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 Jul 8
Poetic T
Mindful of others, but always deeper in thought.
You call it the folly of an inquiring mind,

Concern some may say diving to deeply
unsure of where this may take me.
Regarding the complexity of a frame.
I just see more than those who
open a door, and only see the other side.
So if the the hinges hold it what was behind.
Is it wrong to have an interest in more
than what others see as normal without
yearnings to find out what was, what's more.

Where I wished to delve deeper was only
an excuse for others to want it to wither.
never would I intrude, but my searching
eventually causes some unintended pain.
So I relent, I'm curious of the outcome some say.
 Jun 13
Poetic T
I had a path that at no time intersected
                            with others footsteps.
              Never would I walk on the
degradation of there choosing.

            if later on they had made a misstep.

I would ultimately be the lemming falling  
                                                with veins cut,
falling into the same inevitable ending...

Every footprint shifts after we have put
                       our weight on that decision.
That this was the right course of action...

             But we were a conveyor that feed
the lie of life that every step was always
                                                            well trod.

We would always finish off with a life well
      walked, but the truth was.
That some laces were untied and some fell.

Some would never reach the ending,
        let alone the beginning of the path..

For our steps are always shifting,
   and  everyone is never the same..
 May 24
Poetic T
Seen in the distance,
        beauty glistened
though ocean waves..

"Help me please,

                              She smiled,
  as she dragged him under...
 May 24
Poetic T
Misplaced deliberations,
        oh where did  I leave you?

Like mislaid socks,
              I wear
mismatched thoughts

nicely fitting but not right.
I wondered today if anyone was recording in high definition this World in caution? kisses banned, so’s holding hands, but wash your hands a lot or you might miss to ‘Out that ****’d spot’.

How apt, a spot, a circle, a corona, isn’t that a beer? Let’s all now cheer for key workers, clap for nurses the NHS, let’s forget what started this mess, was it China? A pangolin? A Mandarin?

Conspiracy theories abound, they’re all doing the rounds, oh look it snuck back in, abound, around, they’re all circular sounds, circle back to the start, wash your hands.....’Out that ****’d spot’.
20:41 BST
With eyes closed,
particularly after never
mine lips ne'er touching drink
I experience replete surreal visualizations

vividly pronounced heightened, augmented
mental journey virtual realistic brink
particularly the following link

yours truly (i.e. me)
enters sweeping dream state,
whose (ahem this modest) great human
experienced way after hundredth wink
no mean feet recherché special effects
haint no rinky ****
trick the average kindergartener could think,
quite the contrary skeptical reader!

Impossible mission yours truly,
could never describe for dogness sake
no,... NOT even after I make
transition back into webbed
oft times trumpeted as "fake"
wide world of consciousness

mere seconds eyes of mine ache...
dumbfoundedly blink awake,
yet cerebral impact analogous
exiting hypothetical dark cave
eyes painfully adjust to light
no mutter me noggin I soberly shake

Socratic dialogue - described
even today (across swaths,
where silently occur
metaphorical tectonic Earthquake)
of college/university students far and wide
with mooch hoopla and rave
communicated, viz out fancy schmancy

rhyme nor reason courtesy
one cereal lactose intolerant flake
courtesy within Plato's Republic
(worth rereading even
non political science majors ought
to give revered literature fair shake.

'Course aye haint here to lecture
but moostly strive to enlighten
hmm... methinks most likely bore
extemporaneously spewing pablum
also aiming to appeal toward
self accomplishment less or more

before tonight April 23rd, 2020
becombs tomb morrow,
with unbeknownst notion I explore
which aspiration to craft daily poem
constitutes what endeavors apt (guaranteed)

to find thee into deep sleep
cocking mine ear to hear ye snore,
no matter bajillion miles away your
respective dwelling from mine -
now (at long last), similar to the night before,

(Christmas), I hightail out - with minor confession
where Matthew Scott Harris doth
strive to become substance of legendary folklore
(hence no need to utter vamoose)
with cheery bonjour!
 Apr 5
sugar cane berry stains

lost friends life's bends

mountain still, in the end

there and back i've seen

we were kids, you were teens

we learned a lot where we've been

one more shot before we go

that sacred breath you always know-

when to call it a day
 Apr 1
Poetic T
We show the fatigue of Twelve hours
       of duty, to care for those that
Cant even breath without our care..

When we leave those that we wish
could survive till our next shift.

We go to grocery stores to find
             our next meal,
but shelfs stripped clean...

By those who don't need,
but horde more than there need,
                          for either greed or profit.
                                                      We weep,
for we are holding our hands out like Oliver!!

        Sir, Madam do you have anymore,
As we weep with empty stomachs..
      making do with the scraps left behind..

            "Sorry not till our next delivery,

                             But ill be at work then..
A tear drops lonely down a cheek.  

             Yes I've seen eBay, or online selling sites...

They make me sick to my heart,
        to think I may have to save these gluttons
on an empty stomach.

But I don't judge
              I just drop a tear for those I lost the
night before.

I tried,
               they tried
              but this venom, sinks in fast..

I wear the scars on my face, the masks digging in,
                   the cracked skin that I don't have time
to moisturise as I know its been a twelve hour shift.

                                                       I only sleep a few,
     my moments of peace and tranquillity woken
        My beeper goes off, were on call..

At least I got more than most,
           I give myself a two minute stretch,
and a wake up call, then I'm in fresh gear,
          sanitise my hands, and put gloves on.

I'm fearful of this virus, as many have fell like
warriors on the battle field, now breathing through
                                masks of life and death.

But my vow of care is strong and I shake off
              this fear, and walk into the ward a warrior
of positively.

"I will care for the fallen,
           I will hold a fearful hand,

never will I let anyone go.

But I'm only one in a sea of many.

If I can keep on breathing till they have strength

             its a win..
 Mar 5
Poetic T
Cradled by there eyes
as they convulsed me
                  in to oblivion,

with every downfall I was
closer to

Pools of crimson collected in
   my fractured sockets and
my tears
                       drowned within.

They mourned my silence,
       inscribing one last syllable
upon my stomach...
As blood flourished forward from
                                  my dead lips.

Droplets were like rain descending,
as I painted the surrounding
                                           with death.
They were covered also,
for they were close to the cradle
                          when it fell silent.

I kissed each one with claret,
     my mark was upon there façade.

Wild flowers drank upon me,
       seeding them with my last breath.
Where beauty once flourished,
Now blushed roses grow.

I'm a garden of remembrance
to what was,
                    what never shall be.

But my death has sweet aromas to it,
       for all one at a time came to see
What had befallen me.
              Guilt, remorse or curiosity..

To hide a truth, others may fall upon.

But where they expected death,
                                     they saw,
a sight of maroon beauty.

"Curiosity is a  live wire in water,
            with a please read note floating
above it

           "*You know there going to read it,

And with that, they picked a rose pricking
there finger upon my vengeance.
I could ******* aura that I kissed upon
there last actions
                             so long ago.

There was no scream, just like you can't hear
             a tree fall in a silent forest.

I now feed upon them, for there all here, in
my garden of eternity rotting slowly..
   But there still alive under the surface..
my thorns negating there vocals.

       I'm there cradle and I'm rocking it,
                                      oh so slowly...
 Mar 5
Poetic T
What is beauty,
    if not bereavement
                    of exhalation.

Our symbiosis is just
elongated moments
   of perpetual pain,

and unending noise.

And when were void less,
         there is elegance
where our conclusion is

             peaceful silence.
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