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Poems

Micheal Wolf  Apr 2017
The Script
Micheal Wolf Apr 2017
Sometimes vulnerability comes through in a person's character as strength or determination to succeed.
All to often it becomes the portrayal of weaknesses and past failures.
Yet in a minority it shapes them, it gives life to their dreams and ideas.
It's easy to sit back and say it's "destiny" but are we the victims or the stewards of it?

They say if a writter falls in love with you they will forever show it in their words.
What if you fall into the heart of a writter?
Do you tumble falling from word to word as the lexicon of their being shrouds you?
Or do you become like two stars colliding?

For what one admires and respects in the events that lead a soul to a point in time and space, is all we have of them.
A signature of sorts,
their comets tail in the universe.

From that point all that we do entwines in each others script.
I had never thought of life as a script, written daily with characters passing in and out of the storyline.
But it seems true!

If you look at it that way it is simple.
The question is...
Will a character be given a leading roll next to the star.
Or simply a walk in part for a few episodes.
Who knows
Only
The writter.
Garrett Burger Mar 2018
"The world is in my hands"
It's a metaphor

Pinching the moon (with one eye closed)
It's an illusion

The spiders under my bed,
Tell me it's okay to dream,
And then they bite me
In my sleep

             I toss and I turn till morning
                                            I turn away from the day,
           And I toss the remains into the night

Despite it all, I dream.
I know no matter what I say or do.The words will sound so very hollow.For I am forever a stranger to you.Just a name in a sea of others.Fellow yarn spinners.Snakes and thieves friends and brothers.You cannot read the truth from a lie.The recluse writter the drunkand just another guy.A page filled with words andempty meanings.A seedy downtown theater that shows the best latenight screenings.My face is unknown  but my soul is already there.Blind are the truths of a scetchy past.So I remain forever a stranger toanyone who may care.Beautiful eyes that go unseen.Shadows on a clear night.So is my nightmare and how is your dream?I cant say I'll ever know the uptown citys respect.Im more of the twisted citys slums and back alleys favorite reject.I remove the ******* to expose thethe gritty side of what to me is brutal and true.I ride through the darkest part night.To remain forever a stranger to you.
its strange how  although  unseen yet here my opinions are so easily on display  I always  write of the top of my head and straight from my heart.