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Josh Weatherman Oct 2018
The ink of a pen is not comprised
from the blood spilled,
or of the bullets fired,
or the broken souls of those who've killed.

And how foolish it all must seem,
at least to those broken souls,
that pledged to sacrifice everything,
and did, even if they came home.

How foolish is grandeur theory in all its metrics;
to the bullet that erases the life that actually exists.
Josh Weatherman Nov 2017
And now theres nothing here anymore.
Out of breath and consistently cold.

Floating in space, the dark open.
The free openness, unchained from gravity.
But loneliness, framed to not be a tragedy,
drips from the faucet, slowly.

So here we are, theres nothing.
O, this confusing hell,
is it missing something?
Or wanting something else.
Josh Weatherman Jun 2017
Of all the stories and fables,
the dreams left at bedside tables.
Of all the blessings in my life,
all the dreams I keep at night.

And from your eyes that got me high,
the lock of your intertwined thighs.
Or the ache that rattled my soul,
in the lowest of our lows.

If I only know one truth,
its you, I will always choose.
Josh Weatherman May 2017
How much power could fit
in the crease of your lips.
Not that kind that governs,
but puts all the colors

in my eyes. That rattles
my heart and eases my mind.
And how much I wish
I could kiss your lips
Josh Weatherman Oct 2016
The train comes and goes,
heavily, steadily so.
Down paths of tracks,
tracks that it has always known.

These trains stop but leave,
slowing, blowing steam.
Stations until it finally sleeps,
there the conductor takes out its keys.

Some trains don't stop,
Swinging, singing hallelujah.

And some trains get changed,
My world, some girl rearranged.
Josh Weatherman Sep 2016
I throw words as freely as pennies,
like a poem I read years ago.

How strange it all changed,
far in the distance, at first so slow.
Then all at once.

Pennies thrown at her so often,
she might not even feel their feelings.

But I throw them and they are free,
no cost in saying, but to not say
could cost me everything.
Josh Weatherman Feb 2016
Tears are knocking on the front door of my eyes,
I can feel the weight and pull of my brotherly ties.

Is this a disguise?

God it hurts to question myself—I can no longer tell.
But I heard someone whispering
you know its right when it stings.

So lighthouse, my lighthouse
Tell me how I rid this pain,
my soul, it shakes.
Son, if you let your love make you hate—
you'll give yourself a head and a heartache.

Come back to shore, for you must adjust,
son you won't love, if you cannot trust.

It'll be your return to dust.

An God it hurts to watch you figure this part out,
when you find out just how lonely you are.
but son trust in your love,
and all thats real with come.

Lighthouse, my lighthouse,
I'm trying to rid this pain
but my soul still shakes.
I never meant to hate! but
now my head and my heartache.
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