Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Lucas Keith Jan 2016
If I would've known the last time
  I kissed you would be the last time
I kiss you, I would've kissed you
   more deeply.

If I would've known the last time
  I kissed you would be the last time
I kiss you, I would've whispered
   'I love you' more sweetly.

If I would've known the last time
  I kissed you would be the last time
I kiss you, I would've held you
   significantly longer.

If I would've known the last time
  I kissed you would be the last time
I kiss you,  I would've strove to make
   our bond stronger.

If I would've known the last time
  I kissed you would be the last time
I kiss you, I would've met your eyes
   more intently.

If I would've known the last time
  I kissed you would be the last time
I kiss you, I would've given myself to you
   permanently.

If I would've known the last time
  I kissed you would be the last time
I kiss you, I would've stopped time so
   that kiss could last forever.

If I would've known the last time
  I kissed you would be the last time
I kiss you, I wouldn't be stuck here
   between regretful 'what if's?'
  and hopeful 'if ever's'...
Lucas Keith Dec 2015
I dote upon the gifting tree
And bated waiting eagerly
As it sits appearing soft yet stern
It's mind content to quietly discern
What each pilgrim needs from it
Whether food or rest, charm or wit
The pure soul gains it's delight
Yet it also serves those full of fright
Or anger burning, or reeling pain
Or thoughts consuming selfish vain
As it understands the power of gifts
And delights as it feels spirits lift
To joy from sorrow, to light from dark
To the fanning of the faintest spark
To turn your lips in a heartfelt smile
The contentment as you sit a while
Under the boughs, branches, bark, and leaves
Of the tree that gives more than it receives.
It came to mind, while I was trying to fall asleep. I'm not trying to rip off 'The Giving Tree'.
Lucas Keith Dec 2015
Fear is cold, dark, and safe.
 It's always there, always stays.
It hides when it isn't bold.
 But still remains truth be told.
It whispers soft before it yells.
 It speaks in secrets it always tells.
It holds my tongue from giving thoughts.
 It ruins lives that can't be bought.

Yet love can bring light to dark.
 It can find the kindling with a spark.
It starts to smolder in childish ways,
 Then catches fire and burns bright as day.
It shines right through with radiance.
 It shows me to the second chance.
It fills my chest like a well lit room.
 It stamps the letter and seals my doom.

Love and fear sometimes coexist.
 The answer is found in who wins.
My silence before came as a fearful fool,
 It's broken now, because 'I love you.'
Lucas Keith Mar 2015
Who are you?
       Buried in juxtapose,
  Who am I?
A stranger soul,
  or just a stranger,
my reflection a liar
   as the rest.
Irony abounds,
  tracing lines on faces,
drawing wrinkles in sand,
   killing softly where
     and what it can.
But of 'when'?
  How is that left
aside, shakespearean
   to the curious?
Why alone
  amongst the multitudes,
written already,
  predispositions
    and preoccupations?
Silent, time continues
  etching the past
to stone, blinking
    grain by grain.
Halt.
Desist and ever
  remain.
Rewind and return,
  to move through
with pure intention,
   foreknowledge of
     a thousand timelines.
To know you,
  every secret,
every lie, every love,
  every dreaming
    possibility.
To be unknown,
  ignored, left to
despair in infinite
    knowledge and
      shadow.
To pass on alone,
  unrecognizable
hand in hand with
    death, knife to neck
with Charon.
Never yours,
  and never noticed,
the ache and therapy
   of oblivion,
     of irrelevance.
Halt.
Who are you?
   ****** by juxtapose,
  Who am I?
Broken in silence.
Lucas Keith Sep 2014
Be mindful where you dig,
  don't disturb the bones.
All the graves are shallow,
  the dead chewing stones.
Turn the grass over,
  careful to replace the sod.
Don't smell the flowers here,
  unless you'd like to meet God.

Throw the dirt back into the grave.

No matter the content of life,
  all are the same here.
Bones are bones are dust,
  the tyrant, the pauper, the seer.
Be it the axe to sever head,
  or the cold eventual reaper,
a lover's poisonous goodbye,
  there's no need to dig deeper.

Throw the soil back onto the grave.

Hold the flame close, but high
  and respect the shadows dim.
The dead are patient, silent,
  their toothy guises, malicious and grim.
Intentions hidden, grinding
  slowly at their machinations.
They only desire company,
  new, lifeless, buried nation.

Push the earth back into the grave.

Foolish the decision to tempt
  the cover of darkness.
Entertaining wild imaginings
  and ghouls to impress.
The decaying scent surrounds,
  creeping in from every side.
***** neck hair, cold as bone,
  silence ominous where you died.

Pull the earth down onto your grave.
Lucas Keith Sep 2014
Silence,
  Beget at your behest.
Fear,
     Frantically my burdening hell.

I loved you.
13 word Thursday
Lucas Keith Sep 2014
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Siete
Ocho
Nueve
   ¿Que?
Next page