When we were younger
the world was full of vibrant colors
who knew however, that as we grew older
the world would turn black and white

When I write words
On a dead page
I come alive
More than we ever could.
Quality stuff
Only appears to me
While I gargle
Something worse than spite.

Fear
Loneliness
Solitude
Misunderstanding
And the me
That makes all else
That.

What am I?
I'm a man who writes stuff down.
I'm a boy
When I look in your eyes.
Don't make me feel sane;
How can you?
I am poor for
Understanding.

So I will sit next to you
And pass poems under the table
To see if you

wretch,
Like the muse of the sea
Wailing wind while
The tide takes all love away.

Old and stained,
ragged and worn,
with holes and even
unraveled and torn.
Love is like your favorite sweater,
well used and seen all kinds of weather.
After a few years
and several loose threads,
there may be holes that need mending.
Don't get too worried my dear,
as long as the time that you're spending
is carefully piecing the threads back together.
Love is like your favorite sweater.

Being Poor is keeping your mind as a child occupied with newspaper and cardboard
I never had to go through that as a child
How dare I complain about not having it good enough
How dare I
It's been harder than most, but a lot easier than many others

On the mud flats of Padma Delta
where the mighty Ganges slides
into the Bay of Bengal
ships come to die.

Rusting oil tankers,
container ships from Panama
passenger liners,
and cargo ships from Zanzibar
North Sea fishing boats
research vessels and mother ships
anything that floats
each one has made its final trip.

Steel Leviathans
low tide beached
oil-slick stuck.

Metal monoliths
****** deep
into black sand.

The people of Sitakunda
come marching, ants
across the slippery surface
of diesel sand
to pick the carcasses apart.

Barefoot, with only blow torches
hammers and brute strength
wrenching rivets, nuts and bolts
breaching beams and deck
splitting welded seams
until the hulls are gutted
ribbed struts broken down
and torn from the edges of shape

Bit by bit
they scour and empty
right down to the core.

Bit by bit
they carry *****
to the waiting shore.

Where melting pots are kept boiling
giant stock pots stewing goodness
in a broth
but metallic flavours and oily spiced stench
hang in the misty bleakness of the bay

Skeleton hulks shift and ride
lurching, lifting with the tide
rolling, dangerous still
collapsing, with groaning creak
to maim, to crush and ****
the daring, the slow and the weak.

© M.L.Emmett

I have no intention of hurting anyone
Or making them feel pain in their beating hearts
But i seem to accidentally tear them apart
God help this poor soul of mine
I'm not trying to buy time
I'm just hoping you'll understand what i'm trying to say
How many times do i have to mess this up?
I'm so sorry i'm this ravaging idiot
I hope you can forgive me, God
I hope i can forgive myself
I hope they can forgive me
I carry toy guns with bullets
Expecting foam bullets
I'm just a man who wants peace and love
I am flawed to the core
I'm not sure if i can take this much more
It's usually another day in the office to feel this way
But i always get one of those rare days
Where everything isn't feeling my way
I'm on my knees, praying for some solace in my adventure.

A man has to make decisions
He never wanted to make
The hardest thing is facing reality
When you know you must make the decision
But everything is in the way
What do you do?
You must be a man and make the decision.
Life was never meant to be easy,it will always be rough at times.
I'm not the best at coping, but i will learn to be better
It won't get easier from here.

Streaks of red and black strike within
To tangle dangerously around my fragile skin
So volatile and sweet
I can melt my surroundings in a blink
And all it would take
Is one disdainful look
To trigger a demise

I live in a home of carmine red
Rigged with thorns of regrets without fortitude
And the floor covered in ragged rugs
To hide the scars of my tragic misfortunes

Rants and screeches bring severe astringency
There is no mercy
As it always reaches deep inside my throat
And around my neck
Tightly coiled, hurtful words begin to suffocate

The boiling blood of relentless fury
I am left in a steam of silence
Without a vent to this clustered chaos
I have become a hidden rage within me
As I watch the icy, red glow
Eradicate my destructive home