and then you were gone.
you rushed into my past,
tearing through my heart as you went.
you littered my soul with the shreds of love,
each one piercing me
with such force that i swear
the world ripped open.
now there is a rift inside me-
you forgot to close it when you rushed into my past.
it's pulling me in,
i'm folding in on myself baby.
i'm imploding.
maybe this is how it was always meant to end:
not with an explosion;
i didn't go out with a bang
or even a light.
i ended with an implosion.
how pathetic.

Wallowing in grief, they said.
Clad in black, face wet--
Distant, drowning eyes burning
Silver
Hands clasped, knuckles snow
White 
Rose; thornless, flawless

Too fragile, they said.
Lips pulled down, face blotched, splotches of 
Crimson red 
Stained shards of glass
Crystal clear mind, jagged 
Edges
Of a window (pain) 

Broken, they said.
Shivering shoulders, silent spells
But--
But those eyes. Those
Shining depths, they bore love in its
Purest 
Form, held her together like glue. 

Broken, they said. 
Well, she'll live to smile another day.

We get put into groups by the colour of our skin,
Judged if percieved as 'too fat' or 'too thin',
Singled out for looking different to them all,
Perhaps you are seen as slightly too tall,
Name calling and looks spotting is all the rage,
Ridiculous really in this day and age,
Both genders 'beauty' reviewed time and time,
This generation is certainly out of line,
They define peoples beauty by the medias conception,
Letting it alter their personal perception,
The pain they cause to the people they prey among,
Your faith in humanity would nearly be gone,
Who should show these people they are doing wrong,
What they have been causing all along,
Societies segregation and marginalisation,
Creates for us a serious realisation,
History is repeating again and again,
This same thing was happening way back when.
To be yourself today, is something they tell us is not okay,
We need to stop these people , tell them, soon it will be our day.

The trees bend above our heads
But yet we do not feel inclosed,

The currents hurry down the stream
We do not fear how fierce it flows,

Many hear voices in their heads
But yet aren't scared of the dead,

Daily feel the strength of the wind
But wonder of the words it sings,

The rain could crash& bang and clatter
But none of that really matters,

What we really fear are the daily faces We all see & all the voices which we hear.

i.

Grooving cricket's
Mardi gras the copse;
A bedchamber shut
The door's art locked.

ii.

The luster of the moon
Sparkle's her face;
Locking I tightly with her finger's
Her body with mine in place.

iii.

Wall's bodacious, to match her flavor
Raiment she weareth, I sketch on poetry paper;
Though I'm no artist, only a writer
Her look's art an eyeful, I've become her virtuoso, her guider.

iv.

As tis, she's mine muse
Thrice I hadst held her;
She's mine only residence
I seeketh none other shelter.

v.

I shalt die in her arm's
And awake in her psyche;
Because tis I do knoweth
She's where everything's right.



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