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 Jan 2021
Graff1980
Life is multicolored leaves,
growing and leaving
season after season,
colors changing
falling in a breeze
then disintegrating,
before their siblings
start growing in their place.

It is a single child’s
growing smile
as laughter forms,
happiness before
she has learned
of the horrors of war.

It is nature’s dance,
as time makes us move,
as the wind plays through
vibrating, and moving,
taking light leaves
and turning these
tree things into
tiny ballerinas.

Life is self-reflected
to be inspected
and see all things
changing.
It is the mirror of ages
blank white pages
slowly writing themselves,
to be eventually forgotten.

It is deliciously beautiful
and frankly quite rotten,
a matter of perspective
and all humans got one.

I think its great fun
to try and define
what life is,
but I know it is
beyond this poem.
 Jan 2021
eve
you
somehow you are in my lucid dreams
& i'm left wanting more sleep
a constant fear of rejection and hurt
even in my dreams
i wish you'd understand
cause you're never really who you are until you're all alone
 Jan 2021
Graff1980
He saw the parade of pain,
rough edges worn down
as he moved across town.

The mirror of boy not yet a man,
transitioning between
not understanding anything
and finally learning
that there is a universe full of
thing that he might love,
but will never learn enough
to fully understand.

Neck perpetually bent,
eyes always lowering,
partly from walking
and reading
at the same time,
and being worn down
by the bullies all around,
especially the tyrant at home.

Self-esteem was a strange fantasy,
and anger became
his self-inflicted pain,
but books and tv shows
were a nice way to let go
if just for a short bit.

Racing thoughts that kept him awake,
unless he played a cd to keep those
thoughts quietly tucked away.

Twenty years later with knowledge well earned,
the world still turns, but now it burns.
The boy is a man, so to speak,
and with everything he has read, and listen to,
to help adjust his world view
with the constantly changing times,
he still hasn’t mastered enough to explain
what makes people hurt
and how to ease the world’s ever-expanding pain.
 Jan 2021
Graff1980
They are as precious as the lights,
burning brightly in the night,
and more valuable by far
because they shine
for a much shorter time.

See them laughing as they play,
see them swimming in a pond,
see them growing and changing
every single day,
till their flame just flickers out.

All ash blowing in the wind,
fantastic flesh beings
that will not return again,
but once they were children
growing up to be women
and silly old, befuddled men.

See them dancing, and spinning
clutching those they love,
see compassion’s beginning
and gentle heart’s farewell.

Just as soon as they arrive
it is time to say goodbye,
less than a second in
space and time.

See them celebrate and mourn,
see them elevate above the norm,
see them struggle to be better
and falling short more often
than they succeed.
  
I will write them a lullaby,
I will hum it as I cry.
See me weeping, eyes stinging,
until it is my corpse they are bringing.

I hope someone writes a poem for me.
 Jan 2021
Graff1980
It’s hard to breath
but easy to bleed
with this hole
in her breast,
a gaping wound
in her chest.

She tries to keep
the weeping
suppressed,
to not let her
children
see her depressed,
but it is beyond
obvious.

One body missing
from the chair,
and child’s bed.
She still feels
a quiet dread.

No sleep,
but a little drink
to fill the void;
They say
time will take
the pain away,
but another loss
is what she is
trying to avoid.

She goes on,
while her family
tries to bear
the same agony
with stoic despair.
There is only
air and tension
to fill their
emptiness.

No shared connection
or conversation
to help them all
deal with this.

So, day by day
the nothingness
burrows deeper
and eats away.

The space between,
human beings
expands beyond
reckoning.

Strangers,
keep expecting them
to come back together again,
but the crack between
these human beings
becomes too far to leap.
Till, one day they are
too far gone from each other
to even speak.

The reaper’s victory
is totally complete,
because for one,
he got four souls to keep.
 Jan 2021
Graff1980
I write under heaven’s fire,
a bright orange flaming fury
that sets the skies ablaze,
as the sun rays
makes clouds
look like they are
burning, burning,
moving, while slowly turning,
a righteous delight,
that I enjoy.

Until I feel
the day’s descent
and night’s lovely ascent to
a starry painting
we all can view.
 Jan 2021
Graff1980
No grander
fool who
meanders
makes demands here.

Restless,
head to chest
to catch his breath
else meet his death,

the poet seeks
dreams to speak,
closes his eyes
and lets his mind
rise.

Until his art
is fully realized,
and the hunger
to create
is satisfied.

The muse
lays down
and falls asleep.
He puts down
his pen,
and lets her rest
without a peep.

Until, he needs
her life’s blood again.
She will awaken
but need sustenance,
and he will feed
everything
heard and seen
to his artist queen.

The phoenix
will rise to shatter
all the thoughts
and words that mattercont.
to create wonders once more.
 Jan 2021
Graff1980
I am fractured,
a flower floating in
times that never end.

Orange clouds afire,
lit by disasters,
I am that burning
bratty *******.

Foaming wave,
fierce tidal force
forced to go with
the terrible flow
that beats the shore.

I am the shattered glass
lightbulb burnt out.
Thin shards flying away
from the electrical light
that I made.

I am the leaning lighthouse,
beacon in the storm,
the key to my own
clockwork brain,
just tic tocking away,
wasting time
every single day.

I am all the strange
mixed up metaphors,
as mad as a hatter
cause I make little sense,

and someday I will be
sadly,
past tense.
 Jan 2021
Graff1980
Tension pinching
my chest
while I am clenching
my teeth
trying to catch
my bad breath.

Red eyes strained,
and pained
from coughing so hard
that my neck veins
bulges out so far.

So, tired
but I can’t sleep,
haven’t eaten
much all week
and I am feeling
really weak.

Nauseous,
and afraid
so many things
I have yet to say.
If I die today
who will know
or care anyways?

I’m scared
and confused.
After all
that I have done,
this is how I lose.

No one here
to talk to me
and I don’t
want to believe
this might be
how I leave
the world.

Is there anyone there?
 Jan 2021
Graff1980
One withering look
and I am an unbound book,
pages fluttering away, broken,
smitten with tiny kisses,
or temporary ink tokens.

She can reignite a dying sun,
set solarized skies ablaze
and make them burn
for days and days.

She can shift the seas,
then trade places with
strange faces that
echo older generations
which will never come back.

Five fingers folding in
touching my mind,
burying brilliance in my skin,
she is the door to
Oz, Wonderland,
and Neverland,
making me wonder if I can
fly like superman.

She supersedes the entirety of my being,
enveloping, in all shades of dreams,
making my reality her plaything.

Not a person, more like a metaphor,
or a hint of a thought I’m searching for.
There’s eternity and an ocean’s more
waiting for this dreamer outside her door.
 Dec 2020
Graff1980
I never trust the pretty parts of life,
I only really believe in the dark side,
gritty brutal violence and pain,
so I am seldom let down.
That’s why kindness always makes me cry.
 Dec 2020
Graff1980
I cheated myself for so long,
built up a foundation that was
settled on looking strong
and being be better than
that bunch of get along men
who were working for a profit.

Such anger and pride,
but when I elevated my mind
I displaced that drive.
My ambition lost it’s bite,
because it was derived
from a powerful sense of self spite.
Evan though, I believed I was right,
I felt like I was not worthy.
Evan though, I was certain I was better,
I still felt like less than every other man.

Pushing and pulling metal plates,
and other forms of resistance
in varying weights,
shifting, and reworking
twisting, and jerking,
turning perspectives
over and inside out,
till I could figure new **** out
and garner the wisdom
of ancients at the same time.
Always striving to be
something better than the current
version of me.

What a sickness to let myself be defined
by that twisted dissonance in my own mind,
but the problem I find
is right now I am left
with almost no bitterness.
I have no desire to overcome
any of the crazy ****
that never really mattered one bit.

I am apathetic,
dangerously dulled by my indifference.
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