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Through mist of mind the thoughts again come lurking out of haze,
a time once given to a true love, giving rise to many blessed days.
Before a heart was torn and severed from my body's very soul,
a time where all of me was contented and felt complete and whole.

Seeming so long ago the memory yet not distant or younger past,
fates promise of true happiness, seemingly written in the di as cast.
Soft words yet still haunt me, once again tears run from my eyes,
as mind recalls the horror moment when heart learned all was lies.

Forever scared and left as broken, shards of who I was before,
no trust in love or hope, so never being able to be something more.
I cannot forsake the memories nor can I choose to hold them back,
for they always start at true love felt before launching a fatal attack.

The memory of that love I lost and the echo of mind "was it real?",
a soul will not let go that there was truth in how "true love" did feel.
So to keep the joy of love once known and how it should be still,
I have need for the memories that invade to hurt me at their will.
It still hurts..... always will
David Hilburn Jun 16
Time passes a thought
To another, in a climbing sense of renderings...
We see the call to unify, in a shy voice ought?
Today was a marveling hour, we could marvel's ends...

Bite me...with a resolve?
They said the sour news is a welcome sunshine
With pets and history to come at all...
Of a younger moment to be quiet, for a composure of time...

Hours as we know, a fixation on else
Can be, the truth be found in a place of sin
Was this imagined tongue, the saying of wealth
Yet to be, the stir of justice of what is a craved wince...

Of passion over a legend to become, our friends
The tale we notice, and simplify by devoid and avoid
Is but a loose remark of such to roll and imbue, the like we end
As if the world knows any better: the fight of certainty's choice...?!

Sly or slime?
Tows of redoubt, between lovers or a heroism of dry finality's
Sunny as we should note, is about the hour I am trying
We see the traitor of commonness and pence, our humor is...

A rushing eye, to know a catastrophe
That is being a silent opportunity, to approach though
And worth the implied key, we find in the future feat
Of lying to the misses, when a game is for those we hosted, should first owe...?
No, brain disease smells like glue with a sesame bun in it (not, hamburger)
What do you get when you cross a cow and a vampire bat? something that needs less iron in its blood, bud...
Zywa Jun 4
The grand narratives

didn't really happen that way --


they are lies, true lies.
Collection "Secrets & Believers"
Mark Toney Jun 4
Most curious
duality ... this
Sentimentality

Excessive tenderness,
sadness, nostalgia
corrupting modality,
distorting reality's
social edifice

Brain-cramping
contortion,
fierce pressure
building,
Sentimentality
wielding an
assault on
humanity!

Liars lie with
impunity
Childhood
lessons lost
Darkness
perverting civility

Root of irrational passions,
misplaced idealism—
This insidious,
ever-swelling
tsunami of
Sentimentality



Mark Toney © 2022
6/3/2002 - Poetry Form: Free Verse - Mark Toney © 2022
Yemaya May 9
...
lies
salty
like brine
Flesh burning fire
Line burning wire
Lies turning dire
Burn, burn
The Liar whom dared to
Inspire.
The world's a farce and false, and You
Alone, good God, are Truth and true.
My Dear Poet Apr 25
Itsy bitsy spider
crawling in deceit
along came the truth
and stomped it with its feet

Down came the shoe
and squashed it’s organs out
splat like a web of lies
it’s bits all about
If you appreciated this poem
watch the video: https://vm.tiktok.com/ZSdUWNRV2/
Carlo C Gomez Apr 25
~
I see starfish from
my false bottom
canoe

stretching the wave,
a shimmer to the sound
—slow, fast, wide, and narrow,

then gray over blue
in the empty mirth.

I see trouble and strife,
a beacon of
decadence,
trembling consistently
on each note as if
she had the permanent fever.

I see death and transfiguration,
(equal bedfellows),
out of the ground
as glorious
wisteria,

there's ether on hand
and a lot of bridge work
to cross the vocal span of our
vibrato wars.

I've only got time
for the business at hand,
these cobwebs in the corner
(of history) can linger,
or die like
flies

on the Queen of Compromise,
who never was,
who might have been,
who will always be.

am I cantillating
or have I ventured into
false memory syndrome
again?

~
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