Your eyes deceived you once
your dedication even averted
you from getting a glance
you felt the need to confess
but to these gods you can not pray.
Follow the sun
follow the moon
follow the stars
maybe you should have followed your heart
and if you need so desperately the taste of divine
don't put your faith in gods nor demons for there are none
but believe in angels, the angels our human spirit could be.

Soon we start to gravitate
Into each other's
World
Where I only see you
And you
Only see me
And nothing, and no one
Else is important;
Conversational poems
Turn into an **** of words!
Orgasmically we come
On each other's poetry,
Spilling every emotion
Every greed and seed
Upon the vowels
And the verbs
And the adjectives;
And it will be like this for us
For days
For weeks
For months
Because we want it to last forever

Only forever is a doom
Particularly when the moment comes
And the ink finally dries
And the poems begin to fade
Further and farthest
Into a questionable memory
Until there's nothing left
But my blank screen
And your blinking cursor.

It feels strange and i question myself.
If you've taken my heart how am i still alive?
My life became an endless darkness
between the living you buried my body.
I'll make a suit of perfect dreams,
two heavenly spirits hold eternally.
They've pushed us too much we finally broke
they've made us fall but we'll make them crawl.

for Alyssa Underwood
~~~

my poems do not trend, go viral,
Fast and Furious!


yet, they do not die


they lay in plain sight pebbles scattered,
smoothed by time,
upon the surface of the
green earth waiting patient, virtuous,
purposed for itinerants bards
to trip over one
one some someday

somehow they accrete a readership,
slow stepping and steady from,
|the seekers and the stumblers,
the droplet drinkers,
meanderers of the tomes and tombs of prior years,
miners for nuggets in the poem pools that form
beneath the alluvial streaming
of the waterfall crescendo
of words

I like this

when another traveler sends me a like,
a petite amuse-bouche bite of appreciation,
for a long ago, barely recalled, writ,
allowing them to carve their initials upon the
external, visible roots of my tree trunk,
invading me, by darkening a prior tree internal ring,
forcing me to look down,
look back,
take measure of myself,
accepting myself as not wanting,
nor lacking in other's acceptance

these statements are neither  boastful or illusory,
yet still joyous, like caramel pleasures,
slow to chew, fast to the taste,
reminding me of old friendships,
well valued,
though no longer fully employed,
their uncovering is my own refreshed exposure,
their discovery is my own re-discovery,
exposing flaws and fallacies,
even fallow,
mostly shallow facts
about me

all of them,
a sundae of truths and lies, sharing a happy laugh
with and at
me,
when I think to myself,

"crap,, did I write that?"

copyright 2015 by Nat Lipstadt