There are times when they croon
a little too loud and a little too soon
Like the rusty strings of a widowed piano
that prefers to be out of tune
There are times when they speak,
spilling compassion in a timbre too reedy
Through porous tongues and lacerated gums
that have since forgotten how to believe
There are times when they remind,
a handwritten exegesis of why leaves rot before they descend
Rubbing pencil and tablet together–
one made of flint
The other, of obsidian

my legs are twitching with the need to run

to chase a moment, a year,

a lifetime that’s slipping away.

my hands are numb, fingertips brushing

working on autopilot,

following the logic

of things that need to be done

before anything can happen.

my body,

it’s exploding.

waves crashing inside me

yearning, urging, and tearing

at my stationary being,

at my hollow bones attached to tried muscle

and tired skin.

psychologically imploding

with the need to live

and breathe

and do.

experience.

but i’m trapped in this prison of a cultureless culture

in these shackles of people, zombified,

telling me what i can and can’t be

bound to the ground

by the word no;

darling you can’t,

darling you’re too young,

darling you’re trapped,

darling you can’t leave,

darling, you’re stuck.

and with my lips aflame,

trying to release my need to be,

when i simply can’t be,

not yet.

my body, it’s rotting.

twiddling my thumbs,

until life is allowed to start.

Poetry conceals the meaning
But reveals the emotions.
It speaks of love,
But lies about the pain.
It shines bright as it exalts,
But shades the motives within.
Poetry cleanses the soul,
Yet releases the beasts within.

My iPad is almost dead
But I have 13% in my head
It can't be time for bed
The warning light's in the red

No time for perfect rhyme
For meter, patterns in time

     .  .  .  

I erased over half my poem, but with now only 6% remaining and the breath within me draining, the cruel irony is apparent the problems I have are inherent.
In the words of Robert Burns, "The best laid schemes of mice and men .  .  ."  0% remaining!

You fade...
Like a bruise.

Like the ones your mouth left on my neck and shoulders with its lustful pressure.
Your teeth, which brought moments of bright pain/pleasure,
Are now bared in an artificial, animal smile.

Your lips, which parted to ******* skin like it was salvation,
Barely part now to speak to me.
You whispered my name like a prayer.
You screamed it like a curse.
You sighed it in contentment,
And now you won't even speak it in passing.

Your hands, which half-playfully pulled my hair...
Now won't pause to brush it from my face.

All these parts of you,
None more telling than your eyes.
Those new windows, which once let me pry...
Now have blinds drawn tight behind them,
Leaving only a pretty, shiny reflection-
A passing, glancing imitation-
Of the passion they once held
When they beheld
Me.

No color left to them but the muddy colors of
Boredom,
And possibly mistrust.

You fade...
Like a bruise.
Like the one you left on my mind with your brilliant conversation
And beautiful, rusty prose.
Like the many you left on my tongue...
Which now can speak nothing but trite and meaningless words,
Which now can barely remember the shapes
Of all the shimmering, liquid phrases it spoke to you
That seemed so important at the time.

You fade...
Like a bruise.
Once lover and friend,
Now barely one
And never the other again.

If you were the sky
Then I'd be the sea
And when you shined bright
It would reflect in me.
When you're at rest
Then I am steady.
If you wanna get rough
I'm always ready.
Past closing at the bars
If you show me the stars
I'll open right up
And cast them out far.
And on the darkest night
If you won't shine a light.
Then I'm silent alongside you
Until you feel right.
We'll meet at the horizon
Where lovers will stare
And wonder with passion
Why they can't meet there.
And you'll share me a kiss
As bright as two suns.
When they meet in the middle
I'll know the days done.
And I can tell that's your way of saying to me.
Goodnight my love.
If you were the sky and I were the sea.

If I could reach up, tear open the sky
and bring you down
I would,
because I miss you.

If I could build a ladder so **** high
to pay you a visit
I would,
Because I miss you.

If I could flap my arms, fly into the night,
and take you under my wing
I would,
Because I miss you.

If I could go; take to the streets, commission everybody that I meet to build the largest ever human pyramid from the bottom of the earth right to the lid and grab you by the cheeks and squeeze your face and remind myself of how your lips taste
I would,
Cos you know what? I miss you.

If I could stick a message in a bottle and shoot it in the air
And leave you a note to show I still care
I would.
And in it I would write
'I miss you'.

You're looking old, my friend,
and if I may say, a little sad.
Such is the nature of the honesty
our chats have always had.
And now your looking tired too,
worn down, defeated.
Where once I saw an extrovert,
I now see a man retreated.
The boy you used to be is gone,
never to come back.
The fresh faced look of yesterday,
hides 'neath stubble, grey and black.
The wrinkles now say character,
where their absence once said youth,
and eyes that once said innocence,
now show experience and truth.
That's not all, there's something else,
as if a sadness shrouds your soul.
hiding scars you cannot heal
whilst two halves remain unwhole.
But you know my friend, its up to you
and the chances that you take,
for our path is one we draw ourselves
by the decisions that we make.

I need no help

I need someone to rely on

My situation is one I wish they would keep an eye on

I need no wealth, just a mattress I could lie on

This cold floor makes my bones quake

Do I deserve this? Did I sin or make some colossal mistake...

That I'm being punished for?

Is that why I feel so malnourished and sore?

They look at me with pity while taking a tour

Of our camp... my 'home'

They will return and say they did something noble today and spent time with 'the poor'

I'm not poor, I am my father's son

And if they took the time to listen, they would realize that I stand proud for something my father has done

Or 'did'

He saved my siblings and I you see, held the door shut as we ran away through the back

As attackers tried to break in

My father is dead, but his legacy has stuck

With us... my brothers and I

And if I fold and break now I know my younger brothers will die

So I arch my back and eye the government minister looking right at me

Hoping he sees my plight

But it seems lost to him like a shadow in the night

His expression remains as dry as the inside of my mouth

He doesn't need to pay attention to me now, there are no cameras about.

Detached, heartless

Cold

Reattached, 'Jah bless'

Bold

Full speed ahead

Clear view

Wipers, windshield

Can't work with the rear view... mirror

I write, **** them dead

Killer

Let them say "Dude, the verse... you murdered it!"

'Ill'er'

But still I... wonder if they got the message

Wonder whether or not they feel 'I'

Whether or not they got what I wrote

Do they think of me as the 'blacksmith' that hit the iron 'while its hot'...

Or not?

Write up a sword, Wordsmith... real thought

Pulling at my mind from both sides

Really taught

In their hearts, will they reserve a spot...

For that which us poets wrote?

Or for the messages they feel we brought...

Forth?

Did we succeed in pointing their moral compass upwards... north?

It would be disappointing if they read, moved on and forgot

For we aim to provoke thought

Intelligence is put to better use when wisdom is sought

Against the odds, we've fought

Expressive vigilance was sold to us... we bought

Free as the winds... set sail our boat

On a sea where storms are rife

We chose to stay afloat

Stay true

So if you're still reading thank you, for giving me a few minutes of your life.