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Lilly frost Nov 2015
My hero
My safety cloak
My inspiration
My teacher
I loved you as all these things
Through your poems
Though it might not show
You were my smile
And my sunshine
For your poems made me understand
That even though Ded Poets die
Their hearts and souls
Will forever survive
Through their poems and what they've done
The Dedpoet Jun 2017
From within the screams
Of silence
Every wall shadowed.
      I am the eternity
Of my moment,
    Alone with nobody,
   Maybe the words will set
Me free,
And the void is a deep cloud.
   A walk in the mist,
There you will find me
Lost, finding all the questions.
The Dedpoet Jun 2017
Tell me why the poison,
Your nomadic essence
In a magnetar's romance?
**** the void with your
Missing kiss,
Surrendered to your
Chosen appearing and time
Is your whim to the commands
I obey.

Why the poison
When a million ways to die
Is the same living under
Your spell,
Seductress of the falling sun,
Nuisance to my nocturnal
I am but yours
And held by the thirst
For more,
Take me into your
I drink freely your
Kiss of death.

Why the poison
For a suicidal lover?
The Dedpoet Feb 2017
And here's to life,
Life I didn't know or take,
A cup half full,
Half empty with tears.
The pain and sorrows
Of yesterdays and tomorrows.
All the wasted years....

I am not the abyss,
I am the space that filled it with hope.
I am not the pain,
But the road less taken.
I am not the brokenness
But the redemption of today.
Hope, the infinite soul that
Resides definance of the emptiness.
I am not alone.
I am not ded.
I am Dedpoet......Alive!!!!!
Going through the most difficult time of my life right now.
Yet the hope and faith in myself to be more has driven me to awaken something that died years ago. I am Dedpoet,  i miss you all and will return when all is settled, stronger than ever.
The Dedpoet Jan 2017
The sky is a mirror
In a labyrinth of regrets.
I hear myself in youth
And shake my head in older age.

But I am not myself.

I pull my hair back to my feet,
All the echoes that
Reflect who I was,
Or am,
Or trying not to be,

But I cannot find myself.

I am trapped with everyone
Telling me this and that
About myself,
But who knows me better
That ME?

I am a wounded animal
In an extraordinary cage,
Sky full of mirrors,
I say regret,
Others say remember,
I say forget,
Others say don't,

Because I am not them.

Me, myself
And everyone else,
Sky full of mirrors
And only the memory remains.
The Dedpoet Jan 2017
The doors to my heart are open:

Mother spoke to me,
Breath of God,
Because I know the difference
As a child and losing God when
Mother was taken and my
Soul cried to the quarter moon.

All the hours pass
Through these poems of her,

And the words still speak
From an altered spirit deep
In the forest of my youth,
A secret day Mother of six took
Me to eat alone,
Alone with oceans,
And stars,
And all the hope a child could bear,
Where Mother looked at me
And smiled,
Her smile contained all that
Was good of my childhood.

And Mother,
Her amazing grace of words
Spoke as God,

She held me with one arm,
One secret morning

With oceans,

With stars,

All the hope a child could bear.
The Dedpoet Jan 2017
I say the heart of the city lives,
In her I will never die,
The dream of a carpenter builds
Merging with hopes
That I have for her:

    Free I write my poetical
Amongst the flowers and demons,
         The nonturnes of my heart
And the dawn of my fires,

Tell me the Alamo will be remembered,
Her beauty like a sword
Making my words bleed,

        I am my city.

Dream of the desolates
From my cursed youth and poor
Words, the poet in my rich in life

          My city is me.

The prostituted poor like an addict
Blowing a flute,
A cold stare, no food, no remorse,
The floor of anguish, a passionate girl.

         We are one.

I am the streets,
Among the thieves and thugs
Who like you have dreams,
Among the rust and damp wooded
Homes, into the parks of my city,
Where Spanish missions still
Pray over the people,
     My church,
My heart,

My city full of dreamers.
For San Anto
The Dedpoet Jan 2017
I walk the Westside of San Anto,
The place I buried so many.

And the dead do speak
As they are in my words,
My very poetry.

Some have gone decent,
Others waved their final colors
With a kerchief ,now rest immortal.

So then I go back for them,
But move forward doing so,
To remember where I am
And where they shall never go.

If I am just a lucky guy
Who made it out alive when so
Many could not,
Then I cannot regret because the
Dead have no memory.

But why go back and visit
The desolation, the addicted
Nocturnal, the names who have
No faces?

Because I cannot reject myself,
The pistol I once lived by,
The nature of air and hope that
Escaped all in the ruins.

No, I will always return,
And my heart has not the words.

Now what?
Flowers for the dead and walk
The slab of names to rejoice
In what once was?

No, I come home,
The same as you,
As anyone,
Superfluous as this may be,
The return is necessary
If only to find oneself again.
The Dedpoet Jan 2017
The present is still,
But the mountainous rage against
Thoughts and realities collide and I
Realise they have been there since
The beginning:

Look at her,
Ageless in my memory
As the light and the dust settle
In a dance,
     A windmill of her love,
The walk of her figure under said
Oh the anger entangled because she
Isn't here anymore,
     The present is still:
The floodgates of bullets whipping by,
     The nightmares flashing,
A fallen angel before my eyes,
The child cries God!!!!
And to a child mother is God,
    Gone with the waters,
I drown in a tortured river.

     Between what I see and what
I know now I become a dazzled
Flame dancing in a spherical nature,
     A battalion of storms
And the rage within me marches on.

The present is motionless,
But the rage of regret
Is a fountain of reality floating
On a cloud of reflections,
      Where has my lover gone?
She left and it was the best for
Both of us,right?
I agreed to disagree with myself,
       Under grey skies
A flock of crows dispersed
Just before the thunder.....
     In thoughts I chew my nails
Down to my wrist,
The fire burns inside and charrs my heart,
My black jewel
Asleep between her *******,
How I miss you woman!

The present is still:
My daughters cry Daddy!
Echoes of they who are not there,
The transparent moment  is a petrified
The sky becomes a deep abyss,
Black clouds over black days,
Daddy isn't there.
Fist strikes the flesh,
     The storm is human
And it rages on inside me,
The precipitation is a drop
Of solitude for every deep thought,,
    My eyes open and close,
Phosphorus regret with downed eyelid.

The moment is still,
But the storm rages on.......
The Dedpoet Jan 2017
Most endearing beloved,

    Today at Midwinter's eye, I saw you under
The sun, a drop of light as it were under
The shimmery snow you stood upon.
And in the image of God we were made,
I'd like to think he made the portrait
Just for me, a delightful immortal
Image that dances even at night around
The round moon of January's cold.

    I cannot give you more than
You have just given me as though
You bestowed upon me a spoonful
Of star, and as I walked I saw your
butterfly's journey, the ringing of
Freedom's bell, I rejoice in the perfect
Memory as though an angel would pass
Here on earth to witness a miracle
And then swiftly return to eternity.
     But what I can offer you is the music
Of sky upon water, the depth of a diamond's
Gaze; the birth of Springtime in your
Eyes,the eternity in a flash which is the
Whole of my life, I offer you the foam of
The beach where we will make love,
I will swim in your rivery hair and not
Drown, I offer you my soul dancing
In a forest with tree flowers and adventure
On the rainiest days, I give you a child
That has not been born but knows
You as Mother, the miracle is you love.
I give you the ground I walk on, and all
The little birds and animals you can fathom.

Take these my humble gifts,
    My love eternal,

P.S. Also take the skies and all the stars,
All that I wish for you.
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