They say if you replay
The same thing over and over
It will drive you crazy
Well I disagree.
For I have been replaying
The first time I held her hand
The first time she put her head on my shoulder
The first time she kissed me
The first time she said, "I love you!"
I have watched the moments over and over.
Yet I still cant get enough of it
he holds my hand
and spends the night
chasing after dying stars
falling for the moon
Adam's hand wrestled and bound:
unsubmitting, defiant, in anger, rages;
The Name of the upper hand is known,
but denied, and the Son of Man blasphemed.
One little hand could not stop the cup from
dropping like a giant on the country wood floor,
“We need a cup factory in this home” I hear the voice of frowning walls
In a fraction of a second, I am the child that breaks the cup.
I want to hide when mother’s voice flows like a honey river
“Leave the child alone, don’t you see that the cup asks for mother’s love”
O, broken cup filled with mother's love
on the country wood floor.
You loved the child,
“darling take the broom and clean the floor,
when walking no one gets hurt.
Let me know if you do need help”
Her soft voice makes the broom dance and sing, and
the wood floor clean, shining back love to all children that ever broke
all we need for lifelong doves is a broken cup
glued with mother's love
You’d think that after
All this time I’ve spent typing,
That I could spell “the”.
Brain gets going way
Faster than my hands and then
Teh the lights go BANG! out.
I’m in a horror
Movie and I can’t break free, can’t stop
This train of thought from
Moving onward, but
Then my dreaded enemy
Appears on teh screen.
Teh red squiggly line,
Object of my nightmares, bane
Of my existence.
I’m forced to stop, move
Teh cursor away from teh
Train, draining seconds.
Must catch up with my
Brain, must… I must… I’m losing
Steam… then another
My English teacher challenged me to write a funny poem, so I decided to add onto my old poem "Teh." Enjoy~
To my future wife,
a package that’s not promised by the pinky,
but the ring finger
If God’s index finger, can keep us alive that long
as we thumb across
ALL the middle fingers Satan has in store for us
EXPECT broken nails, EXPECT deep cuts
But know when OUR palms touch,
it takes us getting OUR hands *****
to build the relationship
For then a lost wanderer approaches ,
locks his hand in mine,
and as he trembles in nerves,
he promises to save me
holding your hand
would be so beautiful
for a worried soul
such as mine
and we could tear apart
old ghosts like ratted sheets
turning our world into
whatever we thought it was
in our heavenly dreams