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  Aug 2014 T
The Messiah Complex
Come and gone, the calm
but the storm is far from over
it lingers in the what-ifs, and taunts
us from the fringes of maybe

This storm, will eventually pass
and the memories of love gone
reborn as odes and psalms
birthing life, from their flowering decay

The poet's capacity to love, rivalled only
by their ability to suffer, but
what a beautiful misery it is! as it lies in wait
for the moment it will flood from pen to page

Laughter and sonnets, will perch on sated lips
after sadness has run its course
and for awhile, all will be well again  
leaving poets to ponder love's mysteries

How ironic it is!
the way lovers leave, repelled
by their hatred of the very thing
that once drew them near

You see, poets are like paintings
beautiful from afar, we are
but flawed strokes on cracked canvas
the closer you come

Yet still, there is beauty in our flawed and fragile array

We are the words within our poetry, but
we are so much more than sweetened syllables
we are everything you wanted once, and you
**never even made it past our cover
A repost I wrote for my bror, Sverre G. Holter after his recent breakup.
T Jul 2014
ill give ya a redemption
                                                      ­                                shot
watch you **** up three
then sink the next, grinning
bowing, arms outstretched for
                                                                ­                        me
Instead, you're greeted by my pursed-*** lips,
a curse, and rehearsed
                                                       ­                                   down-
cast eyes as I reach into my purse
for papers, roll up so you know you ain't
                                                           ­                                good
for me.
                                                             ­                             No,
you hurt me more.
But I **** up
                                                              ­                           best.
T Jun 2014
I swell till I fill my contain-her.
and there is no room
i'm liquid and
you drown in my existence.
I sat and saw the living room pulsing and pulsing and I realized it was me that was pulsing. I felt lonely but I realized I am not "alone" as much as I thought I am more "enough" than I thought
  Jun 2014 T
wes parham
His love for her made her
More like him.
Her love for him made him
Like her more.
His love for her made him
More like her.
Moreover, for them,
She made love more like him.
He made love, at her whim,
More like her than like him.
The heart embraces what the eyes have made welcome.
A relationship evolves constantly, motives and incentives shift, carrying lovers along a river unlike what they could ever dream of predicting or controlling.  That said, I wrote much of this only for it's clever wordplay, the rhythms of speech, and to impress a woman.  Oh, fatal vanity!!   Hear it read aloud here:
  Jun 2014 T
wes parham
It always feels like
I'm the one reaching
your way.
You Can't Spell ProblemWithout “Me“, Right?
  Jun 2014 T
wes parham
It's a ridiculous cliche but, ******* it, your eyes...
Forgive me if I don't always make eye contact,
Or look away too soon.  I'm listening. I swear it.
I'm afraid you might think that I'm full of myself,
Or afraid you might think that I've no self-esteem.
The truth is much simpler than either extreme.
The truth is I'm somewhere right in between.
but still:
Twin seas draw my stare and I fear what I'll say.
Fear falling into their unlit depths, where even my silence could betray.
The source to illuminate and fuel our lives' desires,
Find it in her hands , her touch,
Find it in her eyes.
Her eyes of ocean depth see me,
Giving no safe place to hide,
Searching bad cliches for the light, the otherness inside.
But what if all of my words are wrong?
What if they drive you away?
What if the light between oceans is mute?
Insufficient to make you stay?
What light passes to the heart or soul through those twin gates, but look!
The gates themselves, ruinous sirens that must be heeded.  Reverence, fascination, a constant meditation, your eyes, your heart-breaking eyes.  I can think of nothing else. I can see little else.
-  improvised for a musical collaboration with a distant artist.
part 2:

(UPDATE:  IT'S COMPLETE.  Thanks to soundcloud musician Dennis Ramler for taking me on in a collaborative effort )
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