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  May 2015 magikoopa ecto1
AK Bright
She looks in the mirror
At the age on her face
"I wonder what he thinks
of me this way?"

She considers her weight
and the pores on her skin
She thinks out loud
"I don't deserve him."

She picks apart
the woman he loves
Separating her worth
from all that she does
              
He looks in her eyes
and caresses her face
He sees it glowing with love
and full of grace

 The lines on her face
  he views with pride
  Recounting the victories
  each time they've been tried

The weight that she carries
 is that of a mom
 Nothing's too heavy
 She just marches on

These bodies will perish
 and mirrors offer no truth
True love abides
 beyond the corridors of youth

  No, she doesn't deserve me
  Perhaps God can see
  Conceivably, one day
  I'll be as worthy as she
to the mother of my children. Happy Mother's Day!
Technological zombies,
faces buried in phones.
Laptops attached at the hip.
Imagination has run dry,
video games have become the creativity.
Stone-cold hearts replace love and compassion.
People hide behind their computer screens.
Alienated from society.
Superficial people forcing their way
into big businesses.
We are the mindless, thoughtless.
Social structures crumbling,
and hierarchy destroyed.
We are the technological zombies,
brains decimated by electric power.
I am not afraid of death.

I am afraid
of leaving nothing behind:
no legacy, no memory, no lasting impression.

I am afraid
I will not have a mark, a footprint,
a story worth telling generation after generation.

I am afraid
everything I ever do
will have absolutely no meaning
after my conscience is inevitably whipped from existence.

I am afraid
all of the tests and assessments will count for no grade:
none of the points will have ever mattered,
whole nights awake and exhausted stress for nothing.

I am afraid
each word I wrote and every line I drew will be erased,
the rubber shavings swept to the floor by a careless hand
vacuumed away in spring cleaning,
and emptied into a trash bin months, even years later.

I am afraid
the lyrics that sprang spontaneously from my lips
soaked and soapy from shampoo in the shower
will only survive dripping through dank, rusted pipes
echoing with hollow drops in an empty bi-centennial home
for no one.

I am afraid
what I saw, what I understood, what I thought, and what I spoke
will have no impact on the interpretation of the universe
through the eyes of others;
there is no continued learning through humanity,
only amnesia
forgetting and loosing
until our entire species dies of sheer stupidity.

I am afraid
my essence will be forgotten.
But then again,
I am also afraid if I am not.

I die and then what?
Mourning?
Wailing and depression?
Screaming and fury and reverberating shrieks?
Pure, blessed joy at relief from my existence on this Earth?

I cannot decide which I fear more:
my last breath passing as not an eyelash bats with nerve for care
or my memorial lasting eternally.
magikoopa ecto1 Jun 2014
to write poetry is to be brilliantly bored
utterly famous to oneself
not lying, but sincerely rhyming
smiling or despising one’s work
quickly or slowly writing
letting the words flow out of the dark
out of the recesses of the mind
jotting it down on paper or a bathroom wall
means to be brilliantly bored with it all
magikoopa ecto1 Jun 2014
There’s a stranger out there
peering out with a blankless stare
staggering stumbling
incoherent mumbling
this not at all expected
from a woman of your caliber
you're somehow injected
intoxicated with an empty flask of liquor in your grasp
primordial lust and lack of inhibition
still, out of curiosity you listen
you lend an ear that cannot hear....

you seem to be interested you seem to genuinely care
good luck to you , you gentleman, you
on your night of sin
surely nothing good can come of this
oh well bartender, some more Gin!
magikoopa ecto1 Jun 2014
Love is a word used a lot nowadays
shown off and put on display
for everyone else to see male and female
but underneath this illusion, this veil
lies something so flimsy and so frail
a human being who is truly in love
would not need to show and tell
to impress others and then some
instead he would tell how he fell
in love with a woman so beautiful and so right
and how he hopes to keep her by his side
to never falter never subside
his love undying for her alone
so love is a word not to be taken lightly nor cloned
for you and i know that love is simply something
more...
than just a word heard
magikoopa ecto1 Jun 2014
Creeping closer to you on a desolate city street
Its arms are outstretched
With a shuffling sound
Underneath its feet
Now seen from a distance
under a flickering street light
it now knows you’re here
and will come to greet you tonight
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