Is it true-
poets, more than others
weep?

beauty they worship
and if it is blemished or defiled
by man's callousness and indifference-
they lose heart
and even in their sleep
they are inconsolable

there is healing
in tears
despite the anguish
over time and past years.

Is it true
poets, more than others
love?

their yearnings
know no rest
and their passions
fearlessly sweep
over the wildest mountains
and the most tempestuous seas
even the bitterest Arctic

they burn like fire
and melt
every lingering piece of snow
they write across the sky
their poignant and painful poems
' Love is life's most sublime gift
and stronger than death'.

Are poets, more than others
lonely?

dwelling in the universe
of words and feelings
they are strangers to the world
even to themselves
as they struggle to find themselves
and unravel life's multifold mysteries.

Are poets, more than others
melancholic?

they dream of a world
beyond time
wrapped in eternally sweet dreams
only to end
in disillusionment and despair
(reality is too harsh and too cruel-
purveyor of the baneful, mundane
the uninspiring, the inane)

Should poets
be scoffed at

because
they long
for the beautiful and sublime
and draw
everyone's attention
to the ugliness
of the world?

I'm covered in pinpricks,
Marked by insignificance,
Society's standards never fit,
I learned to stitch, and altered it.
We're all meat bags, full of ****.
With our faces covered in spit,
Our tongues learned to savor,
The flavoring.
Can you taste the sweetness,
In my savory?
Self mutilation, with cookie cutters
Only certain shapes allowed in this oven.
I'm an accidental splatter,
Malleable, form me into what matters.
Out of all your confections,
I'm the only one that burned.
Out of all the sweetness,
I'm the only one that turned
Sour on your tongue.
Quickly, taste another one.
You said baking was fun,
But I guess it's not for everyone.

-SLuR

Can you feel the walls stare while you lie there bare?
Exposing yourself to him as the lights grow dim,
Letting him see underneath your skin.
Ensnared, by his charming grin.
You grimace, as he scans your body.
A temple stripped from all that was holy.
Yet he bows in prayer as if it holds a deity
And his eyes worship everything that he can see.
Entranced by intimacy
Your bodies begin to blend,
No beginning, no end.
Just infinite skin, and boundless pleasure.
Digging deeper to find the treasure.
Making your own grave, as you die over again.

-SLuR

Have you ever had a poet
**** softly at your lips
Then say bye?

Our eyes were closed when we first began to see
though they were weak with sorrow
lit through light, though darkness still prevailed
and to him, who wandered desperately
the fire never died, though we were dead as nails
we wearied ourselves uselessly, but never without hope

She's a sultry one, I know
seducing me with words I've used before
but never felt the weight until they came
From fingers nimbly graceful as her' s

When I see her profile I smile
Knowing what her words will do
though she's a thousand miles away
she can whisper clear as day

Make me feel again all those things
I ran from and forgot (or tried to)
She reminds me that I am not
Pining alone, or uselessly

If written words were miles
and reading the same as traveling
I'd be at your front door by now
begging for one more verse