When dusk and thunder meet as one,
Love shall bloom beneath a dying sun.
Yet the heavens have written, the gods have decreed,
Two hearts entwined shall never be freed.

One is promised to shadow and stone,
One is born of a king on an unbroken throne.
If love defies the will of the sky,
The fates shall weep, and the world shall cry.

For the stars whisper their undoing still—
To love against fate is to break by its will.

We do not sleep. Our all-seeing eyes do not close to rest.
Our ethereal bodies don’t have such mundane needs.

But we do dream.
Vivid imaginations are one of our token traits.
Through our dreams, we create schematics and prototypes.
We test theories and explore ideas in our superconscious minds.

After all, human…
What is mankind if not
a dream that the gods
decided to write down
in dirt and blood?

They'll hurt you darling,
But only if you let them.
They'll burn you down,
But only because you're beautiful.
They'll mock your song,
But only for the fact they've never known their own sound.
In time darling, they will love you as well.

twin just pop up,
In my life , I want you to just pop up,
you reflect in women that don't like us,
you reflect in women that don't like us,
Resort to lesbianism because they hurt,
But soon find out that women lie too,
what has a god done to you?
I use my words to grow these flowers in vowels to
Show case them in front of people that don't allow us
freedom of speech cause they cowards,
I used them now to bring love back to the black community.
☯️full poem in link below c/p

©abpoetry2025

Setting at the desk, looking out my window,
It’s a cold, winter day, the sun’s rays are being blocked,
By a solid wall of white clouds, floating over my head today.
Some of the snow is melting, into water, the pure white beauty,
Now memories, in Maxwell’s Creek, floating away.

As I stare across, Schaubert’s Bridge, I can see a bare area,
On the southern edge of, Schooley’s Woods, where,
Many birds, are searching for worms, in the ground today,
The squirrels, scampering to the nuts, they buried,
How do they remember where they, planted them,
In those late, fall days?

Everything, is so peaceful, when joined to together,
Creates a picturesque site to see,
So much beauty, remember, God created everything,
Including, all of the living creatures, to come to life, and be.

                                          The original Tom Maxwell  © 1/18/2025 A. D.

What am I aligned
to make of this?
And have I given up on magic
if I don't?

Gentle oracle,
some things
just happen to us.

You aren't alone
despite spirits
not showing the interest
you desire,
but I taste your emptiness.

I desire a control too.

Despair of
silence from the gods.
Demarcate reality
from the hatred and
the odds.

Gods will come and go
but the angels will always
walk among us
dazzled by the glow
of a finite life
lived with such
desperation
not wanting to miss a thing

Out in the cold
Nohow to be bold
Fate be to walk
Havin nowhere to go.

Out in the cold
But count the hours
From sunset to dawn
Days till winters gone.

Out in the cold
Nohow to be bold
Nothing else to know
But how many below.

Out in the cold
Wondering coats
On the frozen road
Some home they call.

Out in the cold
Nohow to be bold
Til mornin of morrow
Til the kingdom comes

Our eyes, resemble still marble statues—both melancholic and
beautiful; they reflect the aspirations of birds yearning for an idyllic
sanctuary among the trees. The essence of our humanity aches for
wholeness, a desire to be a complete poem, even as the poet grapples
with solitude in their musings.

Burdened by their own dream's illusion, they don the mask of
the present, to linger in this moment, haunted by the shadows of
yesteryears and anxious about a future that remains unwritten to
our eyes. Thus, our eyes remain ensnared, confined to the now,
perceiving only what is before us, while the shadows of our history continue to linger in the background.

We may claim to act as deities, yet we are merely incomplete gods.
Forever yearning for what we cannot grasp.