Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Joseph Hart Jan 2016
And tell me why I make such fuss
About a boy across from me sitting on the bus,
I try to keep his features running in my head
Such lust is a spiritual death.
I could not agree more but his style,
Costs my eyes a side dart and a red smile,
But something I tell you that I really must
Talk to this boy sitting next to me on the bus,
Maybe he thinks something of me, it goes to show, I can't stop staring he probably knows,
Or I am something unnerving to him,
What if I am?
Where would I meet him sometime,
Our only crossroad is a bus jam
Packed with everybody going back and forth,
But I cannot keep your face straight, what's the worst?
I hope you someday will talk to me,
But hope is not my reality.
Joseph Hart Sep 2015
Sometimes in life those pleasures combine
And ****** my world into a bind,
It's something that does with time
And one cannot achieve: says I

Says I the secrets that knot my breast
And things I know but cannot say are best
And every night before I take my rest
Not I not I not I.

The words are choking and abating
They take my tongue and my throat gasping
To which my hands cannot find grasping
Not I, convulsing could tell of those eyes.
Joseph Hart Sep 2015
Great auspicious life clamored against the tide
Throws my eyes that closed in sudden whiles

Great pardons and angels bidding time
To sail back in line.

They lead me on straight and narrow paths
So eternity I may last.
Joseph Hart Oct 2014
You're busier than the crocodiles,
Swatting at the bees,
avoiding mumps and measles
that carry with the fleas.

In the time I could sit,
and bade my day awhile,
but now I've stuck to moving now,
now my soul is defilled!

You were busier than a ***** cat
swatting at the mouse,
and kicked closed, of that door,
that once was our own house.
Joseph Hart Sep 2014
In his absence I retain no charm,
I return to a natural violence,
no my arms, don't create that alarm
that could charge him into that silence
ne'er echo, but that primal drum,
before manners were ever birthed, bring the
silence to my mind, the ***-ha-dum hum,
that beat I'll bite, I'll seeth! The heat
a mug that clouds my eyes, ne'er dreaming
nor baptized, I pray the body, the cross:
I exist, and, the limbs, tender, teething,
in his bones, in crux I've dreamt my loss.
I retain no charm when he is here,
For I never hide any whims, or tears.
Joseph Hart Aug 2014
Here I clench

to a root

to get fruit.
Joseph Hart Aug 2014
You, a sunflower, if I could be, at all,
you do not clench to the wall,
and there you stand, tall, *****,
to gaze upon this blooming earth,
I know I am bounded
to grip the brick wall,
and climb towards a heaven,
to where you are so humble,
I don't think I will fall,
when you know, you'll do.
Next page