Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
the problem with
being a poet in love,
is that you savour
& trust each word your lover has
without  question.

we are simply in love
with bare literature,
spoken from the lips of someone we hold
in higher regard
than ourselves sometimes.

when you love a poet
each word you utter,
should be a piece of artwork

each sentence,
a highly thought out structure of awe and beauty to leave us seeping
in the warmth of your voice
caressing such fine words

so when deciding that you love someone,
who writes or reads
fill their souls with beauty, memories & truth especially,
for a poet's heart breaks at ease.
thoughts.
Sit down for a cup of tea
with me
for we will banter ever so freely.
All armies are the same
Publicity is fame
Artillery makes the same old noise
Valor is an attribute of boys
Old soldiers all have tired eyes
All soldiers hear the same old lies
Dead bodies always have drawn flies
I used to miss you like the addiction a ***** harbors,
your tongue needle like against my lips
your teeth a ******* euphoria,

unlike over the counter high ****.
You bite into my skin
and light fires inside my veins
and I can feel the rage inside my heart,
the pain rises from it’s slumber
and I recall the way your embers tasted
when I was the one inhaling
your porcelain skin.

This is the life of an addict
and I have gone cold turkey.
 Apr 2014 Nimrod Morgenstern
Lelu
Photoshopped fantasy fictions
Misogynistic oppressive depictions
Unobtainable beauty
Fake imagery
This LIE is but violence and bigotry
 Apr 2014 Nimrod Morgenstern
r
Now tethered to a lonely space

A place without a warm embrace

T’is hard to break the ties that bind

The rope that hope could ne’er unwind

To want that love once unconfined

Could sail to Rome, or Greece, or Thrace.


Was want that placed within this vase

The scent of rose so to efface

The mournful song of nightingale

A blushed cheek song behind red veil

Now tethered to a lonely space


Where thorn once pricked now left no trace

Wrapped now in sails by lover’s grace

For stars aligned and wind behind

To break the tether in my mind

Dreams not tethered to lonely space.

r ~ 4/4/14
I write letters to the dead because they are quiet and they listen.

I write letters to the dead because they like the night as much as I do.

I write letters to the dead because they never write back.
I am a collection of mistakes.

A catalogue of secrets.

A series of unfortunate events.
Next page