how many tears must be shed
to baptize our parting

do I not cling
tightly enough
while the clock
ticks away life

are the marks left
on your skin
when I cannot release you
gone too soon

must the bruises
in our flesh
be as deep
as those in our hearts

shall I shatter my bones
and yours
in our last embrace

tear at our bodies
till we bleed out

give to the torch
the remains

so the ruin
of our outer selves
will reflect
that which lies hidden
within

In my fervor,
I decided That I
can't live With or
Without you,
Because the Night
is too much,
it draws me in-
the craving and
the sin,
it drives me crazy,
This Pride in
the Name of Love.
I must go Where the
Streets Have No Name
I willWalk On in the
Beautiful Day,
but you will always be
My Sweetest Thing.
My One angel.
Our love has always
been *The Unforgettable
Fire.

-


we are all imaged by those
who would see us at our best

along with the paint that
inevitably chips away
in yearly frosts
and summer
droughts

because we will remain
—as always—
the easel upon which
God was inspired to
draw us...



s jones
Feb 2022



.

I'm blinded by your kindness.
Science doesn't do it for me.
I know that you know God,
by the way you treat
your fellow man.
Baby, you're a Saint.

-


i had wished upon stars once,
picking twinkles in space to
fasten my dreams upon

and the next evening i saw holes
where they used to scintillate,
having fallen from such weight–

i apologized to the sky,
replacing them with
simple hope...



s jones
Mar 2008




.

Walking amongst the distant shadows,
feeling like I am drifting away
the fog is stealing my passion.

Like smoke from a candles flame
I linger on the edge of reality,
I learned years ago, a poet without
a pen is a drowning fool flooded
by unused ideas.

My passion bursts forth from
the deepest depths igniting
the fire of poetic desire.

My ink is that like fire,
it burns from within my skin
and bones, it acks to be free
from my heart that is its cage.

Such passion is pain, a long walk
with suffering and depression.

I built my roads on this digital
ground, and built my bridges with
poetic passion.

©️ 2022 By Amanda Shelton

Daisies don't grow on Abbey Road .

There is no such thing as London fog .

No octopus's garden in the rain .
Nor in the shade .

No yellow bus on a magical mystery tour .

She's so heavy .
She's so bad
She removes the screen before coming in through the bathroom window

Standing in my English tan
Waiting . . .
Here comes the sun .

She never gave me
any more than the twice she'd take

Now you have no where to go

One sweet dream
One tear away
Sleeps in a hole in the road
Suffers like a Tuesday on the phone to me

She could steal
But could not rob .

No there is no home to go back to
No smiles to away the cry
No more lullabies
or invitations

And in the end the love you take is equal to the love you make .