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Oct 19 · 39
Untitled
Graff1980 Oct 19
The lion is
lucky if
the lioness
doesn't give him
a violent kiss.
Oct 16 · 81
Untitled 821
Graff1980 Oct 16
It doesn't take
a kitchen knife
to butcher life
or a motorbike
to ride until I die.

Instead, I take this journey
on a broken gurney,
not a suffering soldier
but a poet older
than any bolder
active warrior.

My tourniquet tightens,
as blood loss lightens
my mental load.

This damaged road
is full of broken bones
and scattered scraps
of marble stones
that no longer fit
the foundation of
a safe home
full of love.

That's why I still roam,
searching alone,
staring at my phone
looking for answers
to a call I'll never make.

Every breath I ever take
should hold some purpose,
but the truth is
my search is fruitless.
This existence is useless;
Just another wound
that will not heal
but festers and rots
as everything I thought
held value gets lost.

In my mad mathematic trend
I subtract family and friends
from my equation,
becoming the inevitable immigrant
as I finally cross life's bitter border
to nowhere…
Oct 15 · 43
Untitled 820
Graff1980 Oct 15
I’m repulsed
by callous jokes,
from wealthy blokes.

How rich men thrive
while the innocent die
choking on their own bile.

A thousand lives
of hard knock
lessons we learn
as businessmen
take their turns
making cities burn
with bombs
that blow up
leaving children
growing up
and crying out loud,
“I miss my daddy.”
Oct 14 · 48
Untitled 819
Graff1980 Oct 14
I met a monster
and I called her mother,
dangerous to no one other
than myself.

Every night she would berate me
make me think that she hates me
as she violently laid her hands on me.

I feel like I would have been safer
in the arms of any stranger,
cuz a decent person
wouldn't put that kind of hurting
on someone they claimed to love.

All the years that I lived with her
I learned how to suffer
indignities like they were trivialities,
and with each verbal and physical attack
I learned how to turn my mind black
and inwards towards
my own sharpened sword
as I skewered myself.
Oct 13 · 52
Untitled
Graff1980 Oct 13
The rhetorical implications
of what we're facing
has us chasing devastation,
but I'm way past the crazy station
and on mile marker mad hatter.
Oct 12 · 37
Untitled 818
Graff1980 Oct 12
The day unveils
it's beautiful bright self
pulling back the curtain of
twilight’s twinkling.

Dark body undressed in favor
of nature's flavor of greens
that I long to savor
as I repatriate her repainted clouds
that cover a light blue complexion.
Oct 11 · 52
Untitled 817
Graff1980 Oct 11
Don't you know it.
I can be super stoic,
the sentinel of security
sitting safely secluded
to prevent people who
want to breakthrough
and intrude on those
who are trying to do
what they’re supposed to,
so they can get paid
and take care of those
who they are close to.
Oct 10 · 48
Untitled 816
Graff1980 Oct 10
I'm not Santa Claus but I'm hefty.
I'm not jolly cuz life left me
navigating deftly
across time zones
where minds roam
while I dream of a present
that presents positive possibilities;

Not Marvel’s what if comic book realities
that I used to collect,
but issues that direct
my heart towards acts of compassion
as I ask strangers what they are lacking
that makes them malicious actors.

I have not discovered the ultimate factors,
or removable variables
that would enhance our ability
to be superbly gifted soldiers
of love and humanity.

Weary, I'm still searching.
Oct 9 · 74
Untitled 815
Graff1980 Oct 9
Death makes
imperfect things
into haloed beings
with white wings
fluttering in
ascension.

It turns attentions
away from the
anger and towards
more perfect abstractions
of past painful actions.

Uncomfortable truths
becomes distorted memories,
that we extract from all of these
filtered false realities.

Grieving becomes
the reweaving
of what was undone
into a long-viewed narrative,
as our current imperative
is to turn chaos
into purpose.
Oct 8 · 63
Untitled 814
Graff1980 Oct 8
Seven shells for sale,
so what we got
could be bought
and what was lost
could not.

Searching the sandy beach,
hungry, all we caught
was an empty net
that wished to be
filled beyond belief
with the bounty of
that great deep sea.

Our children weep
and dream of stomachs
bursting with treats,
while hurting eyes meet
in the same discreet
heartbreaking defeat.
Oct 6 · 33
Untitled
Graff1980 Oct 6
Dr. Cornell West.
is not a retreater,
but a bright spirit freer,
a spectacular speaker.
His vernacular is sweeter
than any lazy deceiver.
Oct 5 · 29
Untitled
Graff1980 Oct 5
Who's to blame
for the fact that
this world is gone insane?
Is it run by the inane?
I need to ascertain
if they have an *** for brain
or are they snorting aspartame
like it's *******?
Oct 4 · 36
Untitled 813
Graff1980 Oct 4
All our institutions are infected with
the arrogance of a definite existence
ordained by their sick insistence
that their way is how it has to be,
that their actions are the ultimate
manifestation of mortal man’s morality.

But their certainty bothers me greatly.
Life seems to be made of generalities,
and a myriad of shades that play with
our desire to easily define what is right.

Our errors are laid out in plain sight.
We can observe a minor fraction of the slights
committed against those with little defense,
while we let wicked men gather about them
more wealth and acclaim, a platform to defame,
and rename the victims of their big money games
as enemies of us all. We let them build a wall
between our wisdom, knowledge, and hearts
a black abysmal structure that keeps us apart,

When shared struggles should obviously be
what turns strangers into allies and family.
Oct 3 · 223
Untitled 812
Graff1980 Oct 3
It is private,
inviolate.
Yet, I intrude,
dress up and abuse,
take their suffering
as my perfect muse,
take dark interludes,
and use them as cues,
as tiny clues
that lead the way
to make poems great.

Sorrowful inflections
become wordy reflections
worked to perfection
for my ego’s elevation,
for the ecstasy of creation,
and this drug I imbibe
gets me super freaking high.

Tears and stress,
bodies undressed,
hearts exposed
and in taking those
I become criminal.

Liminal moments,
seconds stolen
for the sake
of verses swollen
with emotional clarity.

I claim sincerity;
That I write these lines
to help closed mind
break the barriers
between truth
and what emotions mean.

But as these words meander on,
I wonder is it right or wrong
to write the painful songs
that do not belong to me.
Oct 2 · 40
Untitled
Graff1980 Oct 2
Poet’s passions
are prevalent
but lesser men
classify them
as deadly sins
denying the
black ink within
that boils to the brim,
forcing her or him,
to take and bend
words to their own
passionate whims.
Oct 2 · 39
Untitled
Graff1980 Oct 2
I'm tired of having to
make allowances
for other’s attitude,
excusing their abuse
of me because
I'm nice and accepting
while not expecting
reciprocation of said treatment.
Oct 2 · 44
Untitled 811
Graff1980 Oct 2
The midnight sky
is large and quiet.
All of nature
has gone silent.

The stars glimmer
on the inside
and the outside
of my tired mind.

I am ready to
go to sleep,
but still standing
because I have
promises to keep.

One solitary figure
reflecting all things
that fill my exhausted
inner being
as I keep walking.

Forty-one years
have led me here,
a life I built upon
a throng
of cluttered paths
I tried to clear.

I tried to hide my fears,
but would have been
better figuring out
why I have so many doubts.

So, silence becomes my ally
as I ponder perspectives
that elude most.
I am the ghost that boasts
in poetic forms
as I declare
I still don’t know
what I am doing here.
Oct 2 · 31
Untitled 810
Graff1980 Oct 2
Oh, my dear
adorable nephew
let me hear your
heartstrings sing,
let them go on
vibrating in daydreams
all day long.

Let the chorus
of Angelic voices
raise you high
and all your
bad choices
help you
grow up to be
better than me.

Do not be
limited to
what you see
or how you were
taught to believe,
do not let logic
or religion confound
the heart of
compassion
when it is found.

These are not
the best or
worst of times
just moments
passing too fast,
precious seconds
that will not last.

So, what I ask,
is that you
remember how to laugh
and have a blast
in this one short life
you have to live
as I impart
the heart of love
I have to give.
Oct 2 · 27
Untitled 792
Graff1980 Oct 2
Sunday morning is a spiral
of dimmed lights
and despairing shadows,
of stairways to nothing
that dance in the distance
and turn around to find
time no longer binds
this strange and tired mind.

It is a body of fatigue,
so tired that it turns blind,
unable fathom
what was once
wondrously divine.

Windows no longer open to
a whole wide world
that I want to view,
but are closed,
painted black
with spider web
thin cracks
that let less than
infinitesimal light in.

Hope is made for forgetting,
until a long sleep
restores my stores
of optimism and inspiration
allowing poetic explorations,
as the windows open
to finally let more light in
and the stairways shift
restructuring themselves
to new realities
of delightfully
exciting possibilities.
Oct 2 · 26
Untitled 809
Graff1980 Oct 2
I was not taught to write well.
In that arena I educated myself.

As I paid attention
to the frayed dimensions
my teachers failed to mention,
to the apprehension
that caused me tension
as I sat in detention
for sins no one
would clearly define.

It was clearly my mind
that wrought upon me
such severe punishments,
but in that dissonance
I found my relevance.
In my confusion
I learned to write away
my dark illusions
and replace them
with my imagination’s
strange and playful whims.
Graff1980 Sep 30
What a delight
like a sprite,
my fair and funny
fairy maiden
made in
the imagination
that makes friends
with all of the creations
of forest folklore.

I wish other people
spoke more
generosity into being
like this magical
benevolent being.

As I peruse social feeds to ease
my boredom, she softens my aching blues,
as every story ends and begins
with artful acts of compassion.
Sep 30 · 40
Untitled 808
Graff1980 Sep 30
Shadows
of distorted memories,
bruises and welts
well hidden,
so child service
couldn’t see,
and every time
the counselor asked
what was bothering me,
I just shrugged
and said “nothing much,”
because afterwards
I would get
threatened or beaten
if I didn’t give her
my full confession.

It was a place
where I
had no control,
a time were
I had to do
what I was told
or else.

Then on to school
where I wasn’t cool,
just too smart for
my own good,
always reading
some different book.

Poor clothes must have
put a target on my back,
but it didn’t matter
cause I always fought back.

Some called those
the glory days
but I wouldn’t
return to that
time or place.
Sep 29 · 37
Untitled 807
Graff1980 Sep 29
I came to you
with games
and love
to spare,
with a heart
that cares,
seeking to
end despair
in favor of
a better world.

You came
with hate
and violence,
the will to silence
all those who
would be kind to
you and others to.

You bombed
and brutalized
told our people
horrible lies
to make them despise
the good guys.

You turned homes
into ****** battlefields
tortured and killed
cause it was a thrill
to sit back and make
more than a cool mill.

But one day
when you
refuse to change
I will come back,
attack with rage.
I will return your plague
with the self-inflicted
bitterness made
from thinking
things could be better.
Sep 29 · 34
Untitled 806
Graff1980 Sep 29
I tightened the circle
let the lines loosen,
then in my state of confusion
pulled them tightly.

I subtracted loved ones nightly,
despite my social media
connections
my real-life affections
became whispers in
the distance from
previous family members
and friends I’ve loved.

With a noose I constricted
till it was too perfect.
Then I ****** it.
It was like when
I was biting
my tongue
just hard enough to hurt
but not enough to cut
that slippery tool off.

I choked and cough
felt the loss
as I tried to break
my own neck.
I signed my own check,
by happily self-secluding,
and the excuse I was using
was the best scape goat.

As grief scraped my throat,
I tried to cleanse my palate
stirred my mind like a salad
all vegies and greens mixing,
lying and saying it was healthy
but really just tricking
myself into doing what
I was always going to do.

Death by a thousand losses,
each cut cost me
a fraction of my identity
and hopeful personality.

Until my corpse
swung from the rafters
and tears sprung from
melancholic laughter.

Then nothing came
happily, ever after.
Sep 28 · 32
Untitled
Graff1980 Sep 28
Politicians
extort men
to retort then
go on acting
bad again,
whilst reporting
trends that tend
to move friends
to end good
relationships
in favor of
spouting off *******.
Sep 28 · 134
Untitled
Graff1980 Sep 28
Is it preposterous
to think that
poetry could foster in us
a deeper understanding,
make empathy a commandment
moving us towards
capturing compassion’s actions
like they were transactions
designed to pay for more
good in the world?
Sep 28 · 40
Untitled 805
Graff1980 Sep 28
I had patience but
I lost it cuz
I've been accosted
by a boss that was
both **** and big
stinking *******.

Felt the terror
of time’s
terminal
ticking away,
chasing each day
as a parade
that works towards
my end.

Now,
it's do or die
write to live
not right to life.

So, short stalks
get lost
as I buzz by
on my
summer day drive
thinking about
what it means
to be alive.
Sep 27 · 30
Untitled 804
Graff1980 Sep 27
With a single stroke
all lines are broke,
the past becomes
previous paths
that I wrote.

Death is no longer
a possible future
but a present presence,
tired of playing
and predatorily pursuing,
now settling in for chewing
up my tired old skin.

Breathes are heavy labors,
and there is no hope
that they will come easier later.

A million-fold roads
collapse into one
reality,

and unlike this poem
life finds its inevitable ending.
Sep 26 · 272
Untitled 803
Graff1980 Sep 26
I can barely catch my breath,
there’s a sea of swirling madness
bodies bursting with endless
tragic tears of sadness
and all the sobbing leaves me
heaving and breathless.

Wishing I’d see death less
and more days of happiness
for all the world’s children,
but I can always hear them
crying, begging, for heroes
who will save them.

Little girl amidst the wreckage
loves her people,
lives in fear of the evil
acts of other nations
as bombs burst her foundation,
and she is left feeling
lifetimes of devastation.

Years of boots on throats,
of truths I wrote
of true experiences
only slightly altered
by my lack of living in it.

but I can see the way they live it.
Fear, and sorrow, pain planted upon
the soft soil of childhood.

I can breathe but I
don’t think I should,
don’t think people are good
as other human beings suffocate
I don’t want to take their place,
but I would exchange pained
lungs and ease the air of despair
from their chest to mine
to give them time to repair
their hurting hearts
as they breathe in fresh oxygen.
Sep 26 · 117
Untitled
Graff1980 Sep 26
Snap back
and ****** that
which fools lack,
don’t give them slack,
life isn’t a card game
we’re not
dealing blackjack
but serving facts
that track tragic acts
that sees sane minds
and hearts snap
in half,
till we all cry so hard
that we have to laugh.
Sep 26 · 34
Untitled
Graff1980 Sep 26
Damning verses
from ancient scripture
gave excuses
so he could hit her,
with logic as fluid
as ***** dishwater
that ******* father
beat on his daughter.
Sep 26 · 31
Untitled 802
Graff1980 Sep 26
I cannot be an apathetic
version who is free
to float carelessly
through life,

I am more like a specter,
an abstract human inspector
who sits and observes this sector
of our shared humanity.

Not bullet proof because
the pain of those I love
breaks all the barriers
I placed to save myself.

No super strength like Atlas
cause my stamina will not last
as I bare the whole world
on these small shoulders.

I cannot fly by high in the sky.
I cannot speed through this life
because each tragedy draws me
deeper into dark caverns of
human suffering.

I do not have any superpowers,
just lots of empathy and hours
to reflect and write a speck
of some gloriously poetic
lines that many may find pathetic.
Sep 25 · 82
Untitled 801
Graff1980 Sep 25
I'm lonely
but only
temporarily
using these
words sparingly
as I search
this dark area
for some sign
of hope.

Weeping with pre-grief
because I see
uncertain future possibilities
as inevitable tragedies.

My brothers and sisters
seem strange and deranged,
lost in cycles of hate and pain
that drain the vein
of what’s humane.
  
So, I want to rewrite
the wiring inside
that has them dying
like others do
with withering emotions
that cause violence to brew
the kind that silences
the few who
would speak truth
about this mess.
Sep 25 · 98
Untitled 800
Graff1980 Sep 25
Its two thirty a.m.
or maybe later,
as she lays there
on the outer limits
of the small town
gas station parking lot
just off the highway exit,
trying to sleep as safely
as she is able.

Couldn’t be
more than
twenty-three
with a fully loaded bike,
and body tightly curled
under the cover
of her safety vest
of bright colors.

She smothers herself
under bright streetlights
cause at this time of night
or morning the lights
offer some limited sense
of security.

A concerned security guard
tries to wake her,
mistaking a mam for sir
drops a bottle of Gatorade
for her to drink later that day
and a sandwich.

He tells her
the gas station attendant
called the police.
Then to ease
his concerns
passes a couple loose ones,
leaving when he is done
getting a short explanation
of where she is coming from
and where she is going.

This is where the narrator’s
lines end but leaves him
wondering miles down the highway
if the police hassled her
or left her undisturbed,
so she could get
a few more hours of rest
before the hot day
forced this girl
back on the frontage roads.
Graff1980 Sep 24
There are beautiful words
waiting to be seen,
poems waiting to sing,
like the diamond glistening
waterfall that plays me
to a gentle sleep,
as it sparkles
and leaves stranger in awe,
while giving me reason to pause
cause I to am dumbstruck
by my own dumb luck,
confounded by such glory
that I nearly trip on my
untied shoes,
racing forward to write
all that radiates from nature to
the amazing being of you
my emerald friend who glitters
just as wonderfully.
Sep 23 · 37
Untitled 799
Graff1980 Sep 23
When we were young
we’d set our guns to stun,
play war game,
and make fairytales
to tell ourselves
that everything
would be ok.

But in modern days
machine gun ways
keep blowing us away.

Lies get harder to accept
and our innocence
gets harder to protect,
so ignorance becomes
the preferred state.

Halloween horror monsters
become less chilling than
those modern killing men,
and evading destruction
becomes an impossible feat.

While those who try
to fight the guys who lie
end up napping in
the dirt beneath our feet.

I am stumped,
shoulders slumped
as I stumble off in defeat,

and all that remains
to mark the pains
of our passing race
of humanity
is the poetry we leave.
Sep 22 · 198
Untitled 798
Graff1980 Sep 22
I want to be swollen
with sweet word growing,
impregnated with that which
is made for taking darkness
and transmuting it into
a light of love for all to
fall comfortably into.

I want to take this language,
work and refine those fine
lyrical lines that make minds
turn towards acting kind.

But I have lost the eloquence
that was once my treasured gift,
and all that falls from my lips,
is red and brown drips of ****.
I’ve gone from child optimist
to exhausted adult cynic.

I have lost the fairies and dragons,
unicorns, and gentle care bears
and now dim dreams live there.

Vague impression of once vibrant
brush strokes, and dancing limbs
have giving in to warring men’s
disturbing intentions.
Nightmare too horrible to mention
have become my waking certainty.

But what is really bothering me,
is that it has become much easier
to accept this sick distorted reality.

The canvass of life has become
the splatter art of a billion broken hearts,
and I have mastered the skill
of numbing what I used to feel
in favor of current forms of
self-amusement.
Sep 18 · 40
Untitled 797
Graff1980 Sep 18
It matters not
if in the end
all that I got
are a handful
of tender friends.

If my compatriots
do not forget
the goodness
that lives yet
in my poetry.

If only liars
and fools
speak ill of me,
but kindhearted
wise people
still feel
that I was
a man of
goodwill.

I know
nothing
waits for me
and eventually
I won’t even be
a fraction of
a lingering
memory.

But if
in these
minor instances
I insisted
on being kind
and that was
the worst trait
my detractors
could truly find.

Then I would be okay
to go out that way.
Sep 18 · 35
Untitled 796
Graff1980 Sep 18
I used to hold on to grand ideas.
I used to believe I could change
how all the people in the world feel.
So, I spoke out, encouraged doubt,
directing people to the tools they had
to distinguish what was good and bad.

But after I had a thousand doors
slammed shut on my smiling face,
after each blow cracked the smile
and tears were sent in to replace
hope for despair for the whole human race.
I just settled in to enjoy the show.

Some claimed my actions were cowardice,
but in truth I was barely handling it.
Now, I’m no longer striving for justice,
just speed walking one step out of line,
just breathing several second out of sync,
adapting but not accepting how
other people act and think
knowing that we are on the brink
of destroying almost everything.

What is a foolish poet to do,
but write what he knows down
and give to all of you who
will not even deign to read it,
as you take our planet and bleed it,
of every natural resource
and ounce of human compassion.

Every act of violence is like a bomb blasting,
and demolishing every bud of hope that tries to bloom,
and even though I want to laugh have to I cry
cause no matter how hard I try
I’ll have to sit and watch as we all die
too soon.
Sep 17 · 24
Untitled 795
Graff1980 Sep 17
So, you’ve decided to **** your planet.
This sphere can only take so much damage.
Your resources will not be expanded.
At some point no more trees will be planted,
so you will lose good air,
hell, with exhaust fumes and toxic towers
we are way beyond halfway there.

Your water will be contaminated,
but you don’t care.
There’s more pleasure to be had
by treating the earth bad
so why not grab
all that you can.

Congrats, on making that profit margin
grow year after year,
while you instill anxiety and fear
in those who work for you.

From what I’ve seen
it pays to be mean and obscene.
***** making energy clean,
human beings don’t need to exist
after you pass on from all of this
manmade chaos.

You didn’t even need a manual
cause you were a self-taught *******,
a perfect psychopath who laughed at
all those who tried to bring back
human decency.

So, king of destruction you win again.
Sep 16 · 42
Untitled 794
Graff1980 Sep 16
You will be diminished
as others finish
life’s strange race,
as living leaves you
in last place,
and you face
a world without them.

You will pull
faded photos from your mind.
Slightly distorted mental movies
that have been rewritten by time
will become bittersweet reruns.
Lies will soften or harden
previous facts
as you try to look back
to the past.

You will lose loved ones
over and over until
you no longer feel
an inkling of their essence.
Sep 15 · 51
Untitled 793
Graff1980 Sep 15
I haven’t been
working on finding
all the answers.

I’ve been questing
for the best questions,
pursuing strange obsessions,
seeking the sparks
that will start
different parts
of poetical proclamations,
teasing out
certain doubts
to understand clearly
that I am not nearly
smart enough to know,
but I am bright
enough to grow.

When my heart
lights up and glows
it’s one hell of a show.

All splendid sparkles
and black holes,
all gray dusty roads
and sharp rocks
that pierce flesh.

Inside, I hold more
than just myself.
I am an infinitude
of lies and truths,
of words I use
to gift all of you
brand new and pre-used
perspectives that amuse
and inform.

I am the fractional form
of past identities
and future possibilities,
a projection part
hopeful and cynical,
a self-created symbol
that you will
eventually interpret
through the lens
of how you feel.
Sep 14 · 50
Untitled 792
Graff1980 Sep 14
Sunday morning is a spiral
of dimmed lights
and despairing shadows,
of stairways to nothing
that dance in the distance
and turn around to find
time no longer binds
this strange and tired mind.

It is a body of fatigue,
so tired that it turns blind,
unable fathom
what was once
wondrously divine.

Windows no longer open to
a whole wide world
that I want to view,
but are closed,
painted black
with spider web
thin cracks
that let less than
infinitesimal light in.

Hope is made for forgetting,
until a long sleep
restores my stores
of optimism and inspiration
allowing poetic explorations,
as the windows open
to finally let more light in
and the stairways shift
restructuring themselves
to new realities
of delightfully
exciting possibilities.
Sep 13 · 56
Untitled
Graff1980 Sep 13
The flame of madness
cracked and expanded,
holds hearts unplanted,
soil sick with slick
mind worms that take
turns gnawing through
the muck and the goop,
and the rotting wood to,
seeing moods shift from
angry, sad, then numb
to become all spent up
without any passions left.
Sep 12 · 31
Untitled 791
Graff1980 Sep 12
Peasant eyes
tell pleasant lies,
but journeymen
are mastering men,
commanding them
to do their darkest
bidding,
leaving dreamers sitting
sad and dismayed
as the con artists run away
with the heart of what makes
love and language great.
Sep 11 · 105
Untitled 790
Graff1980 Sep 11
Do not let me
be vexed by
exemplary
poetry.

Cause I am
lyrically
fantastic,
like other
lexical lovers,
and word writing
art brothers.

I love the
sweet
syllabic
ecstasy
of channeling
language
for my own
enjoyment.

It is pure
play
and self-pleasuring,
as I go one
measuring
my verbal dexterity
in combination
with clarity.

There is
a sad disparity
in what I write
and what gets through
to the masses who
find my art
hard to digest.

It is a self-serving mess
in which I express
an observance
of the madness
of merely writing
and not expecting
others to grasp
half of it.
Sep 10 · 93
Untitled 789
Graff1980 Sep 10
The sun
no longer
streaks the sky
but seeks to die
as I try not to cry.

I am too tired
to create
anything I deem
great.

Over dependent
on stimulants
to wake up to
a creative vision.

Brain fogged
to the point of
being a rotting log
wasting space,
just waiting
to decay.

In my
fatigued state
there is a fear
I may never make
decent art again.

But I rest
and get up
to type out
something
beyond my doubts.

One poem,
the first of
the week,
a stumbling piece,
not my best
but a relief.
Sep 9 · 57
A Deadman's Game
Graff1980 Sep 9
The wind whistles hard
in my own backyard
with a haunting tune.

No birds fly by in
the afternoon wind
cause the sky’s ashen
and the past won’t come
back in a flash again.

Who is to blame
when the reaper
comes to claim
the body from the flame.
That’s a deadman’s game.

Corpses sit in their
own piles of ****,
with no one left to
remember all of it.
The rot and the rage
killing king plague
that took over this place.

Who is to blame
when the reaper
comes to claim
the body from the flame.
That’s a deadman’s game.

Poison in the ground,
silence is the sound
that’s most harrowing,
rivers run their course
but time finds hope
always narrowing.

Who is to blame
when the reaper
comes to claim
the body from the flame.
That’s a deadman’s game.

I will be the last
child to tell you of
our strange tragic past,
the final recorded
voice that afforded
no hope or recourse,
cause life is the wife
from which we all got
a final divorce.

Who is to blame
when the reaper
comes to claim
the body from the flame.
That’s a deadman’s game.
Sep 8 · 74
Untitled 788
Graff1980 Sep 8
I’m already unmoored.
My heart turns sunward,
as my eyes look onward
towards towering distances.

As glowering visages
scowl inwards,
poisoning their innards
with all that stress,
walling in hate
and dying in that
disgusting place.

Cowards cower
loosing seconds,
minutes and hours
to the anguish of
forgetting how to love.

But I am
the whispering
walker waking in
the early morning
and working on
my poetic warnings.
Even though, my boat
is already untethered
and I have already taken
off in this wild weather.

I say what I can,
give them a piece
of this tired mind,
and leave mankind.

My ship takes sail,
as they let themselves
sink into their own hells.
Sep 7 · 237
Untitled
Graff1980 Sep 7
This merry man
carries cans
of kerosene,
cause he's getting ready
to burn down everything.
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