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 Apr 2019 adam olofantur
liv
i’m standing on the edge of a cliff.
i’m waiting for the wind to push me over the edge.
i don’t have the courage to jump.
the only thing that’s keeping me on the cliff,
is a shimmer of hope that someone will grab me,
and pull me away from the edge,
pull me to safety,
and they’ll squeeze me so tight
that all my pieces fit back together.
i’m standing on the edge of a cliff.
no one ever comes.
no wind ever blows.
critiques?
 Apr 2019 adam olofantur
Gina
Doves
 Apr 2019 adam olofantur
Gina
Burn down the memories
I need to sleep
Away from the reality
I want to dream
The fire will feed
I need to flee
Smoke is reaching for me
I have to get free
My memories are pictures
Scattered on the floor
Stuck in a room
No windows or doors
The heat is rising
It's burning my cheeks
Has it been days?
Or has it been weeks?
I give up the fight
I fall to the floor
Surrounded by my memories
I don't care anymore
Breeze on my face
Memories rise and bend
They turn into doves
And fly away on the wind
I wanted to revenge but God whispered;
"They are already suffering".
You’re always just a reach away
For every time I go astray
There’s nowhere I could ever go
That Your love won’t reach, I know.
Potential chorus--should I try writing more of this?
You were as stoic as a monument
Your pictures shined like sunflowers
I was held motionless in my spot
Lips pursed like a question mark
Your hair swept over like a wave
I couldn’t help but feel that a storm was coming
this is about a guy that i feel will end up like this
 Apr 2019 adam olofantur
-JCM-
Me
 Apr 2019 adam olofantur
-JCM-
Me
My voice is soft and timid
My words are strong and bold
I dress in bright colors
Emit a glow
Never see how dark my mind goes
The sweeter I am
The more pain I'm in

-JCM-
~for those who will read this and weep~

the quiet ones,
the silent Job ones,
who quote not from the
Book of Lamentations,
but author their own,
based on-the-job experience

localized versions of cryptic elegiacs
accepting the wooden crosses borne,
stepping up to the
unrequested unforeseen,
then buried under, burnt alive,
yet never relieved by dying,
nailed by words, stronger than iron,
promises sworn, promises kept
with no ending date relief,
promises by and to themselves,
but not for themselves!


the wearers of crystal glass shackles,
adorned with decorative locks for which
no key did the maker make,
nor any divine creator
dare conceive an early release,
never no escape contemplated,
for the lock human, unrepentant unbreakable,
a decorative useless metaphor gesture,
a blunt “life *****” advertisement

I compose amidst a
bus pond of mismatched city folk,
a tapestry of ages colors and differing views on god/no god,
none would believe that as the bus sways me,
it’s in rhythm to holy choral music,
hundreds year old,
divinity masses and motets worships,
where one human can hide temporarily
a safe house,
to calm his questioning relentless
from the horrors of no answers,
for when the mind has no solution
to the rough and tumbling lives,
lived in glass shackled confinement,
the poets desperation equals theirs


summon eagles to transport these imprisoned,
but the shackled refuse,
I come to them but they wave me off,
I go crazy for once I was enslaved,
thirty years war that left devastation,
from which so many poems created

so I speak with heightened regard
of one who planned futures for others where his
non-existence was a founding father (ha!)


but the day came and
I was released by my own inactions,
but means nothing until a way to
away found
to release the yet bound early


got a couch, airline miles, hundred dollars
in my pocket and an unrelenting need
to save them, a consumption disease,
the glass shackled, at ease,
won’t rest till all are freed
this my creed
no one left behind

these cyber words do not mock
for they are unbounded, set free,
when
the flesh connects and the needs of the flesh
are stronger for they are in heart conceived
 Apr 2019 adam olofantur
lX0st
I tripped down a lane of memories
Walked uneven sidewalks
Once lined with trees
Now barren,
Thanks to some "bug disease"
At least not every neighbor is dead

Knees hugged cement
Recalling pastel chalk sketches
Delicate fingers traced
Rugged dips and edges,
My name
Engraved in that one spot where
I failed to learn to rollerblade
At least part of me will live on here

At least until someday
 Apr 2019 adam olofantur
Ray Dunn
And as it appears,
I’ve gone and lost my mind and
can’t remember where
I love scrolling through the trending page and seeing the same ten people likong literally every poem on there (guilty)
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