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Jamesb Sep 7
The butler falls for the princess
As much as the Lord ever falls for the maid,
And even from his inferior role
Might feel
Albeit briefly and in error
Like a master of the palace,
When his princess fawns upon him
And lies beneath,
All alabaster perfection and
Perfume and passion,

Yet when all is done and said,
Whether in or on,
Even under the bed,
He's still the butler,
She's still better made,
She will never be his
No matter his dreams
Aspirations or hopes,
Or what with her legs spread
She said,

Because she is a princess,
She has no thought of
Love for a lower form such as he,
He scratches an itch to be sure
Which left un relieved might
Be sore,
But her parts and her heart are
Both bound towards someone more,
Much finer,
Far richer
Much better,
Than he.
This happens when you fall for someone who doesnt fall as far or as hard as you do.
Nora Sayed Jun 2021
They haven’t smiled properly since then
I long to look into your dark eyes again
To see what you hid in your soul from words
To take me with them on a journey to your world
They seem to remind me that you’re human too
That feeling unproductive isn’t something new
They vent saying you’re going through a hard situation
Where loneliness is causing a great deal in your devastation
It’s challenging you to try and live without it
To bring over new friends who truly love you and admit
It’s creating in your mind the illusion that no one wants you
And being stoical would be the only way through
So I ask you when it speaks in your head, radiating a sound
Telling you to disappear, say “ No I want to be found.”
Deep Mar 2021
Heartbroken, sleepless, sick, and sad
I touch the nib of my pen on this white paper
Hoping to write timeless poetry from
the perfect ingredients I sought
In my loveless days,

Yet, I struggle to pen down
the thoughts,

O, my Muse! the dispenser of my woes

Have I offended you by breaking vows?

I implore you to return my solitary days,
This feeling is unbearable,


And mind-numbing,

Now, I know what I craved for
is poison,

It's nothing like the film, books, tv shows, and other

But like, someone has punctured the knife in the palm
and slowly taking it towards the shoulders,
to the chest,
to the whole body.
Helped regret all my acts of kindness,
Tell beauty, if you like...
Now I wish I were dead...
Lesson learned? Duty call
For my reaction isn't forlorn.

Stupid all my prayers,
Perhaps a curse will work much better...
For that better world imagined, so longed for.

How could I not support her, the one who helped me so.
And they say I needed my medicine.
She cures it all.
She.. The death of all illusions, of all hopes, wishes... Needs.
It is all for the best, for she knows.
Deep Dec 2020
The world would
have been different
if I had you!
Samara Nov 2020
at the neon glow
of the kitchen clock
as though its a laser
in my eyes.
it stares right into
my eyes
but i dare not blink
for what i may miss
- - -
look at me
looking at you
as you change
minute by minute
hour by hour
until the orange glow
reappears on
the easterly horizon
and disappears in the

yet still nothing new
with each setting moon.
i've seen the
shapes you hold
come and go
yet still i watch
the afterglow
time and
time again
until i wait no more
- - -
for what?
I'm not sure
Tragedy bestows the widowed sufferer.
Lustered in the cause of sheer beauty,
forlorn masks are shared generously.
when a widow suffers the remorse of tragedy, they have no choice but to share the same masks of the peers who present their condolences at a funeral.
Kyle T Oct 2020
Will there be a time when
All this technology ends

When the screens go down
We all mute the sound

Will we return to a time
Not forged in financial design

When the ROI and the GDP
Big money banks we no longer see

Or the interest rates and credit lines
Hidden fees and holdback fines

And tell them, when I turn my shoulders to the night,
I sent you to discuss the market's yield's human right
It was better when it was better.
Kyle T Oct 2020
There are tiburones off the Fla. Keys
Believe me, out there in the aqua deeps
Sometimes they swim up into the sandy shallows
But not often;
And usually only at night while you’re on a veranda sipping a
Glass of red wine,
Safe in the glimmer of a tropical neon beer sign
Underneath palm trees.

These tiburones swim off shelves and under cantilevers
Continental shifts in deeps
Sandy bottoms, they cruise by
Like missiles
Fired from dusky deep ephemera
Assimilated by the amorphous ocean infrastructure
Flotsam and careened ships off gray coasts
Rusted and dead steel under the raining ash
And the sea foam that pools around their husks they falter, canted, and tipped
And lost as quick as were, gone, betrayed to the deeps again.

But, sometimes, tropical shallows
A Latin lover's osculant kiss
A fumbling of the belt buckle
Swimming dark waters under moonlight
Dark eyes, red lips
Surl breath dlipped wet
Held in ocean's gentle soul
Pearls aligned distant metaverses
Transcendent, therefore, only Beautiful

They don’t care to bother with you, mostly, the tiburones.
They’re curious, a dorsal fin to cut the surface, an indifferent pass
You are not the wine they seek to drink.

But if you find yourself afloat;
Lost or hurt,
If you venture too far from your shore,
Carried by the gentle waves, the inverse gravity of water
When the ocean seems benign...
...They’ll come cruising.

It won’t take long.

Doll-eyed and mechanical, they’ll swim by
Just to say..... Hello.

I have not seen many tiburones but they impart,
Even to those who have never seen them,
This unspeakable fear:
Not so much of the Ocean—Few ever enter the Ocean
But of some assimilation of thought
Where it passes by from dark end to dark end
Sunrise to sunset, and a portentous silhouette beneath you,
If not of the wry toothed smile, and the porcelain ghost…

Then of what?
Could it be of the thought of teeth?
Or of a malicious ghost agnostic of your importance?
Of the specter that cares not of your potential,
Disregarding your position in this world.
Something that treats you with true Equality-

Could it be the things in this world that say Hello with teeth?
There are abbreviated bits of flesh rent in life.
I wear these battle worn scars.
And not instead of love but because it’s the only way
They know how to smile at you.
It’s how they say Hello.

I only have seen their reflective eyes in the shallows
Off the verandas where I have sat and drank
Drunk myself into a stupor, a vibration in my fingertips, in my mind
No sommelier am I.

The red liquid fills my mouth and paints my teeth an indelible red and drips from my mouth from my ****** lips
I have bit too hard,
And spilled my red wine onto the table
Watching it drip viscously off the table and stream to the floor
And pool in great deep redness on the veranda’s floor
Drops and drops and then, restless, I drop back into the depths
In the dead, burnt-out center of the wine’s pool
And watch it assimilate into the porcelain.

And the deep darkness of the red miscegenates with white porcelain
And it all fades in and out standing on that perfect precipice of wine and violence
The wind and flux of ocean waves and darkness
Those eyes down there, refracting moonlight, deadened orbs
The wine deliquesces from veranda’s precipice to waves
The great adulteration, the miscegenation, it all goes flux.

And I drop off, assimilated into darkness, there:
Where the bits of flesh torn from teeth and I swim away
Dismembered, deformed

And a flutter in the shallows,
A quick, precise splash,
A perfect torsion
Writhing bodies.

And those black eyes roll over white,
And those archaic teeth descend,
And pulled under the dark ocean
Without even the moon to give me my light
And in my breath’s last seconds,
I’m perfectly assimilated into this structure,
Deliquesced, relaxed, and gone into the depths,
Swimming in the sulfuric bottom
Of my glass of red wine.
This hurts to read, only for me. Enjoy.
Kyle T Oct 2020
Fluorescent uplit lights
Throws no shadows
Shows no life
No vestiges therein

Monitors' frontward glow
Radiates no future, no past
Well lit death
No matrix destination

The rows and cubes behold
A conformed neatness
An oppression
A regime built against creation

The soul flutters above
Unseen but seeming
To hold life
The inexorable dullness of life
Had to write this while sitting in my office trying to find the beauty in modern things.
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