She sits alone.
Many think she's lost in her own thoughts.
Sometimes she is.
But,
Most of the time she is lost in the world around her.
The people around her serve as a distraction from her own life.
She'd rather create stories for the people who pass by,
than think about her problems.
Fabricating stories of love for the couples who walk by.
Wondering if those who walk alone need a friend,
like she does.
She almost gets up to ask the people with the long faces if they're okay.
But then she remembers-
no one asks if she's okay.
Partly, this makes her angry, but
mostly she feels relieved.
What would she tell them?
Would they understand how she's feeling?
She doesn't even understand how she's feeling.
So she stays aloof, distant.
The observer.

I will not write any poetry tonight
somewhat colder is the night
the cedars sleep
the cat is right
to curl up in dreams
so I will not write any poetry tonight
besides, how many can you write
(unless I want this graphomania,
that some say is our life)
the cedars sleep
the cat is right -
I will not write any poetry tonight
but watch time creep
until the dawn

He had tried to stripped me from my freedom and cut me from my wings so that I would not fly but i am free spirited wings are not needed to fly high.

I locked mineself
To her leg;
I swallowed the key
I shackled mineself, into her head.

I seeketh not to be free
By wordly standard;
The great architect
Showed me, I'm free with her, tis she is mine lantern.


©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane nagley dedication

We all think success is where you go,
Or, perhaps, success is who you know.
Success is who you yearn to be?
No, success is the green stuff that,
(unfortunately), doesn't grow on trees.
Success is what you get when you
plug that magical formula in.
Success is maybe what you've done
and where you've been?
Success could be all of the above,
But I think
          Success
                      Is counted in who we love.