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  Jun 2014 Jordan Lee Mercer
Jo Hummel
I'm not good at expressing myself, not verbally.

When I say I love you, I might not.
When I say you mean everything to me and that I couldn't live without you, I might mean that I'll forget you in a year.
When I say you are my best friend, I might hate you in a matter of seconds.
Nothing I say is definite.

But when I hold your hand,
and feel your fingers in mine,
and maybe our breathing is synced, and our eyes are locked,
and our hearts beat in a rhythmic war
(rivaling the emotions in our gazes),
maybe then,
I mean everything I've said
(and then some).
There is treachery afoot
On the highest levels
Treason
Sedition
Malevolent power
From those that rule us
In their Ivory towers
Handing out laws
Made for men
That apply for all
Except to them
Greed and corruption
As they stuff their pockets
Help their buddies
All the while
Mock us
They think that we
Are just the little people
Dim and stupid
So far beneath them
But they have forgotten
That we are the sons of legends
Born of the Gods of the past
As surely as Hercules himself
But we are born of the Gods of freedom
Of Washington and Jefferson and Madison
Davey Crockett and Daniel Boone
The sons born of America
Birthed out in bravery and blood
And we see your treachery
And your blatant disregard
For freedom and law
And soon
The sons and daughters of America
Will be coming for you
Mermaids cry with freshwater tears,
Dreaming of handsome sailors who do not flee in fear,
Or even mermen to share their dream with,
For mermaids are alone.

Sirens cry with silent sobs which no one hears,
For their voice,
Even lost and forlorn,
Would only entice further lovers to watery deaths.

Dryads tears drip heavy from leaves of great trees,
Their pain giving life to the forest,
Even as their love ensorcels their soul mates,
And their heart cries out the truth,
What is bound cannot be freely given,
And is forever changed.
My life does not stretch out before me like the yellow brick road, nor does it cling to the past like the nostalgic mush of the old, it is a maelstrom of now and wonder with the eye my calm abode. The memories of fear and joy
always erode, as the pouring here lands hard in droves, and the
beauty of current crackles then explodes.
I try to deflect the winds of time, I try
to shelter my memories
of you, and I try
to ground my booming
poetics in the little solid I know, but these
ephemeral reprieves are the total domain of
my weapons against my world, and my raging
present is ultimately all I have to offer.
Against the current tide I go.
Becoming what? I don't know.
Cunning words cut to the core,
Dragging down the soft
Energy of one's empty soul.
Fathomless in cycle, a
Gale of bitterness blows: but still I go.
Hiding from the wind, and
Isolated from survivors.
Jesting at worries, but
Knowing that there will always be a
Longing to live when there was
More to live up to.
None will know where there should have been
Openness to the pain,
Placating the desire to
Quomodocunquize what is not ours.
Remaining unchanged will
Supplicate to the
Terrorizing world, teaching the
Unguarded mind to fear.
Vulnerable to much, there are more
Wanweirds finding their ways to
Xerophagy and suicide
Yearning to go back to safety.
Zatetic hearts might survive.
Epeolatry Definition: Worship of words.
  May 2014 Jordan Lee Mercer
Chloé
let
let it be one kiss with pure consience
let it be one hug with a deep heat
let it be one look with a innocent grin
let it be the truth without an evil end
Today I feel like gray,
A dark shadow in a
Colorless world.
The shadowy rainbows
Stretch across
A shady sunset.
Gray-- Shadow-- Me.
Almost alone in a gray-toned
Paradise.
Maybe I want to be alone--
Gray sunlight washing over me,
Bathing the landscape in
Bland light.
Not blue, red, yellow.
Gray.
A colorless gray.
A gray that speaks soft words
And sings low and sweet--
The fuzzy gray down of a bird.
But gray,
Dreary-- never delightful,
But not so dark--
There is still light.
I am gray;
That is how I feel.
Petrified in a cloudy color,
Gray--
A stony face.
Gray--
A lost wish in the darkness.
The soft gray sweeps over all
Sometime...
Alone.

Will you be there?
Saxify Definition: to turn something into stone
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