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 Sep 2016 Chloe
ryn
There lived a man, a crooked man
Whose journey was indeed sheer folly
He had hoped to meet someone, just anyone
To share his plight and story

Many had seen him walk his crooked walk
But thought him unpleasing and crazy
We had watched from afar, afraid to go near
And we had avoided him completely

We could've looked past his decrepit state
But we invested much in seeing with naked eyes
So quickly we turned the other way
We cared not if he lives or dies

We could've helped this man
To close the journey that he had then begun
The earth would now claim his body where it laid
As his soul disappears into the sun

Know this man, the crooked man
Whose looks weighed on us a tonne
We've lost the chance to see this man
The man we conveniently chose to shun
Part 6 of 6

How many times have we seen this man,
woman or child...
Then judged and looked the other way?

I, too, am guilty.
.
 Dec 2015 Chloe
Free Bird
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
Money in the pocket of the biggest shareholder

Day by day, we grow older
Love is lost, hearts grow colder

So while you still can, you should hold her
Say what you feel, before you wish you'd told her

Don't stash your dreams away, in that folder
As you care less what they think, you'll get bolder

Listen to those, who need a shoulder
Let her live, don't try to mold her

Don't sell your soul, for something golder
 Dec 2015 Chloe
Grace
Let me
 Dec 2015 Chloe
Grace
Let me fall back into your heart,
And lie besides you
On this purple, diamond sea.

Let me unpeel your skin from your bones
And find again the love within you,
Running blue against your wrists.

Let me still visit like an old friend,
There to protect you
From those burning sienna skies.

Let me take from you the bottle, the dagger too,
For I will not let you
Lose yourself on these frothy, hemlock waves.

Let me, though I am dead, still beat in your heart,
For I will not leave you,
Until you too are ready depart.
One day, I'll stop writing about Frankenstein
 Dec 2015 Chloe
AM
I Will
 Dec 2015 Chloe
AM
only the sound of the rain
and the beat of my heart
there he was
standing in front of my door
soaking wet to the floor
maybe it was a mirage
from the cold I was having
even so
his ice-cold touch
were melting my fever lips
when he asked me
to love him with all I am
 Dec 2015 Chloe
JG Fletcher
So much for being friends.
I really thought our history
Could make us see
Through our differences.
But in the end
Discourse was too severe
Written in the strife ridden time that comes with trying to fixed strained friendships.
I. St. Luke The Painter

Give honour unto Luke Evangelist;
For he it was (the aged legends say)
Who first taught Art to fold her hands and pray.
Scarcely at once she dared to rend the mist
Of devious symbols: but soon having wist
How sky-breadth and field-silence and this day
Are symbols also in some deeper way,
She looked through these to God and was God’s priest.

And if, past noon, her toil began to irk,
And she sought talismans, and turned in vain
To soulless self-reflections of man’s skill,
Yet now, in this the twilight, she might still
Kneel in the latter grass to pray again,
Ere the night cometh and she may not work.

II. Not As These

‘I am not as these are,’ the poet saith
In youth’s pride, and the painter, among men
At bay, where never pencil comes nor pen,
And shut about with his own frozen breath.
To others, for whom only rhyme wins faith
As poets,—only paint as painters,—then
He turns in the cold silence; and again
Shrinking, ‘I am not as these are,’ he saith.

And say that this is so, what follows it?
For were thine eyes set backwards in thine head,
Such words were well; but they see on, and far.
Unto the lights of the great Past, new-lit
Fair for the Future’s track, look thou instead,—
Say thou instead ‘I am not as these are.’

III. The Husbandmen

Though God, as one that is an householder,
Called these to labour in his vine-yard first,
Before the husk of darkness was well burst
Bidding them ***** their way out and bestir,
(Who, questioned of their wages, answered, ‘Sir,
Unto each man a penny:’) though the worst
Burthen of heat was theirs and the dry thirst:
Though God hath since found none such as these were
To do their work like them:—Because of this
Stand not ye idle in the market-place.
Which of ye knoweth he is not that last
Who may be first by faith and will?—yea, his
The hand which after the appointed days
And hours shall give a Future to their Past?
 Dec 2015 Chloe
susan
be
 Dec 2015 Chloe
susan
be
i don't like people
questioning me
looking at me
quizzically
trying to figure me out

don't

there's no rhyme
to my reason
no "aha" moments
to be had

for...
there's no book
more open
nothing more readable
than me

so...
if you want to get to know me

just be

eventually
we'll find each other.
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