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Neal Emanuelson Feb 2015
And in the shallows of time she laid
Fated on the unclear ripples of uncertainty
Yet seeing through the mists and murky depths
Made claim her life is finite and impact undefined
She floated amongst dreams without fear and obstacles
And loved all with strong words aside from her own
As fate would recall her, she was naught an angel
But shone brilliance onto the water’s surface
Was naught a demon bearing ill nature
But tempted good fate with every word
Her life, lived; her bounds, boundless
And every moment in stride without fear

For her memory, I honor her my words in heart
And live to breathe another day amongst the scattered leaves
Only admiring her fiery strength and determination abound
I could only wish her a final farewell, delayed, but earnest
To see her off to the rivers and seas beyond her shallows

In loving memory Ina, always.

© 2014
Neal Emanuelson Feb 2015
Immorally, my lustful gaze eyes in a false bid to need you
Unappeased from the respites of my attempts to dream you
And in my efforts, I’ve still yet to ascertain my conviction to find you
But until then, an entire sense devoted to imagination to taste you
However, taste is a mean fraction of my malicious, intent to use you
And in a blinded craving, good intentions eluded, will involuntarily scar you
In a perverted aim to behold and savor you, to protect, enjoy and *******
Is the beginning of my undoing, as I callously sin again and again, and break you

And then with no further defense but to erase you,
and politely in my heart, I move bitterly to bury you,
I return fruitlessly to the beginning again, to need you.

© 2014
Neal Emanuelson Feb 2015
Consciously unavoidable and these thoughts do persist
Because in time all will cease to exist in this state of mind
Occupied and reoccupied with tangible artifacts of a memory
In this present day of the long past in the short future’s ascension

May it shatter lungs in its recourse or asphyxiate the will
Seizing all oxygen of thought and a last spark of regret
May well rally life in mourning of the clock’s tick last
But with the last tock’s tick, the final second passes numbingly slowly

The bitter reality never knows how it comes about
And the bitter truth is its best never to know
As it comes often silently, sometimes loudly in its realization
It’s the sunset of all memory and life one holds
Known best by the bitter name
Death.

© 2014
Neal Emanuelson Feb 2015
And I’ve erred to try loving you
As I’ve dreamt of gazing upon your moons
For the smiles of your suns
Burn intensely through my intentions
Even in your shadows
Where my honesty becomes bitter
Within your cruel eyes
I’m blinded by a solemn light
Merely to follow afterimages, faint and frail
Leading to estranged pastures
Of masked sins basking in the meadows
Only a deceitful tranquility
As on these bladed dreams do I bleed in peace
Feeding my lustful hope
Of a fruitless love into the soil beneath me
Growing nothings short of
Forget-me-nots in a memory-less heart

© 2014
Neal Emanuelson Feb 2015
Love sounds like a bitter chore
Three more words said by liars
Laced with only good intents
Yet dies before it breathes
Yearning for another life

Eventuality becomes eternity
And silently those words are taken
Caught up again in the bittersweet rush
And brought down again by the same old
Tired ball and chain of fate

Easier to feign ignorance with age
Practicing words for old time's sake
With no one on the end to receive
The hollow words can only echo since
Their meaning lost far too long ago

© 2014
Neal Emanuelson Feb 2015
It is these kinds of people
That take and consume
Out of kindness and sincerity

It’s our kind of people
That allow this to continue
Taken for granted and abused

It’s her kind of people
That are stereotyped and misjudged
Slurred by prejudice and sexism

It is his kind of people
Blinded by forced upon masculinity
To be a man by fist and violence

It is my kind of people
That takes to silence and words
To create a voice powerful and raw

It is your kind of people
To take heed of importance and morals
And right that which has wronged for centuries

These kinds of our kind of her kind and
His kind of my kind of your kind.
All in all will fall in kind until we all fall kind in kind.

© 2014
Neal Emanuelson Feb 2015
Cut it around the bend,
Eyes focused on the descent of time
A droplet ascertaining life
Dripping with momentous flow
Unadulterated and unimpaired
The form of a will occupies the air
Cut it around the bend,
There is nothing to the descent of time

Covered with unsteady palms
The warmth of these guilty hands
Swelling red from where pain still stays
Marked by the bitter pangs
Of the memories that persist and fight to remain
The feelings that soak in deep as much as they stain
Covered with unsteady palms
There is no warmth in these guilty hands

Streaked and aligned amongst tiles
A redden life will begin to grey
Now parallel to a cold horizon
Intoxicated by yet another day’s
Reminder of priors and those yet to come
Motions kept by the rise and setting of suns
Streaked and aligned amongst tiles
There’s nothing left of life but grey

It’s all over.

© 2014
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