because look at them
gallivanting about
the avenues
and boulevards of your skin
as if you are not
the very accumulation of stardust
after countless supernovas
marked the end of old stars
making way for new ones,
as if your eyes
held not a single secret of the universe
even when it's so painfully obvious
with
just
one
glance
that that is not the case.

Here's to them
when they tell You
or make you feel
as if you're not worth a single coin.

*Because you're worth more
than all the treasure in the world.

This is just for all h.p people
I want to apologize if ive posted your poems in rooms that your poems don't belong
Fact is I hate how there are rooms for different categories
We should not be separate poets
Poets should be one
Not hiding our souls in quote (rooms for different poems)
If it was up to me all poems would be on one page
Page title-,poets-as-one!!!
So yeah lol
If I posted anyone's poems in rooms I should have a lot *** I do click on the room quickly and just add
Please dont take as disrespect for sending to wrong rooms
Just sick of (cliques) everyone sais post your poem here or there
Write like this or that!!!! B.s that isn't poetry that is pure control!! So for any which may be a lot I posted your poems in quote wrong room I apologize!! For time to stop separating our work!! And become one group of poets
Separation is our downfall ! Sorry truth

Thanks and sorry again
Your friend
Brandon Cory nagley!!

Oh ps: people make mistakes
We need to forgive another
Loves answer
God bless!!

Propositions about
the afterlife are futile.

Do you believe in God,
heaven, clouds, harps and cherubs?

And then you die and discover
that you must lead many more lives
searching for perfection.

Do you believe in the Bardo,
in reincarnation, in the sweet
possibilities of getting it right?

And then you die and find yourself
on a fluffy cloud surrounded by
annoying cherubs whose harps are incessant.

Or will you become a mute patch of earth,
that is wet and dry and favored by worms.

I have closed the eyes of the dead
and all I can tell you is they were dead.

What happens after is futile surmise.

You believe or you don't.

But believing is not knowing.

And when you know, you will not say.

~mce

I’ve filled the emptiest spaces of myself with


                          the best parts of you

not breathing, warm like an homage
but sterile
    
                                                                          remote

a gallery of looped memories
beautiful and untouchable
and convincingly bright
so that no matter where I am
my retinas are tattooed with the space you took in the world
cooking in a scratchy sweater- your electric rants about Jung  
drumming jazz on the street corner for the pay of odd conversation
planting kisses in my hands because you hoped they would grow a wife
endlessly reminding me

                                              (from wherever you are now)

that the best things in life weren’t free
and though expensive beyond measure
how graceful- I hardly noticed how much
I was willing to give
just to keep at a quiet distance

                           this neuronal gallery