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It seems as if every interaction signals the formation of a new brick.
As if in knowing what will become of this crossing of paths.

The creation begins in our youth.
Over time with more people, come more stones.

Till eventually you have yourself a wall.
Fortified with neglect, regret, pain, and more often than not. Loneliness.

Unfortunately. Over time. The wall gets to be too high.
So that not only can you not let anyone in.
You yourself cannot get out.
Look. I shifted my poem to the right. I'm unique and different now. Someone buy me some pancakes.
My legs they hurt.
The pain's in my knees.
Could you bring me a scotch
and my cigarettes please.

Now tell me a story.
One I've not heard.
Perhaps your life.
Spare not a word.

Tell me your sorrow.
Speak of your dreams.
Of soft Sunday mornings.
Or crystal clear streams.

I'm here for you now.
Not always I'll be.
So tell us a secret.
It'll die with me.
It's a funny thing.
Loneliness.
You can be surrounded by people and yet have no one to talk to.
You're tempted to try.
To reach out to someone.
But.
You don't want to bother anyone.
So then.
You figure.
There's no sense in being around all these people.
It's just weird.
So you wander off.
In search of.
A quiet moment.
Out of a dream,
a dream you don't wish to have again.
You immerse yourself in thought.
You long to raise your head and see someone standing before you.
You don't dare.
Why do that to yourself?
Because you're a *******.
You look up.
As if the Devil himself raised your chin with *******.
You can hear him laughing when he sees the look of disappointment on your face.
So you take his hand in an act of complacency.
And the two of you while the night away.
Two demons laughing at the moon.
Who
It is hard to find the light,
To be oneself.
It is easy to retreat into darkness,
To be someone else.
tiptoe around
be gentle with me
abnormal sound:
whispering unforcefully

handle with care
only skin and bones
percieved snare
is merely tender prone

**** me softly -
fingertip caress
turning fondly
to your saintly silhouette
For G

Don't inspire me. Don't make me feel the need to write about you... not when all I can do is feel like it will end poorly.

Be Still My Heart - The Postal Service
Joy
In the depths
      of life's chaos
there is hope-
     a light of salvation
to pursue.

Joy,
     in a fleeting glimpse,
but a small moment
     of tender peace,

Calms
    the restless
          eternity.
Rewrite of one of my very first poems, written way back when.
1.
The non peril writer,magnificent illustrator,
dexterous editor,all in one of the book of life,
each one, each page,each edition looks and reads
different, yet one in essence, though flavors vary.
We hear  you speak every tongue,Latin, Arabic, Hebrew
and in sonorous Sanskrit,you make us chant"Earth is one nest"
2.
Such profuse creativity  baffles one and all, ever
is your prime possession;  manifestation as well!
The nebulous one, present in each cell,each neuron,
well,  everything ever appeared,anywhere in cosmos,
we attempt to know you in myriad means, give you names
that pleases us, we try to possess you in ways even mean.
We hallucinate our cameras of mind, captures  you right
with the eyes of science; you still prove to be like music.
3.
In our limited resources allotted by neuron collectives,
we make you sit on the throne, of the architect of cosmos,
that evolves and emerge,and itself erases when time is ripe.
The artistic painter of emotions, that has been baffling,
the mix of color happens without any  guide book.
sans blue print of any kind or elaborate plan to execute.
4.
You have no designated place to live, in spite of our wishes
you are omnipresent , the string, player as well as  music,
your thought work we all are, weaved in to one from
strands of of ancient  DNA things preserved,through ages!
Oh! the one that's beyond the realms of winning /losing
the subtlest of all the sublime that in every heartbeats chant,
love to be a work of art that  pleases you, in me present,
5.
Help me from within, in my dissolution as colors,varied
be the painter too and to become that work of art pleases you.
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