Graff1980 15h
It is a marvelous magic trick
when half the moon is gone
and the other half
just hangs up there
while I stare at it.
It was me
who longed to be
your budding love,
flowing flower
fast unfolding
to express the beauty
that was made for showing,

but you were
a wild one
wielding words
like weapons
slicing syllables,
with no eloquence.

More than anything
it was
the degrees
of indifference
that did the most
damage,

being ignored while
you pursued
other dudes
who abused you.

Instead of dragons,
you slew
the knight who
wanted to rescue you.

Now I long to
forget you,
the one who
murdered
my loving heart.
Busted lip,
broken socket
shoulder slips
out of it,
bleeding
and bruised
crusty scabs
will form soon.

I hope the
swelling
will recede
so when
I awake
from this sleep
I will be able to see.

Anger is all spent.
I purchased peace
with punching fists
and taking too many hits.

I walk out head held up,
at least until tomorrow
when all the adrenaline fades

The other guy
walks by
limping while
hanging on his
girlfriend's shoulder.
It is hard to explain
how the flower
was once the rain,
sunshine, and wet dirt
that stretches
across the earth.

How particles
that traveled
across vast distances
in space,
and sparse water droplets
along with nutrients
from the ground,
are utilized to create
the colors we see,
how they take what we exhale
and give us what we need
to breathe.

But it is so easy to see
the petals
or leaves
of varying colors
and the stems.

It is hard to imagine
the pollen
the tricks the bees
into pollinating
other plants.

But it easy
to understand
that to maintain
this land
we must be stewards
who care deeply
about the beauty
all around us,
instead of becoming
nature’s enemy
that destroys
all life in our
general vicinity.
I am the tired gypsy
who plays *****
tricks on thee,

the bloated king
of foolish games
who dances outside
in the rain,

the jumping fool
who was never cool
and never will be,

the lonely jester
who may pester
but promises
good humor,

the heartbroken poet,
pusher of prose,
arrows of words
pointed at your heart
to help us all heal,

the loyal knight,
lost samurai,
last willful warrior
ready to fall
not in battle
but in defeat
as I see this world
consume everything,

I am the ghost,
forgotten specter,
spirit inspector,
who was searching
for similar soul seekers.
I prefer the cool quiet darkness.
So, I ask this
of you
please close
the multi-colored curtains
that cause a
cloud of
swirling dust
to be summoned up
when they are moved,
after years of
negligence.
Summer's breath
is a fetid breeze
that leaves me
sweating grievously.

Dull, repetitive driving,
heat draining
all my mental energy
like a seasonal vampire
leaving me uninspired.

Enter the earthy aroma
of someone new,
a refreshing spring water
point of view
a friendly face
with feminine contours.

Though *** is not what matters,
she is novelty
in the form
of a human being.

This thick stultifying summer
becomes less of a ******
with the introduction of new variables
that pull me from
my old terrifying echoes.

A stranger with
unknown stories
emboldens
the previously bored me
to write great poetry again.
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