~Poet V-Ink (Viewtiful)
Inside my head
inspiration wars for
territory/ my eyes
inviting any and everything
in it's path inside with a story
that I'll tell it's story

My mood doesn't
always shelter my
desires to be creative
but my eyes never stop
working constantly supplying me
with inspiration...

some times I don't
wanna write.....

so what's inside
becomes impatient...

So things decide
to up and leave
through the crevices
in my face and....

It spills in its
desired form so
it's ink my skin is
tasting.... I apologize
ahead of time my gift
and it's vision care nothing
of your time it's wasting

~Rebel Flower
Inside my head there is a place
awaking the purpose to write
like incisions on a platter
like a golden sizzorr
Cutting in time wasted
where it could be
used in skills practice
to free a prisoner of rest
Like leggos we stack purpose
And speeches never frail
There are times of a nothingness
for ink flows and poetic thoughts
yet naturally words
yell at my window for spills

a welcoming and re-entering

Paving for my souls exertion
editing exact details
carrying in a song in my psalms

I don't live in the gift
the gift lives in me
touring like a concert to sooth
or even to feel
Like a record playing on repeat
This is my mental obsession.

~Poet V-Ink (Viewtiful)
I'm obsessed
with all the talent
god has left me to
possess but sometimes
I get upset at the lack
of control I have over
the information my mind
accepts/ granted a gift to
project messages hidden
in the mess life lessons usually
left but I stress because that gift
sometimes forces my tired hand
to respect

I struggle...

some much on my
mind absent the intention
to invest... How do I turn
off the switch to how my
registry was blessed..

~Rebel Flower
Blessings of such a skill
at times may be overwhelming
I picture the gift of words a performer
When need of pros we feed our drive
as well as the audience
We plumage into a well
of urgent tunes
then we tiré, and we are restless
poetry never dies
it will come back when need of a place
of itself to live again and again.
Every poet needs a light
and the switch will dim in any time
I'd worry more when it flips back on
How great the light will be.

© Copyright 2014 Poet V-Ink &
S.T. Rebel of Eden.

LOVE
IS HIS HOLY ROBE
REGAL THAN AN OPPOSITE
A KISS OF LIFE

JUICY

RED

AS SIMPLE
AS AN APPLE ON A TREE
RUBBING AWAY POISON
KISSED
PIERCED
GENTLY BY TEASING INCUBUS SLEEP
BUT IF CAREFUL
IT WILL NEVER LOSE IT'S SHINE.

© S.T. Rebel of Eden

Twisted thorns point, and ***** my lips

touched me like, bee stings at the tip

like the fallen eclips, travel the lukeworm

formed fluffy pillows, touched by your storm.

© S.T. Rebel of Eden

I heard we
ran out of papers
so you ran up
around the walls
of this house-
thoughts scribbling
on them like the paint
we could not decide upon;
like a troubled mentalist
looking for solace
the sound of your pen
against the walls-
how they went from
flowing to screeching-
hands now bleeding
blue
heart; you reached the
porch where you underlined
your first steps and her last;
the bedroom a serenade
between the sheets some-
times a lie tucked away
underneath;
there are fractured stories
in the woodwork finally
seeping out.
You are making the
ceiling cry in the eulogic living room; the kitchen
is a mess of lonely dinners.
You left the library for the last.
This was where you began a
passion never ending
fantasy; open up
the curtains.
The world will one day
listen to the way
a little scribble went
to a house
and came back
a masterpiece.

When I lost you
It was like
I lost the moon
and the sky

..(sighing)..

yeah..
that's what it was like

or even like
losing my keys
or a home to the fire
and even when
I had lost
my muse to write

..(lingering)..

wandering
today what you'd be like
my eyes you'd have
no doubt
my smile you'd wear
very real
wondering

..Nostalgic..

it was the worst thing

but all these similies
can either be rebuilt
or be better
But what God is not ready
to give back to me no more

is you son.

(INCREDIBLE INK- TEAM HAWAII)
© Copyright 2014 S.T  PARISH
Rebel of Eden