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Marshall Gass Oct 2014
It was, after all, an internet rose,
selected from google images,
carefully placed in a pool of succulent words
vanilla bean and gooey smoothness
bordered with delicate lace on the pages
a small bleeding heart stapled
to the top of the page

But oh! how she loved its beauty.
She smelt the heady aroma, licked the chocolate
and converted to vanilla slurp
and juicy apple kisses.

We slept well that night
ten thousand miles apart.
Romantically ready
for the journey across oceans
with towering waves
and saw toothed sharks
piranhas and nirvanas
all jumbled up and waiting
for this togetherness.

Author Notes

Optional
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
Marshall Gass Oct 2014
Im done and dusted
packed away in a shoebox
of transparent memories

what was last night about?
delicate dreams in filigree flight
crisp as lettuce
crunchy to the core
yet adding that joie-de-vivre
to the seduction of senses

I'm truly done and dusted
as I stagger into todays
escapades of poetic fancy
unable to filter the diamonds
from the dust of dreams.

tomorrow may be
better when the serenity sails in
to calm the raging forest fire
of expression.

Author Notes

Escapism in its truest form,unable to keep pace with the thrill of creating newer poems with sensory effects. Does it work?I don't know. You decide
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
Marshall Gass Oct 2014
Walls of reinforced steel
reserve, packed high
with political ambitions
the steps leading up
into the night sky of diamonds,
for prayers from the pulpit of  doom
to those huddled below in the basement
chants and incense sticks
the temple stood imposing
upon every worshipers fear.

She was more than *****
as she danced snakes
gyrating to  the tax collections of
repentance. At night she coiled
around the sanctum sanctorum
of greed and faked ******* of deceit.

God gave -the  priest didn't!

Author Notes

Even if God gave the priest wouldn't?
Contemplation 11
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
Marshall Gass Oct 2014
As deep and rounded as the entrance
to a vast cave receding into emptiness
of the minds magic, the corridor stalked,
stalked the living and the lost with its presence

swerving into the undergrowth where
demons existed with magic potions
and mystical visions of an unknown hell
surrendered, we, to its vicissitudes
of wanton lust, nights of passion,ignoble strife
wandering in the mists of reason
searching for the souls location
in an unkempt place
where nothing reasonable existed
in this inferno of hate.

There was darkness, dense and deep
with screams reverberating
chilling spectacles of loss
as each one clambered over the others
mistakes
repeating the same, twice over.

There was a thin ray at the far end
and piecing the darkness like a
laser stab, this light found us huddled
in a network of nothingness
devoid of all senses, stripped of all sensation
afraid even to look at its glare
completely ignorant of who we were
or why we were located in this hell
of no mercy.

We searched for the  ray, blinding
in its beauty, and we held on to it
like a rope of discovery
struggling to find its source
in some far off kingdom
where the electric, supernatural power of mercy
emanated endlessly.

Leaving aside all that we carried
as heavy baggage
materialism and magic
raging hate and loneliness
pain and poverty, injustice,
everything that weighted us down
in an unwanted space

we struggled free from the chains
that bound us to our greed.

God stood at the entrance.
He had no face
no necklaces of gold or diamonds
or even a loose garb
He had no blonde hair
no angelic eyes
nothing in fact
adorned in the scriptures
nothing man like in making

The entity stood there
clean as the light
and we surrendered in haste
at this complete abandon.

The corridor closed behind us
as we walked into the light
of day. This was the moment
when levitation made sense
and we rose up on judgement day
to face the consequences
of our actions.

Author Notes

A metaphorical meeting of Heaven and Hell.

Contemplation 8
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
Marshall Gass Oct 2014
The alleyway was dark and dusty
plastic wrappers clinging to corners
of depression , escape trapped by wind shifts
swirling in the tunnels of hope,
desperate drips from broken pipes
beating a soulful click, click
breaking into puddles of slime.

He lay there motionless
unmoved by the activity around him
devoid of all sound and sense
asleep in his gutter of dreams
still
eyes shut.

Asleep he was unmoving
Christ himself
crucified on the cross
of an alcoholic society.

His only resurrection
a few drinks away. .......

Author Notes

AA?
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 2 months ago
Marshall Gass Oct 2014
Does stillness echo in the heart of quietness?
Beating rhythmically churning old memories
Into new shapes of pain, soundlessly stealing time
Writing its wrinkles under big broad smiles.

I miss you more
after  you left.
Your shadow still lingers in the light of my day

Your words bounce off the walls
Of my emotions, and I reach for your touch
My skin crackles with the urge of wanting

How do I know you feel the same way?
Although, I know, you do.
The same signals that separate us
Also bind us. Why is that so?

Why does a stranger have to write my longing
In his words?

How does she see underneath the pulse
Of my sentences?

What makes her
Understand me
Completely?

Author Notes

Optional
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 2 months ago
Marshall Gass Oct 2014
Web
filigree fibres
networks neurons
splitting hairs
pumping digital maniacs
across countless spheres
connecting wise and wanton
split second messaging

we live in the eternity
of  answers
we have forgotten how to sharpen pencils
fold paper
communicate
face to face

all inwards
we create islands of loneliness
the minds mantra
to isolation weirdness

hello people
hear me?

Author Notes

Optional
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
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