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Poetoftheway Jul 2023
presumably presumptive
as you got zero clue  of
what stuff God made me,
where I lay me down in
the cool of moonbeam light,
unsure if another sunrise
will heat my body to awakening,
surrendered to the unknowing
knowingly, for I am so sure of
so little, that I query with every
torrential rain, why did I deserve
this un-expectorated baptism for
which and why, what I got, no clue

piety poet of the way spends his every
waking glance thinking stinking, why?
All the angels look away, forbidden
to barest hint minimalist to protect
and provide this rank random single specimen specific of living kind, his
purpose for which creation came his way?
so I’ll save you instead and the trouble of thinking for the correct answer to the question posed,
hell sure, you my confidante of this
confidence man,
a lousy truth teller,
and an even worse liar

write, God?
wes parham Jan 2023
Condescending to humor my intimate muse,
You sought out her words in my writing.
I couldn't have guessed that you'd actually choose,
To tell her what you think is the source that I'm citing.

Get over yourselves, the drama and strife,
I can tell you’ve found something you wanted to see.
And, of course, held it up to the shape of your life,
And think you see secrets you once shared with me.

Forgive my intrusion throughout that December,
If that friendship seemed somehow untrue,
I won't try to persuade you, but you ought to remember,
Sometimes, unbelievably, it's not about you.

My task is obsessive, compulsion, expression,
I write the universal, the aggregate whole.
Never to betray or teach some grand lesson,
I’d rather enrich than to harm a good soul.

Emotions exposed and stories delivered may wound or dignify,
My job is to make it have life and clarity;
Give it weight enough to signify.

And, as then, when we meet,
Sour or sweet, 
Speaking our truth,
Silent secrets,
and feel…
The words that can wound,
Flatter,
Heal or conceal...
All of them wind to what our actions reveal.
I have had a few occasions where people close to me were certain that I was writing about them.
I was certain, each time, that they were mistaken.
I was broken, each time, that they’d missed the whole plot.

This piece actually came about over decades and an uncharacteristic snarkiness was added at the urging of a friend to give it more “attitude”.  Ha.

https://soundcloud.com/warmphase/i-anathema
Shaddox Jun 2022
The night provides catharsis,
To those who do not listen.
Daylight shows the truth -
That I never want to see.
You are my antithesis ,
Like a carpet of falling leaves.

You hide from me your secrets,
That would break me, had I known,
Yet the owls cry the night for me,
For secrets I do not own.

My dear protector,
       - my confident,
       - my bearer of wind

Do not banish me forever,
Across the river Styx, please,
Instead, lay down with me in silence,
On our carpet of fallen leaves.
Dedicated to someone special.
Joshua r Hopkins May 2020
You
See the tower and feel this due,
Be the power to heal the you!
MissPine Nov 2018
by: MissPine

Confidante — that's what I am seeking.
Over a thousand tears are still falling.
Longing for what they called love.
Only time could tell how it is tough.
Rollercoaster rides of painful stuff.

Come to me, Oh Clementine!
Omniscient I may be, but I am just a teen.
Dry my eyes as well as this heart of mine.
Empty my mind from thoughts once hide.
Dream about love is just like a tide.

Confident I am in this journey called life.
Rushed imaginations end not be by knife.
Unveiling on what I always been aiming.
Stop for seconds, guess I'm still dreaming.
Hope this be the last game I'm playing.

Who is that confidante I am looking?
The 'Color-coded Crush' who I'm loving.
ryn Apr 2018
I thought if the moon turns away,
I’d put an ear to the ground
hoping to hear the earth’s heartbeat.

I thought if the earth revolves
without a whim or a care,
I’d walk with it
so I could confide in the stars.

I thought that if the stars
don't listen,
maybe...

Just maybe you would.

— The End —