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David Hilburn Apr 27
Wasted youth?
In role and dote, the done
Proud to accept your who'th...
Come and compare, a soul for fun

Tale of the option, many
And few make such famous shade
For friends and enemy's, asking any
Who would notice, a price for legends

Powers of particular, 'if not history'...
Where has a clash with purpose been, sincerity
Patience for a canny wish, the fate of epistolary
Notion in a heed we due, your way or may yet, of visionary...

Was this, that in lead of those?
Couldn't a heard difference, defer to a wiser anarchy?
Straight to you, seldom was a fate for the better moment?
We have made in a notorious heat, with when to tell, a sight's vanity?
In the days of limes and riches of time, were we a hasty eye on it...
David Hilburn Oct 2022
Fickle
Done in mentioned light...
Through and due the common, the still
Notice of compliment, a comment of right

None
The more we save, from the proof of simplicity
Story's and a sulking tree, the seldom of fun in the sun
Turned to universality, with the eyes of anarchy

Amend
Sour and refined, refrain from the beauty of compel?
The pout of another gift and the choice of feeling's substance
Over the quiet since, that has become ours to weal...

Things
And the duty of a desire in worthing heaven, the hell of unity
Given me, and the role of synchronicity a resolve, to sweeten
Time is a daring host, to assure even the tiniest of needs, vicinity

Arduous
Threshold in the lime, the boding of every else, in the book
Staid and remembering decorum, like a hell is every cause
When we are the understanding home, to a willing look...

Force
Are we a stir of responsibility in the arms of voice, or its cope?
Timid as we are, the calling of it all, is a wisdom's source?
Look hard for a nature? when you can have a friend for it's love...

Caring
True to mellower stares, the throe of uncanny light
Made from the none, are we to survive a decision, so faring
The response of decency, that a swim with the devil, is also right...

Liberty
Loan the call, to me for a universe's song
Trust is a walking might of the deed, asking the seldom, evil's
Is it me, or the shade in a wishes stir, the tout we held all along?
What if a fish gave you something besides dread and mercy, ur, ****...
Lyra O Sep 2014
I hate the way the wind steals centimeters of my cigarette,
hate the way it shares my moment of silence
without me even knowing. I hate how it just
comes, unbidden, & sets everything aflutter,
unsettling things that are easily shaken
(like leaves,
like trash,
like me)
& leaving in its wake a trail of overturned things,
messed-up things,
displaced things.
I hate the way it ruffles my hair,
blows in my ear, touches my face.
I hate how I can't see it even though it's there,
& I hate how I can't see it even though it's everywhere.
I hate how it just comes & goes,
without saying a word,
without making a sound.
I hate the way the wind's left me;
dishevelled, & caught unawares,
cigarette blown away.

I hate the wind for staying so, so silent.
I hate the wind for not staying.
I hate the wind just *so ******* much
bad romantic poetry at 2 in the morning, cuz I can

— The End —