Buried with dirt on top of mine face
Digging the grave, upburst of string lace;
Dressed in a tunic, not from around
She dances as a ghost, her soul is unbound.

Her hair is factual, she's not a dream
A lover, an amour, of beautiful thing's;
And weareth many ring's, her novel is wide
Feather's float off her wing's, an angel and bride.

To me as to her, the feeling obliged
She rode a white chariot, as one of the sky's;
I told her lovely, do not cryeth
She looked at mine view, tis she got excited.

Excitement burned hot, as sun in the day
She broke me free, from the worms of the grave;
And tis I was a slave, to the black hole of nothing
She showed me a bright aura, knowing God was near coming...



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry

A king with no queen
He stand's in his castle;
Of celestial thing's.

A beau with none candle's
To lighteth his black room;
Moribund he lies, awake to his tomb.

A knife and a spoon
To chop at his skin;
He left all behind, for one to cometh in.

An axe to his heart
Stake to his brain;
Promises himself, not to look for any queen again.

Though he still wishes
For hopeless romance;
He dies alone daily, a regular prance.

Prancing his garden
Up upon the English hill;
Now he's forgotten romance, as him others hath killed....


©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Brandon nagley

Could you love a broken man?
One who's been to hell and back?
Could you love someone who would cling on to the first sign of affection?
Could you love someone who has felt betrayal?
Could you love someone who would love you unconditionally?
Could you promise your love to me and only me?

Lives have become a Game.
Everyone runs around for a moment of Fame.
The only desire, a glowing signboard with their Name.
Every one is playing, A child,old or someone Lame.
Once Wild were liked , Now new cool is Tame.

The only difference left is in what we play.
Waiting for their chance everyone Waylay.
Greed so high that they would even slay.
As if, hearts are made of clay.
Never content,whether Black & white or  Fifty shades of grey.

Life goes on , So does Games.
Some use Ladders to reach Their aim.
Others use snakes Without any shame.
Winner's rise up , world is theirs they claim.
Losers are left on side with nothing to reclaim.
stronger or weaker, Who is to Blame?

A wine bottle
filled with keys
is all I drink.
I never cared
for the bitter,
sick taste of
old grapes,
taunting me.
But the bottle
fits nicely
in my hand
and I enjoy
the tang of
metal
on my tongue,
reminds me
of the blood
I used to draw
when you got
close.
Lip torn,
to kiss, or not.
To speak, or
be silent.
The keys,
I find them
forgotten
in crevices
of other
people's
lives, after
they've released
what had to be
locked away.
The edges cut
on the
way
d
o
w
n
...
Some part of me
is still soft, now
I can prove it
with the blood
I've coughed up.
Paint this truth
deep wine red,
with spare keys
jangling loudly
in my stomach
like the nerves
of my body, if
you'd listen to me.
But now when I
speak, you hear
silence.
You’re done
kissing me
and I taste
salt. Tears.
Still drinking
sharp keys from
a wine bottle,
hoping they unlock
something inside.


**V. K.

I wanted to go everywhere with you,
to dive into your past, the beautiful and the *****.
To meet every version of self you have ever been.
I wanted to see your frosting stained smile
on your 8th birthday. To know you when
innocence and hope still reigned.
I wanted to hear your midnight laughter on an
ordinary Tuesday in California. To sit on the floor in
that apartment that you couldn't afford to furnish.
I wanted to walk hand in hand
through the years of your life.

And when my curiosity had been sated
with endless waves of knowledge of you,
I had hoped you would've liked to
walk through my stories.
To meet the now-gone women
who molded my soul and gifted me with
love and a sarcastic sense of humor.
I wanted you to greedily feast upon all my days gone by.

Armed with an overwhelming acceptance of one another,
I hoped we would embark on a path we forged together.
I dreamt that when I savored pasta in Venice,
I would look up to see you sitting across the table.
I imagined that your smile was the last delight
I would feel before I slowly drifted to sleep in Amsterdam.
I thought the next time I dove under a salty wave,
It would be you at my side.

I wanted to experience every taste, every touch
and every breath with you standing next to me.
For, life was more beautiful with your hand in mine.
You were my welcome rose-colored glasses,
now laying shattered on the floor.

Without you I see the world in
all of its harsh grotesqueness.
Without your cloud of sweetness,
My past pain and horror yet unknown
have taken on new strength.

I now only wish to travel back to the time,
when I thought I had a chance with your heart.