Love Eternal

My soul you are
My every breath
My spirit you have
My love eternal

Our love came fast and hard
With each beat of my heart
You had me from the start
Our bodies melt together

Together as one
We walk together
Our hands entwined
Love eternal

Somewhere over the rainbow
Our love did come
Where music could be heard
Love eternal

Thump,
           thump,
                    thump,
           the soft,
steady
           beat
                      of a drum.
                                 Calm,
                                            gentle
                                 measured,
                      exhales.
Deep
           throbbing,
                      rhythmic
                                 perfect.
                      Consistent
                      rise
           and fall,
the intake
           of August air,
release
           of pain
and grief.

We were born into a world of shallow minds and deep disturbances of young millennials mimicking mindless mimes because we were told to stay in line but be yourself but follow me but think "originality."

A generation full of copycatting individuals with monotone mindsets mulling over social ladders and trends dictated by invisible monarchs of industry inviting and spoon feeding insecurities masked as improvements.

A generation spending more time pretending not to care than on passions stifled by our peer pressuring playmates who are all prescribed Vyvanse, Adderall, Ritalin for their incurable imaginations deemed "learning disabilities."

A generation of temporary friendships because no one can connect with each other but we can connect to the internet and chat with strangers and share thoughts, photos, and secrets to a virtual audience that loses interest in an entanglement of wires forming a noose around our sincerity.

I love you more than I can sleep,
I love you more than I can weep;
I love you when I think or pray,
I love you when I eat or play;
I love you like the poet's muse,
I love you like the summer hues.
My heart, it aches for every beat,
which thump and tremble when we meet.

They told me to open up,

So I ripped my heart out

and sewed it to my sleeve
,
Only to be told that

it was ugly.

I rearranged the valves and the arteries;

Changed its beat,

Until someone told me it was beautiful 
and stole it from me.

I searched for years at every street corner,

In every alley way and 
‘I love you,’

But I couldn’t recognize it. 

I met a man

Prepared to exchange my heart for his,
 but I had none to give.

I stumbled across it one day,
 alone and sitting in a gutter.

It was bare, cheated, broken—

It felt right at home.

I am the young girl running around the house,
looking for the pony,
on Christmas morning,
while the ship is slowly sinking,
in a manure flavored sea.

I am the armless tennis player that
is convinced he will defeat Roger
in less than an hour,
using just one ball, over and over again.

I am Roy Wright at the beginning of the trial,
with a big stupid smile in my pocket,
and a tinny black book in my soul.
I am the faithful survivor of unfaithfulness
and I will be the one that lands on his feet,
in Scottsboro heaven.

I am Bartolomeo V, the one with no vendetta,
having a croissant,
waiting for Nicola to shave, before we take off in one of
Rothko's paintings. May the 5th be
with the ones who actually did it.. and, you know what?
I honestly think Cronaca Sovversiva is a great title,
even though I haven't read the ******
thing and I have no sympathy,
whatsoever, for any anarchist.
Hell! It's hard for me getting my **** together in complete order. I don't want to think what would become of me
in complete anarchy.

I am the one that wakes up every day
with a stupid smile under his nose,
not remembering the scent of yesterday's failure.
The one that starts dreaming as soon as he gets up,
ignoring the fact that he might be an ignorant
*****,
with no desire to go to outer space,
but with huge hopes up his sleeve for
M. Damon and his agricultural knowledge.
I am in favor of all fancy schmancy Earth saving knowledge,
and I am aware that all that space debris in my head
will do some serious damage one day.
If they ever figure out how to get it all in.

I am the tic, that will come after the tac-toe, this time, and not the other way around!
the encore of every good concert,
the yin for the panda ****,
the slim leg for the flamingo,
the gambler,
the rambler,
the day rider.

I am the Syrian boy that just learned to swim and
all of this infinite blue soup
is nothing more than a Saturday stroll.
I will get in the back of that truck and I will breathe
the purest air that someone could ever breathe,
I will sleep the sleep of reason and monsters will not be produced.

You have my word!

I am the skin before the needle shoots up
all its ink.

I will be perky. I will be green.

Feel the psychedelic beat
it makes me complete
gives a lazy Sunday
a new kind of heat

hate  ol' Sunday
no good 'xcept for gin & old ladies
but now there's
this psychedelic beat

give it to me, Momma
sock it to me, Pappa
let me feel the heat
of this psychedelic beat

turning the world
into acid rainbows

Trapped between 4 closing walls, dripping down to grey under fluorescent lighting.

Shooting bullets into the swirling clouds overhead, (trembling arms) misguided passion contained by your choir of puppets and strings.

Raven in a field of crows fallen down between the rows of corn and smothered by mounds of empty bottles stacking high towards the heavens,

As down towards the underworld the red blood seeps turning black earth grotesque shades of crimson, bubbling in the intense heat.

It’s so easy to give way to the current behind the closed door as we find our bodies sprawling out along the hillside fresh and sparkling with the tears from the sky (and our cheeks).

Your dim basement sets the scene for the beautiful experimentation where the walls are no more than cement and barriers from prying eyes.

In a haze of passion we indulge our problems, hatred, loveless souls with pointless ***** and meaningless *** that does little more to help than delude our dismal existence.

With a stumbling trod we help each other back home (like we always do) with glittering fields of shrapnel shards blinding our eyes with reflected moonlight.

In a trail of destruction we set the sidewalks aflame in a whirlwind blaze where we wait this out.

A world on fire; finding refuge in the heavily medicated masses as my broken back gives way to pressure of the dense fog overhead.

Housed back in your empty expectations and delirious confusion you build me a tomb of papers and pews.

Misguided by hidden eyes luring you with a melody of golden string cell bars, as you wander like Shepard-less sheep.

You grab me with your venom breath and razor claws, trying to pull me down to your personal hell of - crufixholymonumentspriestscommandmentstemplesjesusmarymosesbloody­hypocritical *******.

And in the misty stale green air where I can barely see my own hand (let alone your glazed over eyes) you build the nerve

in your ******* arrogant throne

to ask me

why I’m bitter.