The color of  lost time

The color of white on  an horizon

The color of midnight in the garden of words

The color of sound pealing in a vast sea of bluebells

The color of thought indentured to compelling

Imunities that complain of authenticities so intence

There are cloistered calls for an incantatory language

of soft colored vowels a,e,i,o,u

In an enigmatic language of legitimacy

That wrests the color of colors from themselves

And provides a history of the world in 13 tweets

She sent a message to me
And I could feel her stroking my keys
She was clicking onto my interest
Next message if you please

If I could get you
between my comma
maybe semicolon you
I'm sure I could make
an exclamation point
wrap my parentheses all around you

I could ravage all your vowels
I could click into propend
And at the proper moment most intence
I would touch the "send"

A night bird cries as it flies on by
As if it knows the secret we keep so
Must have heard a groan soft and low
Along with music playing in moon lit glow

Snowed in but no care we have a week
And nothing but loving so to speak
I guess later things might spring a leak
And loss of controle to reach it's peak

Been a year since I last ever flew home
Covered in warmest fragrented oils us alone
Doors locked off the hook is  the phonei
Big sign out font of door nobody is at home

Dogs on guard down stairs on duty always
Snoozing inside front door one ear up for praise
Your mum and dad  over seas Just us two alone
In attic high and dry  but for oils a long lost bone

Intence abandon and things as we'd prayed before
Intangled in love and pure ecstasy as we both adore
The fragrance of love seduduces our hearts our minds
Two souls now one with the purest of love of all kinds

terrence michael sutton
copyright 2018

and the skies with sudden encore come
filled with words not worked
orchastrating a full complement
of treacherous ambition
and will an exploration
of competeing claim of unsundry wills
and such as is gives men a will to transform themselves
to give a cause to anciet or recent voice
a permissible presentation of possibilities
in battle and brawl with a blunt rhetorical and physical disorder
which does emphasize such dramas
with stark, violent and repressive potential
all tantilized with the prospect of wealth in the ground
make a contention with vicious energies
of hate and ambition that propels
an intence and exhausting experience
upon a once civil-world to spiral
vertiginously toward an ancient choas
enacting old stories with the oppresiveweight of the past
now monstrous individualism
whose hideously fragile bonds to peace
no longer exeert their hold
and thus divorse themselves
with an individual rapaciousness
annihilating lives with a curiousley
derivative quality for a store of gas and oil
and disinherite themselves from moral constriant
evoking the soliloquy of historical hypocrisy
with a mutilation of truth
in a tragedy of lament for all human kind
then sudden uncalled for encore fills the skies

Shall I die victim to the terrors I have anticipated

Those that creep by a scarlet moon at midnight

The terrors that return me

To the deep waters of my subconsciousness

Terrors that trickle and trail and impart no sound

Yet emphasize their dark, violent and repressive potential

Oh those terrors that stalk, that follow

Whose shadow can be diserned behind every door and on every stair

That lay me impoverished of courage and ridiculed of depiction

I shall die by these terrors who with want of word

Spread upon me such vicious energies that enact

An intence and exhausting experience

Terrors that empahasie a mind spiraling

Vertiginously toward an unknown chaos

Shall I die, victim to the terrors I have anticipated

I shall, shall I not, I know I shall

He moves so eligantly.
Gentley sliding her blood stained jeans to the floor.
He kisses her so softly, in places boys never kissed her before.
She closes her eyes to hide the fact shes falling, the harder, and the deeper he moves inside her, the harder and deeper she falls.
She hates her body, so she always tells him to switch of the lights.
Its better that way anyway, you can feel every slight brush of skin against another, every grasp seems to be more intence.
Shes waiting, waiting for you to give in.
So as soon as their all finished and done.
She can lay there, and completely hate herself.
Right until you come and hold her so tightly, so its almost as if his arms, make the scars fade away.
Dont leave her, please dont leave her.
She loves you.
Baby please dont go.

dont ever think that i dont care
your troubles are your own
dont ever think you've got a share
of money fame and bones
my killer instincts say im wrong for you
but you keep saying your wrong for me
the relief i felt was so intence
i feared the breaking of your heart
so then we went our seperate ways
you to the left
and me to the right
dont ever think that i didnt care

Hours of unuttered pain
Every muscel working together
Her birth canal opening with every
Intence contraction..cm to cm
And it was only at the last push
She felt the profound connection...between she, the baby
And the Creator
True meaning she felt of giving to this world a soul
The last push she felt it
The last push

An angel sitting on a great stone
With a playful smile watching life unfold
Gazing upon the roads unraveling
The birds chirp along
The heat of the sun on her skin
"Look!" Holding a ladybug
And God smiles and replies "you look"
Pointing ahead
Her breath stuck in her throat
A blush on her cheeks
Eyes wide open
She takes in the view
The most beautiful creature on earth
Ahead stands her reflection
The other half, the missing piece
"Go on" God encourages her
She approaches and quickly laughter echoes in the forest
They speak, share, touch and eventually become One
The intence joy, deep true happiness
Comfort and safety of home
Like the light comes from the inside
For the Source is Love
And Love is the Source of Love of the Source
"Come home now, there will be time to play later" says a whisper in the wind
With an angry blush she looks up and asks:
"But then why did we come if we were only to be seperated...?"

"It won't last forever"

Reluctantly she grabs the hand of God
And walks away, tears in her eyes
For they can never be whole alone
And never fully alone
The deepest seperation is the one
One has within themselves
And if he was not a part of her
Then nothing was.

Read poetry deep inside has movement
No way you can know it go it show it
Without movement vibrational intence
Feeling it submissive wanting it having it

Throwing all else away from it getting it
Inviting it enlighting it being it showing it
Becoming it heart strumming it drumming it
Allowing the poetry within you being it

In the shower like a bird of the hour to defour
Having it become your very soul as in days of old
Heating it loving it all of it  calling it oening it
Driving it thriving it Being alive in it always bold

Alone in it feeling at home in it skin and bone in it
Giving it poetic life from any strife alone or to share
Making love in it higher above in it hand and glove in it
Like you've never known before or any time anywhere

Giving new birth to it with all your worth to it on earth to it
Orgasmicly sposmaticly letting it all becomr you within
Poetic perfection has to have feeling in it imagination in it
All poeticly recreating it of any such a poetic word or sin

terrence michael sutton
copyright 2018