of a breath of fresh air; in a new, and perhaps forgettable face.
Trust to care for valuable possessions doesn't translate to "friend"-- especially in such a finite amount of time.
Yet, there's something in the tone of your chicken fried, velvet chocolate voice that tells me otherwise.
Perhaps I am a challenge; an intellectual conquest.
Never the matter, something is brewing,
and I want a sip.
At five, A prisoner of his own home.
At fifteen, A prisoner of his own mind.
At seventeen, imprisoned. Because the world's not always kind.
Born to be a prisoner.

"how sinister.
you know they don't have feelings.
"
give them nothing extracurricular.

Then we'll put them in a rubber room,
when they start talking to their ceilings.

Tell them, they can not touch their visitor.
Tell them, this will teach them to be a better listener.

Forced, to give them free food so you make it taste like vinegar.
make them feel worthless because they're a Criminal
A Prisoner.

"You may not touch your Visitor"
You may not hold your baby sister"

We'll give you cable and free meals.
Just not at your family table.
No one cares how the young man feels.
He's a criminal.
A prisoner.

© copyrighted Nicole Ann Osborn
We are always competing
Albeit we forget with whom
Become better than yourself
Comparison is futile exercise
Exhausting the minds ability
To be at peace with oneself
Knowing oneself is true philosophy
 Aug 2014 Carm Carnes
Ryan Cripps
The artist picked his inspiration.
The artist found his muse.
He fell in love with her,
But his love was refused.

Until he painted a picture so beautiful
She shed the tears of love.
He need speak no words
Through the painting she would blush.

She was a permanent solution
To a problem many artists face.
He had a troubled life,
And she put him in his place.

Their love was natural,
Their love was pure.
She too had a disease,
But he was the cure.

She would stare into his hazel eyes,
While he stared back into her blues.
It wasn't but three months,
Before they said “I do”.

The touch of her lips
Felt like heaven in his hands,
They would lock lips
For hours on end.

Her hands brought comfort,
Her smile brought joy.
She was so desirable
She was like Helen of troy.

Once dark paintings he made,
Now make the saddest person smile.
He developed a sense of positivity
It became his well known style.

But life is not a happy story,
It has no happy end,
Misery accompanies joy,
They're like two best friends.

The love was still there,
But only in his brain.  
She wanted out,
No matter the pain.

She packed up and left,
Leaving nothing behind.  
While he went out for flowers
To bring back to his lovely wife.

No note was written,
No trace of where she'd gone.
He waited for days,
Wondering what he did wrong.

They say real men cry,
So he must be the manliest of men
He felt his heart break,
And his brain snap from its stem.

He trashed his house,
He trashed his paintings.
He punched the walls
And his body began shaking.

He stabbed his work
He screamed to the sky
He fell to his knees
And began to cry.

From that day forward
He remarried to *****.
He was never a winner,
He was always meant to lose.

Once a popular painter
Because of his happy work,  
Now only paints sadness
Like he did before he found her.
I kind of like this one, but I kind of don't. Let me know what you guys think. I always appreciate your criticism :)

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You are here.
But my gaze is a million miles away.

The room is silent.
But you look at me so loudly

I can practically hear you screaming
For me to stay .

The water is rising .
threatening to cross the brim to my cheek

But I keep the  flood at bay.
Watching ships sail .

The farther they get the slower my heart.
I can't live this way.
I'll never come back
I remember when you told me to
let it go
The words slipped out of your mouth but never did you let pride slip out of your fingers
I know, because every syllable still stings
The surface of my heart.

Mr. Building, you let go.
Allow the wind to blow against your hair and
create wrinkles on your clothing
But never let it
Knock the dreams right out of you
Because
I believe in them and never will I
Even stutter those words to you
le-le-let
Me take your hand and help you carry those burdens
Don't ever drop your ceramic hope,
Cling on to your glassy aspirations because dreams
Are made of fine china
So precious
So fragile
So so so beautiful
Please don't let  your chin fall to the ground.
Lift yourself up,
Because the world deserves to see
How tall He's built you
But prove to them
That when the earthquake comes,
You height's got nothing on your
Foundations.
And if telling me to let it go
Is to break me back into concrete,
Powder,
Cement,
Then by all means demolish these
Stories and hammer through these
Crevasses
Because every broken window
Is worth seeing you succeed.
It'll hurt me to the very ground,
But your standing tall
Will help me recover.

I remember when you told me to
let it go
Your breath smelled of coffee.
I can tell you've had a rough night.

And maybe
Just maybe
you spent
those sleepless nights
Deciding whether you should
Let it go, too.
It's late and my mind only knows how to speak in metaphor.
 Aug 2014 Carm Carnes
Paragon
How wonderfully mysterious the life is
A beautiful architecture,a puzzle,a bliss

I am a composer trying to write his song
But half of me is missing,
Surrounded by the crowd i still feel alone

I feel incomplete,my melody is scarce
I am drowning into notes to which i divorce

My other half...
I wish i knew how she looks like,
I wish i knew where her presence resides
But my soul is still rummaging...

It remains just the desire that deep inside me hides
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