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Pax Mar 1
A repetitive omen
that we learn to avoid
over time.
Still bad at it, but im Learning though it takes time, patience is all i have.
  Mar 1 Pax
Kafka Joint
A smile is like an exit
Out of the room,
Where you don't really want to be.
  Dec 2019 Pax
patty m
Perhaps we should be displayed in art museums like oil paintings of old,
frozen unthawed, cracked and flawed and still people would come and speak in hushed tones,
and stare at the wonders hanging there,
prevented from touching while clutching to heart beauty understated,
perhaps poets too, should not be touched but venerated?

For who can foretell fate, calm warriors, cry for the dead,
compose prayers while filled with dread?
Who can woo and cajole and make us smile,
and always trudge the extra mile?

Who reads for presidents, dictators and kings,
while describing phenomenal extravagant things?  POETS!
Will we become rich, nay, but love comes swiftly, along with kisses,
as submissively our voices rise and touch the skies, in hallelujah or reprisal.
So keenly we feel, while blood runs hot, our words spill freely
and never stop, crimson and heady like the finest wine,
our implications caress, express emotion and manipulate the mind.
We create scenarios wondrously beautiful or horridly wicked as well;
bowers of velvety flowers, or flame licking bowels of hell
Still the followers bring praise and accolades, and vie for our attention,
while some turn and jab us with pointed barbs to stick in bards filling us with apprehension.
Sometimes we lose ourselves for hours, days,
in thought and deepening haze,
allaying the fright of deepest night,
for who are we should we lose the love of our fleeting, and teasing muse?

Thought unsought, words play as we prey on hearts of men
and then again, the Ave Maria, sangria, and drops of blood,
entwining hearts and limbs in hymns of praise and endless love.
Sage minds grow melancholy, tiring of folly.
should we abstain, feel pain and never write it down,
be proverbial clowns living a life turned upside down?
I'd rather be planted in the ground.  What of You?
could you give it all away?   The mainstay of life
each and every day? Are we mad, if so I'm glad
for mad is better than bland
To poets across this earth I extend my hand
strike up the band, unfold the banners saying
Aren't Poets Grand?

To our critics I say stow it,
there is nothing better than being a poet.
Pax Nov 2019
I fell deep into your abyss
drowning into lust
I swim yet your torrent
drag me down under.

Beyond my last breathe
I resign to sigh my regret
I died in your arms
Loving you was my sin.
Painful love
Pax Nov 2019
you undress my heart
so delicately
untill I drown
breathlessly
in your embrace


love me as you wish
Sorry for being away...

I missed writing...
  Jun 2019 Pax
Crow
we do not write poetry
we write mirrors
which are held up
to curious faces
who read
looking for their
own reflections
Pax Jun 2019
its the night when your
life becomes sleepless

your day might be reckless
doing things after things
of uselessness

i am tired,
no, i don't need sleep
no, i don't need rest
i just want that feeling
i could hold and hug
to where i kiss and wish
be loved for me to love back

i sigh waiting for a sign
that i am still alive
after all.
I feel so dead, feels so cold for so long..
Happy B-Day to me.
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