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Oh, how you ***** me!
How you betrayed me!
You took away our romance!
Berated me,   
Degenerated me
At every turn of the dance!

Now, when you lied,
How I did cry.
How your mis-deeds turned me out.
I tried to forgive,
Tried to forget.
I tried to figure all this out.

Time and again
You hurt me so.
Everytime you strike with a low blow.
Shame comes to me
In memories.
I try my best to let you go.

You live to lie.
I wonder why
There is no truth inside your heart.
Your acridine,
Oscillate, shine.
You went right through me like a dart.

Where were you
When I needed someone?
You wrecked the soul  of who I used to be.
You rocked the loom.
And weaved love's tomb.
You have been the death of me.

This is the time.
I know I'll find
The strength I need to tell you so.
By this night's end,
Freedom begins.
I know I've got to let you go.
I have been playing with this one for about eight years. I was tweaking the last stanza of this poem that was meant to be a song just now. I wrote it from the perspective of a best friend who was going through a break up. What I love about creating poetry is that it can be always changing. I am sure over the years this one will continue to evolve.
The themes and figurines,
Of poetry and of art,
Play upon the dreams,
And by candle light depart,
Initiating hanging strings,
That leave traces in the dark,
Alleviating callous memes,
It’s meaningless completely stark.
The toys and trinket of the epoch,
Now rusted and despair,
Give way to the migrating flock,
With brutal traps that tightly ensnare.
The baubles and the jewellery,
Decorating trees and trunks,
Falderal expressions that pointlessly debunks.
For there’s ecstasy in the lunacy,
That haphazardly dips and dunks.
A trifle merely gesture,
As words become the furniture.
The fragrance in its potency,
More potent than the last,
Has lost some of it majesty,
When spending time thinking of the past.
The abstract and surreal,
Will open up the doors,
And what was once concealed,
Now delicately implores.
So there it is, driving matters forth,
And from and too,
The compass points to north,
But which direction does one go,
When imaginings move and grow?
He’s no musician.
He doesn't make melodies through violin and guitar strings.
Yet he composed, haunting ballads in dramatic tempos,
Rhyming every lyric,
Harmonizing, making it dance in a musical euphony.

He’s no seamster.
Yet he cuts and he traces,
plain words and printed phrases;
Then he sews and he weaves it skilfully,
into a lovely concrete poetry.

He’s no painter.
He just has a palette of pigmented letters,
splashing colorful lines on his blank canvass.
A blast of contained evocative memories,
Streaking and shading mixtures of kaleidoscopic imagery.

He’s no storyteller.
Yet from him, I heard the most romantic tales-
One, of the moon and its lover sea.
Reciprocating shy glances, whispering I love you’s,
while kissing behind the sprawling mountains.
Though the dawn will come, they do not fear.
For after the majestic tribal sun leaves his stage,
There’ll the lovers be once again reunited.

He's no poet.**
Yet he writes--
stanzas and verses.
And oh! it revives,
every strand of emotion,
every sense of intuition,
Inside me.
A lyrical perception,
Sheer perfection,
Arousing perpetual reactions,
From me.
I am not good at this. I just want to express my pure gratitude, appreciation and awe for you.

"I am no poet. Never thought of myself as one. Just a guy dabbling clumsily in words"
Yet even, everything you do amaze me.


Thank you all wonderful people on Hello Poetry. I just realized this moment that this poem was featured as Daily poem yesterday.  I have never imagined any of my work will be posted as daily. Thank you all for the hearts, re-post,share, comments and messages. You really made my heart and soul so happy. :)
And most of all, thanks to the man who inspire me to write this one. :)
(04.14.2015)
The flicker of a dying flame
When life is only a game
Waiting for darkness to fall
A void of voices will call

I never wanted to play
Just visions of every day
Where beauty could never fade
A place where nobody stayed

So nothing comes of the past
Reckless thoughts always last
As broken down machines die
But only human, living a lie

Did you see me within the cracks
A mirror discarded on the tracks
Reflection of the impossible me
Without a home to ever be

Somewhere there is an empty shout
For now the flame has gone out
Nothing left, gone without a trace
Now just a ghost without a face
Copyright © Chris Smith 2015
No!
There comes a time
When dreams die -
There comes a time
When true love is unrealized -
New Dreams may whisper
Echoing...
And little loves
May kiss one's life
Still...
Whispers
and Kisses
Don't always fill
The emptiness of
Lost Dreams
And
Love not realized*

krs
3/25/2015
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