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Flatfielder Nov 2020
Side by side
Walks into eternity
Hand in hand
Compassionate strides
Cheek to cheek
Warmth in dance
Body to body
Sensational trip
Ageless connection
Seen through a lens
Dance of the decades
Trust me
Age is just a number
I am a young child
With the brain of someone much older
Maybe I should know more
About finances
Or something useful
But so far
I know about all the things in life
That adults keep secret
I don't care that I have a young face
I have a soul that has seen better days
Stuck in a body that doesn't fit who I am
In a place where happiness doesn't exist
If you saw what I see my personality as
You would see a girl with green hair
(Old grey at the roots)
Three lip rings
Two stretched ears
Baggy pants
Tucked into combat boots
I would have the harsh face
Of a thirty-year-old chain smoker
I wore heavy dark eyeshadow
And liner that reached my hairline
And my green mess on my head
Would be put into a Janis Ian style
And in your pain
I would offer a grim smile
My body would be ravaged with time
Like a sharp rock
Stepped on one too many times
Age is just a number
I've seen too much
In such little time
Even in my mind, I am thirty
No one can take that away
Age is just a number people. You don't know how old you are until you really look at what you would describe as your personality. What should be your identity. You have no idea how old a person really is, just by knowing what year they were born.
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
Excerpts from the Journal of Dorian Gray
by Michael R. Burch

It was not so much dream, as error;
I lay and felt the creeping terror
of what I had become take hold . . .

The moon watched, silent, palest gold;
the picture by the mantle watched;
the clock upon the mantle talked,
in halting voice, of minute things . . .

Twelve strokes like lashes and their stings
scored anthems to my loneliness,
but I have dreamed of what is best,
and I have promised to be good . . .

Dismembered limbs in vats of wood,
foul acids, and a strangled cry!
I did not care, I watched him die . . .

Each lovely rose has thorns we miss;
they ***** our lips, should we once kiss
their mangled limbs, or think to clasp
their violent beauty. Dream, aghast,
the flower of my loveliness,
this ageless face (for who could guess?),
and I will kiss you when I rise . . .

The patterns of our lives comprise
strange portraits. Mine, I fear,
proved dear indeed . . . Adieu!
The knife’s for you.

Keywords/Tags: Oscar Wilde, portrait, Dorian Gay, journal, ageless, face, youthful, unchanging, rose, thorns, *****, vat, acid, acids, dismembered limbs, violent beauty, knife
Love was never between
    Beautiful Faces
Love was between
     The ugly experiences
Love was never about
     How happy you were
Love was about
     How sad you can be without them
Love shouldn't be
Love should be
Love is bound to nothing perfect
Ageless with wrinkles
Love is bound to flaws
And that's the uniqueness
Love varies in different people
In different ways
Of showing " I love you"
This is how I view love.
Hugo Aug 2019
And so I wait,
and watch as another steals smiles that belong to me,
I wait
as another takes in the beauty that only I should see,
I wait
as another feeds on the warmth she gives to him leaving her weary,
I wait, I hurt, I weep
but I cannot have her till I am certain that I can set her free


She will know
The memory of her still burns fresh and new in my mind
She will know
My heart is forever in two and she owns the other side
She will know
She is the only one for me no matter how far, I'll follow close behind
She will know, i hope she knows
She is my sky, worth all the stars that men can find


I want to
Undo all she has suffered ,all the pain she has built walls against
I want to
Free her wings ,convince her that with me those walls are waste
I want to
Look in her eyes,mock chaste and patiently wait as not to invoke what comes of haste
I want to, I need to
Let her come to me, with her scars and bruises and hurt, though slow, to me she is never late


I will
Not push, but gently nudge ,as a parent does one she loves dear
I will
Like a lovers wisper in a dream, utter unheard words but the feelings are clear
I will
Never assume, till she sees me ,I'll only ever be her peer
I will, I will always, I will forever
Someday be the source of her joy, with a love so intense Cupid might have used a spear
As I accept the work ahead of me
Colm Nov 2018
To love is to appreciate the other.

The complexities of mind and heart.

The fraying string stretched inbetween.

And the newness of each breath to start.
I'm with you. Always around you. Only love, only love.
Iska Nov 2018
patchwork poetry
from a broken soul
ageless words
stitched together
take their toll
as we twist them
to fit the role
I was told all I do is rewrite what has already been written.
With no creative twist or flair
Just wasting time
With empty air
Maria Etre Aug 2018
It's not
age that matters
look at (y)ou
y(o)(u)'re the
ageless being
t(h)at I
"If I Could Give You My Eyes" Series
looking in the mirror
not recognizing the reflection
when this face got so old
I have no recollection

creases around the eyes
skin looking like leather
time taking it's toll
worn out by the weather

body breaking down
getting difficult to stand
arthritis is a problem
especially in my hand

hair growing in my ears
and growing out my nose
growing places it shouldn't be
even on my toes

sight a little blurry
getting difficult to see
getting up every hour
just to go ***

even though this body
will break down and age
the fire for you inside me
will continue to rage
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