I sit back in
the place of attack, but equipped for
battle this time;
The enemy won't win.
I laugh at him as
I greet the dawn with
a love soaked heart.
It smells like
leather, and my baby's hair.
I'm fully aware of
the antagonist's snares, and tricks,
but we won't be trapped.
See, this isn't a
tragedy, it's the epitome
of romance and victory.
I'm a stallion, and
she rides me into
the evening as we
eat peaches and
pomegranates, and let
the juice glisten on
our faces in God's
glorious setting sun.

The sorrow we display reflects the sympathy we have, and reflects the shattered vision of a world we will yet have. Our despair is the inverted image of our nobility.

I need to be touched and held.
As a human, I need that like
I need oxygen, food and poetry.
It's not ******; it has nothing to
do with a relationship, it just has
to be someone I've known for
a long time and we care about
each other.
I don't want to be accosted or
held by a stranger.
I boxed for a few years, and it
wouldn't bode well for that individual.
This world is brutal, we are dealing
with a pandemic.
Life can be cruel beyond belief.
I need to be touched and held.
I need to feel a heartbeat next to mine.
This life is so fleeting, one minute I'm
five years old burying my goldfish in
the backyard, crying because I don't
understand death and the next
minute 48 years have passed by.
I've buried my Mom, Dad, two
brothers, and over 20 of my
close friends.

When I'm holding someone,
and someone is holding me,
I feel alive and I'm pretty
sure they do too.
As a poet, my senses are
on high alert:
touch, taste, smell etc...
I need to taste the salt from
a gentle kiss on her forehead.
I need to feel the smoothness of
her cheek on my shoulder as we
watch a movie or talk about
distant memories.
I need to feel her smooth feet when
I rub them after she's had a
tumultuous day at work.
This ******* Coronavirus has
got everyone so afraid of
contact and I get it.
But if I die as a direct result of
touching or being touched by
someone that I love...
I can think of much worse
ways to go.

Don't sing
don't shout
don't try to get out.
It's nice and warm in here,
and smells like a slave,
and the grave will come
soon, so try to be brave.
And when you're gone and
rotting, and sunk in the
ground, I'll find a new
little bird that won't
make a sound.
Don't walk, don't run
don't swim towards the sun.
Embrace the darkness, you'll
have lots of fun.
I have my gun, it's loaded
and cocked.
Make a wrong move, and
you're bound to get rocked.
Don't be sick, don't get well.
Don't smell heaven, or skip
towards hell.

Don't feel
don't think
don't talk
don't drink
don't  smoke
don't move
don't live
don't die
don't try,
you'll fail
don't breathe
don't cough, don't sneeze
don't wake up early, or
arrive too late--don't love,
don't hate.
Don't express emotions that
seem insane.
I made my safe little
world, and I like it this time,
and you're frayed on
the edges, and too prone to fly.
So come closer
my little bird and get in the cage.
I'll clip your wings with my
apathy and rage.

Don't look at the moon,
or touch the stars.
Don't play in the fields
or go near the bars
it's not safe there,
so just be afraid.
I like to play tricks
you'll be my knave,
my jack of hearts
my ace of spades;
and we'll pillage and plunder,
and live off the land,
and you'll lie here quietly
in my rotten ******* hand.
Don't quit, don't try,
just sit here
and die
and lie naked in my

mansion of filth,
my consuming wealth
my towering health,
cuz I'm full of stealth and stature
and beauty and grace,
and I'll smear it all over
your ******* little face.

Be my courage
I’ll be your strength

Be my solace
I’ll be your haven

Be my inspiration
I’ll be your fruition

Be my love
I’ll be your forever.
ljm