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 Jan 2014 chase philip
Sub Rosa
We don't remember the sun
for the blisters on our skin
but for the way it sets
in beauty and grandeur
on a fiery horizon,
with surreality and colour.
We remember the sun
for the climactic ending
to a short,
passionate life.
I'm setting like the sun.
 Dec 2013 chase philip
Sub Rosa
It's back and forth,
not too  fast nor slow,
be the wind, be the calm,
be the strong, be the kind
starve, trim, nip, tuck
a perfect vessel
we pick you apart,
no matter.
and then I'm skinny and sad
and sliced up and over
and the sun rises without me each day
and then

I am quiet.
Heart, Please stop pounding,
Stop reminding me that I am real.
Stop the flow of purity
I do not deserve such respect.

Knees, please give out
Beneath me I wish to lay
Take me out at my trunk
I do not need to stand.

Eyes, please close forever
I cannot see the beauties offered
They are invisible in darkness
I do not need to see.

Hands, please ball into fists
Drive yourself full force
Deep into the hardened ground
I do not wish to touch.

Body, please fall down,
Hands and knees in dirt
Eyes unused, heart slowing...
Already, I'm forgetting how to feel.
 Dec 2013 chase philip
Sub Rosa
You walk like your shoes are made of coals.
Restless,
dancing on your toes as you waltz
between the window
and the kitchen.
chiseling a weak smile between sallow cheeks.
You're wiping loose strands of auburn from your lips,
tucking them back into your greasy visor
and praying for 2 a.m.
And by the time it rolls around,
and you have been sick from the smell
of angsty undergraduates
and overcooked, pre-frozen meat patties,
you could collapse in the parking lot
and let the snow bury you till spring.
Marching across the lot,
into a grimy liquor store
purchasing your poison at a questionable bargain.
supper that warms you inside out,
takes you blissfully to sunny dreams,
leaving you in heap on the kitchen floor
every ******* morning.
Moving through your woozy wake-up call
of sprinting to the bathroom to surrender your shame,
and wipe away the traces of a cold night on a linoleum mattress,
your fingers slipped
while you attempt to piece together this china-doll visage
that you shattered every night
and the curling iron caught you on the neck,
a perfect metaphor for the day-in-day-out
that roasts you on a spit,
slow and searing,
wrinkled and
wrung out into the flames,
crisp and blackened
like the very meat you served me
between stale bread
this evening.

Don't succumb to our fires,
not in a place so fried by it's own hand.
Take your tips, little lady,
and climb aboard a Greyhound
Use those legs and skip to a different coastline.
breathe new air, kiss a new shore
and roast over the fire
somewhere with better *****
and a nicer view.
because that's the only difference, isn't it?
 Dec 2013 chase philip
Sub Rosa
I'll give you the gift
of my skin on yours.
merry christmas
 Dec 2013 chase philip
LonelyPoet
Trapped in a world where the weak can't survive
where the voice of the poor can't be heard for afar,
where one's dream falls apart and reaching for it
seems impossible, where the tears of a man can't
resolve any obstacles.

Only thoughts of fright cross your mind all day long,
feeling like your heart has been ripped from your
soul, looking to your side and no friends you can
find, trying to figure out how much longer will all
this last.

Words like humble and sweet are effaced from your
mind, while anguish and affliction become examples
of your daily life, you won't hear the kind remarks
that might be said about you, for you can't appreciate
what your heart is not accustomed to.

18 years you have lived yet your beauty has
faded away, your innocence has been stolen from you
and the're many suspects to blame, there's no point
trying to fix what has what has already been destroyed,
your genial smile was erased and your youthfulness
came to a stop.

There's no mountain you can climb nor a path you
can walk, nor a forty miles ride you can jump in and
go, nor a train you can board or a plane you'd come up
to, that will ever even lead you to accomplish your
dreams and goals.

Searching for a way out, even though out you are,
four dollars is all there's left, to feed the kids pay rent
and try to survive, blindfolded you are, you won't
see what you want, putting your aspirations to vanish
into a thing of the past, why are you simply living
the life that you're told t? why can't you for once
live the life you always desired to?

In a time where the corrupt owns it all and much more,
where a man's state of frenzy is irrelevant even to the poor,
where the lion hunts the deer and its flesh is torn apart, where
words like "finally I did it" are only said by plutocrats.

The mountain was to high for you to climb it all, its height
was to extreme, you fail at going up, there weren't any
guides that showed you how to climb, or give you any tips
at how to safely survive, however there were signs at every
place you looked, which said that at some point a fall
you must endure.
I wrote this poem as an assignment in high school. It explains the struggles of a character from the book "The Jungle" by Upton Sinclair.

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