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willoughby-lucasPoems
[1] Introduction Originality a creation of the self Yet asking for fiction Unable to conjure from a thin presence But gifted from life gathered. [2] When, Why, and How? When the tears from this today Mimic the rain of my tomorrow, How do I know where To escape? When we are lost in our selves And tempered by the faults of others, How do we grow To understand? When logic is renounced And feeling is felt, How do we remind ourselves To refrain? Moments that unfold Will educate the soul, Inspiring our answers on How To Live? [3] Plot, Setting, Mood Our overlapping ideas, The overlapping events, And unfortunately overlapping people, Become my overlapping emotions. I’m the paradox, You’re my paradox, And actually we’re the contradiction, Inspiring my few uninspiring words I am reading and writing to you   The pain you are The pain you caused And the pain I feel Produce these overlapping paradoxical poems. [4] Betraying Body Walk with fake footprints, See with unfocused eyes, Touch but cannot feel, There is simply nothing to taste, And smelling only the lost scent; Living desensitized the body feels unlit with purpose. We are lost Directionally challenged Falling, tripping….now bruised. We live damaged, Our tears cleansing our deepest cuts Internally bleeding, The blood forcing color to our eyes Beginning to live with the hue obtained. Hemorrhaging at the heart Cardiac arrest We’d welcome death, the ungiven gift They choose life, the given curse Disregarding our last rights Providing us with a life we do not wish to live. It rains, we flood Wishing to drown And yet being denied Our legs tread the threatening tide Progressing to our new state of barely alive.   Time willingly unkind: Intentionally slow, Trudging through, perhaps looking to an end Watching the rise and fall of numbers Their cyclic hands pass Strangling the minds of many Those still living: live lonesome, accompanied by the inevitable tock of time. [5] Semicolon Bridging my gaps, Sewing my wounds , And preparing for the relapse in pain. Writing through my wordless speech I begin to reinterpret my language Advising myself to remember my illiteracy. Repeating my self Becoming redundant Incapable of innovation... I look again through the pages of my unspoken mind. [6] The Repetition of my Pain Headache, life threatening? Heartburn, possible survival? Common cold, originality? Pregnancy, new life? Who defines pain? Are you sick? Are we all? I’m sick I’m hungry I’m cold I’m tired I am heart broken. Am I sick? Aren’t I always? He’s fine He’s happy He’s lying He’s pretending He will never say. Is he sick? Was he ever not? We were fine. We were happy. Were we lying? Who was pretending? We will never love again. Were we sick? When were we not? [7] Falling Action Redirecting my momentum and changing the gears, I found HIS path I’ve regained consciousness, Been lifted out of the soapless  bathwater And cleaned by the warmth of  a fire. Although burnt and previously bruised The bandaids were enough, The aspirin filled a void, And my head had stopped hurting. Self sought, Self seen, Self claimed, And now reconciled with self; Clarity retrieved and new quest begun.
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Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 5:29 AM UTC
Self Portrait
[1] Introduction Originality a creation of the self Yet asking for fiction Unable to conjure from a thin presence But gifted from life gathered. [2] When, Why, and How? When the tears from this today Mimic the rain of my tomorrow, How do I know where To escape? When we are lost in our selves And tempered by the faults of others, How do we grow To understand? When logic is renounced And feeling is felt, How do we remind ourselves To refrain? Moments that unfold Will educate the soul, Inspiring our answers on How To Live? [3] Plot, Setting, Mood Our overlapping ideas, The overlapping events, And unfortunately overlapping people, Become my overlapping emotions. I’m the paradox, You’re my paradox, And actually we’re the contradiction, Inspiring my few uninspiring words I am reading and writing to you   The pain you are The pain you caused And the pain I feel Produce these overlapping paradoxical poems. [4] Betraying Body Walk with fake footprints, See with unfocused eyes, Touch but cannot feel, There is simply nothing to taste, And smelling only the lost scent; Living desensitized the body feels unlit with purpose. We are lost Directionally challenged Falling, tripping….now bruised. We live damaged, Our tears cleansing our deepest cuts Internally bleeding, The blood forcing color to our eyes Beginning to live with the hue obtained. Hemorrhaging at the heart Cardiac arrest We’d welcome death, the ungiven gift They choose life, the given curse Disregarding our last rights Providing us with a life we do not wish to live. It rains, we flood Wishing to drown And yet being denied Our legs tread the threatening tide Progressing to our new state of barely alive.   Time willingly unkind: Intentionally slow, Trudging through, perhaps looking to an end Watching the rise and fall of numbers Their cyclic hands pass Strangling the minds of many Those still living: live lonesome, accompanied by the inevitable tock of time. [5] Semicolon Bridging my gaps, Sewing my wounds , And preparing for the relapse in pain. Writing through my wordless speech I begin to reinterpret my language Advising myself to remember my illiteracy. Repeating my self Becoming redundant Incapable of innovation... I look again through the pages of my unspoken mind. [6] The Repetition of my Pain Headache, life threatening? Heartburn, possible survival? Common cold, originality? Pregnancy, new life? Who defines pain? Are you sick? Are we all? I’m sick I’m hungry I’m cold I’m tired I am heart broken. Am I sick? Aren’t I always? He’s fine He’s happy He’s lying He’s pretending He will never say. Is he sick? Was he ever not? We were fine. We were happy. Were we lying? Who was pretending? We will never love again. Were we sick? When were we not? [7] Falling Action Redirecting my momentum and changing the gears, I found HIS path I’ve regained consciousness, Been lifted out of the soapless  bathwater And cleaned by the warmth of  a fire. Although burnt and previously bruised The bandaids were enough, The aspirin filled a void, And my head had stopped hurting. Self sought, Self seen, Self claimed, And now reconciled with self; Clarity retrieved and new quest begun.
Written by
willoughby-lucas
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 5:29 AM UTC
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