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~
he who is a little ahead of his time
whose treasures of the words random
romanticism is in the blood, marrow,
his mood is as the autumn clouds

he who has lost his path within path
drowning with dreams, sunk you within dreams  
again holds thousands of lost dreams
fly the colorful kites in the blue sky

he who hide within himself
**** in his naked poetry
In forms humorous,harmonic  
as a portrait of the Vincent's starry night

he is a pilgrim who has lost himself within spirituality  
holds everything with the love  
who is for everybody so everybody is for him
But in fact there is nothing in all his

he who is simple straight as the waterfall
when in complex grew hard stone
who broke rules for building rules,
knows himself within the other life

whose words never be end
again he moves on and on
who laughs in the moonlight
again swept in pain without thinking any gain

who looks the life
as a grain of sand
and see the sign of love
in the footprint of a fossil

he who is a poet -
~
I wish I was still
your universe
but now I'm just
another star in
your galaxy
I just wanted to feel something
I rushed at the dawn,
I pulled at the fabrics of reality,
I kissed boys who didn't love me
I cried about the poems left unread
The faded words, the frayed edges
I crumbled under the weight of
your expectations
and in the end I was only left
with memories, while you're
making new ones with her.
I can't seem to center
my thoughts anymore
I'm lost between whether
I'm alive or dead,
I'm not sure which one
I would prefer.
I feel like hell tonight
If I asked you to make me sad
Would you paint the streets with sorrow?
If I asked you to make me angry
Would you tear peace asunder for me?  
If I asked you to make me nostalgic
Would you rip open your brain to present those sweet memories?
If I asked you to **** me
Would you?
Would you paint the streets with my blood?
Would you tear my heart asunder?
Would you rip open my skull?
Would you **** me?
A more recent melancholy I've found
 Jun 2015 Jordan Supertramp
D W
I sat there, alone.
I sat there alone, for hours.
I sat there alone, for long days and nights.
I sat there alone, for months depressed and sour.
My Goldfinch, in a clumsy state of being,
In the same corner, she got sick of seeing, the same walls around her, the same walls around me.

I took a moment in that inspiring hour.
I wondered what made her so sick of a life of a coward.

I wondered what if,
I wondered what if I had her wings,
I wondered what if she had what I had, being free.
I thought of how things would have been,
Of her soaring, wandering in places I've never seen.
I took her to the roof in a rush, opened the cage, and sat her for once free!
She spread her wings, in a joyful spirit, free.
Time froze that iternal moment of hope, of her to fly with my dreams far, further than I could ever reach.

She flew, shaked her wings. For once, twice then thrice.

To the ground, she fell, unable to fly.
It is too late, that cage got the best of her. Those four walls got the best of me.

Free,

We will never be.

© copy right protected
Saturday sidewalks are filled by the youthful,
the boys with young muscles and hard heads,
the girls with soft skin under short skirts.
They wander sidewalks in search of escape.
Each of them dance with lust,
drink hard,
and inject madness
into their veins.

On Sunday mornings,
after the splendor of uninhibited release,
the young weep in regret of poor choices,
their air saturated in reality.

Sidewalks then belong to the wise
who wake from a good rest.
These men and women drink roasted coffee,
reflect on a transcendent spirituality,
read great poetry,
and meet friends to discuss
the roots of democracy.

Every year, the unchanging concrete slabs
of sidewalks appear slightly different.
They reflect our perspectives.
Sidewalks that once led to freedom,
now lead to enlightenment.
In future years,
these same sidewalks
will lead to rest.
Just a thought.
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