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Jun 2019 · 149
Untitled 240
Graff1980 Jun 2019
It is a dead tree
that whispers it
rotting secrets to me
in a cemetery
called the bone orchard.

While lies drip
from the vinegar lips
of tea leaf reading mystics,
those snow globe,
pay as you go
telephone,
spiritualistic
con artists
who feed fear’s
favorite addicts,

I am left laughing
at the bombastic
******* rodents
who need to ***
farther then gone.

Let them lick
the lemons scented
candlestick,
tasting the tiny flame
that burns their mouth.

I plan to ******
the whole flock
of crowing gods,

take those frantic frauds
and make them start wishing
for some real redemption,

cause reading your sun signs
ain’t gonna help you find
true inner peace

and praying to your
man-made gods
won’t make the
white washed
republican Jesus
appear here
before us.
Jun 2019 · 219
Untitled 239
Graff1980 Jun 2019
This isn’t the greatest story ever told,
more like a garbage truck of bad luck,
with sad black moments sewn in
a swerving line threaded together
till the end of time
where we will find
the hive minds
dining on swollen swine
sipping blood red wine from the vine,
the one called the treasure of the golden sun,
the one for which we crawled and scrawled
useless scribbles of noisy dribble that dripped down
our sad clown faces, taking bits of chipped paint
and exposing our scarred flesh to the fearful crowed.

It is the way of the dead to lay in their bed
as the red wet stain spreads on wrinkled sheets,
as they excrete the remnants of feces,
dying to meet these
sick rotting expectations,
nature’s exploitation of our degenerating state of decay.

At the end of our life we donate this great feast of flesh
to the earth where we are laid to rest.
This is not some sort of sweet slumber
but how we count to the number
which equals nothing.

The unknown equation that some have guessed
while the fearful rest hang back depressed and obsessed
with buying into the very best excuses
to not do the math that help us see through
the illusion of immortality.

A shadow paints the moon,
a minor fleck falls from the lens of the telescope
to let us know the true scope.
I get by, but others fail to cope
with all that the madness of truth implies.

We will all die, and all the flowery words
cannot cover the stench of **** stained drawers
of unopened doors that lead to an infinite world
of what ifs.

The cosmos never forgets
because it never knew one inch of us
and gave the same measurement
of caring intent about our meaningless existence.
Jun 2019 · 185
Untitled 238
Graff1980 Jun 2019
He lay coughing up
some convoluted construct
of love,

lying about his intent,
investing in
the color of her skin,
the way she would bend
and moan for him,
confessing
her deepest secret
desires on a whim.

She caved
and gave in,
succumbing
to the enslaving
of her will,

believing in
the images he created
to make her naked
in flesh and thought.

She was his  
next great victim.

He was a chameleon,
sweet to violent
in several seconds,

changing her tint
from warm to bruised
then severely crimson
and finally when
the breath of flesh
started failing,

she became porcelain,

and he carried on exploiting
all that was beautiful
for his own profit.
Jun 2019 · 212
Untitled 237
Graff1980 Jun 2019
It is not maturity
that decreases my levity
whilst increasing the severity
and frequency
of my seriously souring
disposition.

It is experience
that lessens
the greater qualities.

Draining me
as I cough up
blood and dust.
Till, I cease seeking
the better angels
in all of us.

As I rust
and prepare
to fade
several shades
evaporating
into transparency
escaping as I must.

Because
the inner demons
are doing
the spring cleaning
leaving nothing but
drying mud
intermingling
with what was once living
crimson.
Jun 2019 · 296
Untitled 236
Graff1980 Jun 2019
No one gets in.
Steel door locking,
like a point guard blocking,
heart clenching,
gut wrenching,
never connection fixing.

No many splendid
or dependent
love addiction,
no bridge building
or repairing
the broken tokens
I was wearing.

No watching
people leave me,
or stretch the truth
to deceive me.

No defending
lies I long for,
no one gets in
my steel door,

and I never
ever come out.
Jun 2019 · 159
Untitled 235
Graff1980 Jun 2019
For some green
is the sweet sight
of life’s seasonal growth,
nature’s lovely note
wrote on a mudball canvass.

For me it is the shimmering grace
that gets caught
in the back of my throat
as I fail to catch my breath,
partially because I am stunned
but also because of my
****** allergies.

However,
for the darker
green things,
creeping,
and consuming
the people using
flat paper bills,
I am filled
with two parts dread,
one part jealousy,
and three parts regrets
for the time I wasted
pursuing a wasteland
of consumer goods.
Jun 2019 · 102
Anxiousness
Graff1980 Jun 2019
The white painted barn
is shredded and weathered
by wind and rainwater.

The ground is
all mud and salt,
and I feel
as though
this is all
my fault.

So, I drop flowers
for metaphors,
see shadows
lurking on
the empty
meadow floor,
where a bed
of dead roses
fails to bloom
once more.

The prettiest clouds
have the
sharpest teeth
and I am certain
that there are
cumulous
stalking me.

So, I try to walk swiftly,
but I am soon stiffly
crawling across
dark landmarks,
where my paranoia
infuses me
with the certainty
of impending
death or
insanity.

Each inch gained
seems to cause
some gnawing pain,
but I try to push on.

Home is heaven’s doorstep
So close,
but so far away.

The anxiety
is forcing me
to slow
Until, I am
a frozen mess
facing a frigid death
with infinite regret
and no regress
to address
anything.
Jun 2019 · 820
Untitled 234
Graff1980 Jun 2019
She was barely sixteen,
out late partying,
and intoxicated
when he came
and violated
her sacred
center.

At first, she resisted
but with his fists
he insisted.
So, stunned numb
she submitted,
laying still as a stone
that sunk
to the bottom
of a lake,
as she was forced
to endure
that horrible ****.

Disgusted and ashamed,
she almost took a shower,
but unfortunately knew
if she wanted to
press charges
she’d have to keep
his ******* fluids.

So, she let them
swab and start collecting
all the samples
they would need
to prosecute.

But at her
court appointed
appearance
it soon became
apparent
that only her parents
cared about justice,

cause the judge was
quite transparent.
Even though,
he made a production
of compassion for
her suffering,
he still let
that rich man's son
off with only a
slap on the wrist,

cause the lawyer told him
he’s just a boy and
he can’t do time in
the prison system,

cause it would ruin him
and it’s not his fault because of
affluenza.

What good would it do
but ruin the lives of two,
after all they had
both been through?

Several weeks
and more than three
pregnancy tests later,
she still felt
the violation
as a remnant of him
began gestating
like and alien
inside of her.

But her church wouldn’t
let her abort the fetus
so, despite the trauma
she had to adapt
to the fact
that she was trapped.

Four weeks later
she went from
at least this life
will need her,
to cold chills,
cramps, and a fever;

From ten to
twenty-two  
pounds gained
then to back down
and even lighter
then when
her pregnancy
began.

She went from
finally accepting
and preparing
to start sharing
her life
with a newborn,
to a ****** expulsion,
nausea, repulsion,
and hiding
said heartbreaking
pain in shame.
Jun 2019 · 173
Untitled 233
Graff1980 Jun 2019
I tried to tell him
but he wouldn’t listen,
keeps on missing
the common sense
we were all given.

He’s got a big mouth
and thick fists
matched by his dim wits,
so, pretty boy ***** is
too big for his lacey britches.

Ruffled some rough feathers
now the big birds are chirping
ready to put a hurt on
this **** that keeps skirting
certain responsibilities.

He can talk a big game,
float lazily on a name,
but when the gang
comes back around again;

He won’t be taking a swim
with his shimmering
salmon friends,
or be fitted for
the new cement style
on the ocean floor.

In fact, he will be lucky if
those redwood chips
aren’t made red with
crimson drips,

and I might try to save him
but I am seriously starting
to prefer avoiding
the whole human herd.
Jun 2019 · 95
Untitled 232
Graff1980 Jun 2019
I wake up
with a cup
of caffeine,
and I’m greeted
by a beautiful
boot up screen.

There is a message online
from the one that I find
has stimulated my mind.

We talk for the day.
What a wonderful way
to create a new
relationship.

I move out to move in
as we become
more than just friends.

Time marches on
as old friends pass on,
but the hope that
I hold is not gone.

She becomes my wife ‘
at this late stage in life.
And though I am shocked
the new gift that I get
is a baby girl.

Later in life
my wife dies,
and my little girl goes
and grows up
to moves away.

She makes a family
of her own,
gets her own home,
and visits me
a couple times a year.

But then I wake up
and realize
that my wonderful life
was a bunch of lies.

It was just a dream.
Jun 2019 · 195
Untitled 231
Graff1980 Jun 2019
The twitter feed is burning
with all of our collective yearning
to be heard,

so, we feed the bird
one tweet that is
absurd,

But we are just
a bunch of voices
creating
a cacophony
of ego driven
insanity.

Poor posts
of Instagram photos,
but though
we look through those
do we ever
really get to know
the person therein.

We are image obsessed,
possessed by a
dark demon dog of doubt
that keeps barking and nibbling
till the likes are dripping,
up to the tipping point,
and we start tripping
over the fiction
we made to share.

Artificial connections
may be good in a
few instances,
but they can’t hug
the hurting,
cannot console in person,

when you won’t even leave
your sweat stained
**** smelling
swelling seat cushion
that you have been pushing
down in the same direction
your human connections are going.
Jun 2019 · 97
James
Graff1980 Jun 2019
What a lovely night
with just the right
amount of light
to illuminate
my fellow poet.

A little heft
below his chest;

A smile left.
I take several breaths
as he speaks
to me
spiritually.

Brother of
diverging
philosophies,

sweet words spoken,
given as a token
of his scholarly
artistry.

I listen,
grateful
for my grateful dead
looking
gentle ginger
gentile jesus.
Jun 2019 · 353
Untitled
Graff1980 Jun 2019
I write
a little life
littered with
the broken bits
of split
and distorted
reflections
I recorded
and reported
as reality.
Jun 2019 · 163
Untitled 230
Graff1980 Jun 2019
There is a recurring
and intensifying
awkward tension
in my chest.

I do not mention
it to any one,
only clench
and cringe
in a minor state
of anxiousness.

It seems to be followed
by a shoulder to neck
ache
that flows along
a bone I broke
a very long,
long time ago.

There is cluster of warm discomfort
that expands from my chest,
in relation to the stress
from car issues,
a flare up forced
by the sound of something
making crunching noises.

It passes quickly
as I realize
that my car is fine.

Is the tension
a product of
my exhausted mind,
cause I am totally fine
in the morning to come?

I get my daily
workout fun in
and everything
seems cool.

Until, I feel that
familiar ache.

Maybe, I should take
a couple day’s break
from the gym.

But I hate to waste
a good workout day.

So, despite the stress
and inconsistent pain
I still workout,
and that night
it comes back again.

I will not write
this poem’s end
and I hope
reality does not
take note
and finish it for me.
Jun 2019 · 311
Untitled 229
Graff1980 Jun 2019
The consumer in me
can barely see
the carnivores
who creeps
in our society.

The pushers
of a variety
of sugar filled
insanity.

They scramble
to protect
their sugar investments
to our detriment.

So more of us
fall to the savagery
of sugary
related afflictions
far more fatal
and prolific
then the opioid addictions.
Jun 2019 · 197
Untitled
Graff1980 Jun 2019
The dusty
spider-webbed
wet and ruined
wooden slats
are stacked
too high
in the back,
rotting
way past
safety standards,
and they won’t last
more than a month before
they collapse
and spill
the junk we stored
all over the
warehouse floor.
Jun 2019 · 124
Untitled 228
Graff1980 Jun 2019
Your running in
a golden club,
while the rest of us
our just
flecks of dust,
plus ashes
from all the
burnt corpses
you brush off,
as the innocent
choke and cough
paying the cost
of your corrupt
corporate response.
Jun 2019 · 778
Untitled 227
Graff1980 Jun 2019
I’m trying
to reduce
the undue
influence
and time consuming
presence
of certain
social media
Jun 2019 · 343
Orwellian Authority
Graff1980 Jun 2019
I will tell you
the truth,
adjust and fine tune
till your view
matches
the matchstick
reality I made
for you.

I will cut and clip,
snip and rip
all of the
fanciful
fairy wing bits
that I want you
to forget.

I will mold
and distort,
stretch and contort
till your
red clay mind
conforms
to the norms
that I formed.

But if you dare despair
act scared
and air
your understanding
to try and repair
everyone’s
perceptions
of our shared
reality,

I will find you,
and take your rationality,
ostracize, or exclude
till you die
or submit to
the prechewed
military issued
world order
I eschew.
Jun 2019 · 155
Untitled 226
Graff1980 Jun 2019
What a screecher,
matinee double feature
of those dark creatures
that chase a female
cause they
plan to eat her.

Some secret
armored ghost
from Jupiter,
or sea beast
from 20 leagues
further below
the oceanic flow.

Not too costly
to see those grossly
violent films.

Those hacked up teen dreams,
those queens of scream,
poor things,
what bad luck
to get stuck
in those movies.

Would have been
so groovy for them
if they could have been in
a romantic comedy,
or family drama.

Would have been safe
cause nobody would have
chased them
and one hour to two
equals a happy ending
for the whole world to view.

Too bad they got put in
a terrible slasher sequel.
Jun 2019 · 198
Untitled 225
Graff1980 Jun 2019
Little operator,
She brought
all the lost
thoughts
and painful
pressure
back in
to my life.

Took me
from peaceful easy
to anxious
and *****
in seconds flat.

Made my mind muddled,
like an old man
severely befuddled
by modern devices,
the queen of my queer vices
seems to like it
when I struggle.

She knows I
would do anything
for the love she brings
and still my hornet queen
stings.

I guess it is a woman’s work
to repay the ages of hurt
my brethren have bestowed
upon her sexes’ fairer graces.
So, she brings tears
to my face
as she moves away,
fluttering fancies
that constantly change.

One minute
I’m in it.
Her heart
the treasure
that brings me pleasure
inches from my grasp

Then in my final gasps
I realize at last
she was just a
shimmering mirage,

a sweet lie
that got me through
these endless nights
to the end of my life.

Oh well.
Jun 2019 · 291
Untitled 224
Graff1980 Jun 2019
He is the god of lust,
ten thousand hours
spent observing
the herding of the hurting,
blood spurting,
and still he seeks
to feed a deep need.

He is the professor
of pain
professing his name
begging the same
from some sweet
unknown dame.

He is a soul seeker,
deep truth speaker,
devourer and needer
of sensual things.

Whilst the horde
of ***** human beings
keep ******* rutting
like squalid pigs in a sty
he is searching
for the truth inside,
his inner light
sense of pride
so that someday
he will find
a parallel passion
on the otherside.

It is a hunger,
a lifetime of starvation
he has been facing
whilst racing towards
a brutal end.

Love will not mend
those wounds,
but it would be nice
to have a life
softened by
similar passions,
even if they are just
two boats passing
on a foggy night.
Jun 2019 · 108
Untitled 223
Graff1980 Jun 2019
I linger in
hungry shadows
as the sun descends,

waiting for the end
of daylight
and for a
whole new world
to begin again.

Against all odds
I am making ends meet.
I am reasonably
happy,
but this daylight life
is not really my thing.

Some say the way
I stray from the sun rays
is a weakness,
but I did not seek this
evening loving disposition.

It is just that
the night
is a quiet and
generously
gentle and reflective
lover,

and though I may
someday love another,
for now, I long to smother
my anxiety,
and complexity
in the cool windy arms of
the brilliant
but bluish black
that always welcomes me back
after a harsh day’s journey.
Jun 2019 · 110
Untitled
Graff1980 Jun 2019
Despite my desire
to slow this
unsettling pace
things keep
happening
everyday.
Jun 2019 · 616
Untitled
Graff1980 Jun 2019
Today I’m struggling
to find
a potent
portent
of the human
condition
to place in
my poetic
compositions.
Jun 2019 · 300
Untitled 222
Graff1980 Jun 2019
For the longest time
I could not find
compassion in
my frenzied mind
for any of my past selves.

Now, as I recall
the gloom
of a sun bare room,
where the
curtain
swept
back and forth
like a broken broom
brushing up
more dust
for all of us
to inhale,

the thin spindles
of spider webs
above my head
whilst I lie in bed
contemplating
how bad
I wished that I was dead,

the late night runs
as If I thought
I could escape from
the pain that
would always come,

the hours of lifting weights
because of my lack of self-love,

of reading for hours straight
to dull and distract myself
from that longing ache
that made me break
when I would wake
in tears,

all those years
passed and I have forgotten
the pain that my isolation brought on.

I was so cruel
and unforgiving,
angry and unrelenting
in my self-loathing
and former forms
of self-flagellation.

Time plus distance
has lessen the intenseness
of those moments,
and I have found more temperance
in my temperament,
allowing myself enough room
to finally forgive him,
the person who I have not been
for over ten
to twenty years.
Jun 2019 · 167
Untitled 221
Graff1980 Jun 2019
Terrible
wind
tendrils
touched
the rocky shore
pushing for
more punishing
waves to splash
against the caverns
down below.

While
a mile
above and away
rough wet bark
bit the unwitting
runner’s
already sweat
moistened skin.

Farther away
but on the same day
a sweet white stallion
shuffled and neighed
stomping proudly
on parade
to display
a light blue mane.

Till, the blue moon came
to collect
the remnants
of the day,
letting all things settle
into their
proper place,
as winds died,
the tree breathed
its evening breath,
and the horse spied
the perfect place
to rest,
so, it could play
tomorrow
Jun 2019 · 112
Untitled 220
Graff1980 Jun 2019
Reflected in
my imagination
was a face
I dreamed of facing,
with eyes of
emerald fire
to spark
an unspoken
token of
desire.

So, by a cool
pool of blue
rippling water
I sat pondering
the squandering
of precious
moon kissed
lips.

She waits
in water
wading in
a vision
of a wet shirt
that wrinkles
and clings
desirously
to her
angelic body,
just like
the thin strands
of long
brown hair
that lay
against
her face
and slide
down the side
of her temples
to settle
on her collar.

Goddess
of the water,
leaves me wanting,
to be consumed
by her blooms
to be devoured
by the reflection
of the moon
in her eyes.

Though, I yearn
to touch and burn
in passion’s fury
she is more
then a thousand miles
removed from me,
becoming
a fantasy
that I will dream of
but never meet.
Jun 2019 · 81
Untitled 219
Graff1980 Jun 2019
It’s the end of time.
So, I got a month  
to employ
all the toys
you enjoy.

There will be
no guarantee
for a future
society.

So, I take it
one day
at a time
while you
stray
I still find
a bit of fun.

All the work
that you did
for the things
that you get
doesn’t
really mean
****
in the end.

So,
I smile
while I can,
I know
you don’t
understand
but I only get
this one chance
to live.
Jun 2019 · 180
Untitled 218
Graff1980 Jun 2019
I play a
symphony
of destruction
upon my flesh.

Curls and kettlebells,
pushups,
and box jumps,
alternated with
step ups,
and lunges.

Fixing fast twitch
and slow twitch
muscles till
they restructure themselves.

I play my body
like a violin,
but I’m violent
with erratic
and explosive
movements.

High speed,
accelerated
velocity,
and impact
to match that
as I sweat through
the music I move to.

Endorphins,
and brain derived
neurotrophic
factors
to increase
my mental aptitude,
while I laugh
and groove.

I’m happy to,
cause it elevates
my mood
and helps make me
much improved.
Jun 2019 · 129
Untitled 217
Graff1980 Jun 2019
Thin brown arms
safely secure themselves
in a little lawn chair
as the sweet old lady
sits there to stare
up at space.

With very little
light pollution
she can see
the majesty
of the evening sky
clearly.

The night is silent,
shaded by purple grey clouds
that cut across
the blinking expanse
at an awkward angle.

But this
evening’s bliss
is broken
by spastic shots
somewhere
down the block.

The sounds of a siren
causes tension.
Her stomach tightens
in fear
until she hears her
young sons voice.
May 2019 · 341
Untitled 216
Graff1980 May 2019
With a little help
from richer family
and friends
I could live on
the high end.
I could follow
fashion trends,
find a fabulous mansion
and go dancing
with actors and
their model companions.

Just three steps up on
the social ladder,
I could become
a capitalistic
champion
and conquer
all the lesser men
who are barely
managing
to compete
adequately.

I could plant
golden trees
which spring
financial
gratuities
in perpetuity,
and my annual returns
would cause others
to yearn and burn
in jealousy.

I could leave all
the human suffering,
as I detach from the facts
of human empathy
taking all the pleasure
for me
and leaving nothing
for the rest of humanity.

Then I could run
to become
president
and pretend to make
America great
while I continue to take
more and more for me.
May 2019 · 243
Untitled 215
Graff1980 May 2019
Farewell
to the
fairytales
that children tell.

We make
no more time
passing on
a long-gone songs
or simple rhymes.

Our taste for
the truly sublime
is past its prime.

The sweetness
of diversity
in creativity
has lost its longevity.

Whilst fools
clamor for
simple stories
and boring sports,
I grieve deeply
for the loss
of dreaming,
of seeing
and believing
great things
are future possibilities.

So, I serenade strangers
in poetry,
put on a parade
that nobody sees
and wait to die
unmourned by
the unmoved masses
of human cattle.
May 2019 · 144
Recent Nightmare
Graff1980 May 2019
The ravenous
cavern is
where they come
to be devoured by this
horribleness.

Four strangers
and my mother
line up
to face a mirror
of fear
and suffering.

A fearsome fiend
appears
in each reflection,
major killers
from movies,
like Leather Face
Freddy Krueger,
Michael Meyers,
and Pinhead.

One by one
each person
is sliced and diced
right through
their life
by monsters
that never leave
their mirror.

Then comes the Hellraiser
reflected before
my mother.
Razor chains of pain
explode out
and pierce her skin;
Embedding and shredding
tender flesh,
rending red screams
of terrible suffering
from her lips.

In her agony
she reaches out for me,
but I retreat
in a state of fear
tinged with
a little bit
of indifference.

When she realizes
that I will not
be the heroic type
and save her life
she slits her throat
and dies.

Immediately,
I awake, ashamed
and deeply disturbed.
Though, I
do not believe
in any higher meaning
part of me wants to know
what that was all about.
May 2019 · 92
Untitled 214
Graff1980 May 2019
I know,
it does not load
the whole truth,
the pixels are blurred
and though
their mouths
are open wide
I cannot hear
what they say.

I cannot
feel their pain,
or taste
previous passions
that were once
plucked
from their
plump lips.

I know
time will
eclipse
all this
making
their meaning
even more
of a mystery to me.

So, I see them
in shades of black and white
renderings of
their strange and wonderful
past existence.

They may be dead
or still growing,
showing
new sides
of their lives
or refracting
different angles.

All I know for certain
is though I am intrigued
by what wonders I see

I really don’t know them.
May 2019 · 139
Untitled 213
Graff1980 May 2019
These are not triggers
but poignant
pen points pricking
my nostalgia
by pulling potent
sensory information.

Like little electrodes
they let go and explode.

Strawberry and chocolate

take me back to
a place I don’t want to
revisit,
an old housing complex
that I am no longer missing.

The sound of a piano
let’s me let go
and fall with the flow
of fantastic chords,
back to the floor
by the wooden door
frame
next to my grandma’s
******* piano.

A cold concrete step
or warm summer sweat
lets me get a taste of
things I forgot
but still love
like grandma’s
raisin cinnamon swirl buns.

Memories’ mission
for what is missing
and needs remembering
seeds these things inside of me
to produce a crop
of reminiscence
and I am still recalling
bits and parts of them.
May 2019 · 194
Untitled
Graff1980 May 2019
Desire
further befuddles
an already
addled mind.
May 2019 · 151
Untitled 212
Graff1980 May 2019
She stands on
the tippy top of
a grand canyon
miles above
looking down
to a ground
where I plant
my heart
hoping to dance
and be a part
of the world’s art.

Her poetry floats
across the gaps
like an echo,
and I gasp
as I grasp
the meaning
of her repeating
syllables.

She leaves me
grieving gently
longing for
a connection,
not a lustful *******
sprinkled with
the touching
kind of affection,
but communication
and shared appreciation
of each other’s
poetic creations.

She does not see me,
retreating
from life’s beating
whilst beseeching,
then dying alone.
May 2019 · 103
Untitled 210
Graff1980 May 2019
Waiting,
in a blood red shirt
on moist earth
he sits indistinct
lulling over something.
On the brink
he thinks
he’s finding
that which he
forgot.

Arms cross
over her
white wrinkled
blouse.
Thin lines
of lovely hair
sit there
as she stares
trying to ease
the sorrow
of something
that she lost.
She waits
and faces
her own face
as a single pane
specter
who fans the flame
of a pain
that longs to be quenched.

Hand clasp
in her lap
as tired eyes
scan the skies
falling down
to the nursing home’s
parking lot,
in hopes
that the family
that has forgotten her
will finally return.
The bags under her eyes
no longer feel
the moistness
of grief
as she witnesses
all those she loved
and needed
just up and leave
like living memories
floating away
on a sweltering
summer breeze.
She knows
they are still out there
but they do not
come back here.

I watch all waiting
for the debating to cease
and the compassion to increase,
for people to hear my pleas
as I cry out for love, hope, and peace,
but I to
sit looking out
at a sad world view
as I to wait alone.
May 2019 · 79
Untitled 209
Graff1980 May 2019
What is sadness
but an egg cracked heart
bleeding whilst beating,
pleading for the pain
to quit calling our name.

What is loneliness
but the same heart
hidden in
the beginning
of youth’s
spinning
those wavering intentions,
so many blanks skies,
too many to mention
as she stares
at a field bare
of flowers
or any crop,
looking for
the time
when her pain will stop.

What is life
but every sad scene
played in-between
the questioning
and hoping,
then coping
with the lack
of any meaning.

What is respite
but when her
tiny body drops
and she does not
have to yield to
the furnace of feelings
that was killing
all that made her
who she was.
May 2019 · 133
Untitled 208
Graff1980 May 2019
This memory
is a younger
version of me,
nostalgia
distorted by
time and distance
to be played out
in a dream.

I follow
flitting footprints
that represent
some previous sentiment
of playful movement.

Then sit silently
on a sandy beach
watching a world
that never was
and never will be
again.

Little rubber rafts
float lazily
as children laugh
and splash playfully.

I run roughly
then stop
to wiggle each digit
feeling the wet grit
and grinning.
as the sand sifts
softly through
my tiny toesies.

A boombox plays
a song I cannot
make out,
as if
it is
just filler
for some
tv scene
in my dream.

This reverie
is like a prized parcel,
or a delicious morsel
of some recipe
that incorporates
the best past parts of me
into its fine aged flavoring.

Abruptly
I awake
a slight tinge
of sorrow
sliding down
my face
for that lost place.
May 2019 · 109
Untitled 207
Graff1980 May 2019
Forgotten are the moments missed,
the never was world
parting from this
waking reality
where I walk from
the end to nowhere.

Sweet salutations
sent to the void,
no expectation,
but still I am annoyed.

Every dream
becomes a whistle,
a tune that is
on the tip
of my tongue,
and like a specter
as soon as I think
I have captured
that diaphanous thing
it is gone.

Forgotten are
the hopes and aspirations
lost moments
in-between
the heartbeats
and their ceasing,
decreasing all
possible outcomes
as well as the
well of memories
we all sprung from.
May 2019 · 83
Untitled 206
Graff1980 May 2019
These words make promises,
take verbs and nouns
herd together fun sounds
to create new meaning,
to sift sand from the strands
of fate,

but wait.

These stories
are not that great.
When we line up
the good and bad stuff,
sift through
the **** they give you
to make some meaning
we are missing
the sad fact,
the truth that
these narratives lack
any order.

We want it so much.
Meaning makes us
less sad,
but the truth
is neither good nor bad.

We put a period
on the end of a life
then write
about another side,
but as far as I
can tell tonight
there is no proof
of an afterlife.

Fear and loss
makes us accept
the lies of the inept,
puts us in debt
and out of our mind.
Till time
takes all that is you
and all that is me.
Less than a brief blip in the history
of eternity,
blinking out before
infinity can see anything
worthwhile about our being.
May 2019 · 85
Untitled 205
Graff1980 May 2019
Heavy is the sun
that runs
orange to red,
over the journeyman’s
aching head.

Blank face and bold
wearing a cloak
that is a century too old
as he wanders alone.

The moon would be nice
to cool this day light
with a little night life.

Letting him gaze
beyond the heated blaze
and toward more calm
evening fires.

He looks toward
the horizon for
the hope of
the one he loves.

A wish to wrap
his arms around
the family he has found
and lost more than once
moves his fatigued
laden form on.

But the sun swallows
and disintegrates
all dreams for better days,
till frustrated
and dehydrated
he dies a ***** death.
May 2019 · 99
Untitled 204
Graff1980 May 2019
He wears a hat of weird wind,
and for the lack of face
I can see him
unsmiling.

Shifted shades
of sad distortions,
colors mixed
in strange proportions
and all is just a sea of
lost emotions
intermingling with
rejected love.

White streaks
flow in semi-circles
surrounded by
a sky blue.

His ears can still hear you,
indifference
is not his preference,
but strangers do not
reference is existence.

All is abstraction
as paint pulls away
to blur a face
that will melt
from the memory of
everyone.

Till, the old blue man
is just poor pigments
plucked from the soil
and returned
to the earth again.
May 2019 · 179
Untitled 203
Graff1980 May 2019
Unlock,
the curious case
of the face
I desire
to decipher.

Round and smiling
consciousness
calling for a cure
to loneliness.

Partially ******
but my preference
lay more in
the heart for learning
by conversing.

She is a bowel
of all my favorite
ingredients,
passionate,
intelligent,
kind, and
creative.

On the tip of
my tongue
and I can taste
just a hint of
developing love.

But when I see her
I become the retreater,
because a lifetime
of abuse and rejection
has been my teacher
stating that in each case
of passions such as this
I must admit
that I am beneath her,
and any proclamations
I would endeavor to
bequeath her
would only
be followed by
a polite decline
and a future
guarded disposition.

Thus, pink petal hearted
fallen, and dried
crumbles in
the unrepentant
desiring
of someone
I believe
will never see me
in a similar fashion.

So, I play jester
to her queenly court
proffer kind words of
admiration and support,
then walk an ever-thinning path
back in to the black
as other happy lovers
play and laugh
in the sweet summer breeze.
May 2019 · 123
Untitled 202
Graff1980 May 2019
The walls crawl
with scribbles
and half painted
reflections.

One line to mark
the years that pasts
in inches grown.

One scratched
bedpost
deformed by the confusion
of a child
who has been
misplaced
by the system
that is supposed to protect him.

Blueberry stains
from squished fruit
paint the pillow case
he is forced to use
as he lays on the floor
for some forgotten
transgression.

He walks a wooden bridge
above a muddy pit
that takes him
from one dungeon
to the next one
where his mind
barely exists.

Flickering images
fall fast
as he forgets
all the emotions
that use to be his.

This house was never his home.
This life was more like a tomb,
where he was buried alive
until that part of him died
and he grew up to be
a pale participant
in this society
of mediocrity.
May 2019 · 84
Untitled 201
Graff1980 May 2019
You applauded the idiotic,
lauded patriotic symbols
above rationality, reason,
and any form of compassion,
then wonder why so many die
and how come Babylon
has fallen on hard times.
May 2019 · 87
Untitled 200
Graff1980 May 2019
We were merely mortal men
before you wrote the wars
that squeezed lemons from gems.

We were acid tip tongues that spit
every type of liquid that was poisonous.

We were the pit you put petted vipers in.

Then when you could have
elevated better men
you made us demi gods
whilst naming honest people frauds.
May 2019 · 78
Untitled 199
Graff1980 May 2019
I'm in love
with a lie
that is older than me,

and a hope
that is younger
than
the most recent spring;

Not a parroted dream
but a queen
of deep schemes
that parses out wisdom
and better poems
than me.

I'm in love
with a drug
that I create
everyday,
not pill
that some take
but the thoughts
that make
my mind great,

and the shadows
that I see
make me want
to believe
there is something
greater out there
that is in love with me.
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