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Lucas Keith Sep 2016
Color Me Anxious


Color me anxious, color me green,
  The recess of novice nervousness
that awaits the first touch.
Color me anxious, color me wary,
   The pinnacle of senses marrying
sight, smell, taste, and such.

Color me anxious, color me red,
   The fixture of your wild eyes
skipping beats and silence.
Color me anxious, color me alive,
   The bumps on my skin at attention
whilst my conscience is on the fence.

Color me anxious, color me white,
   Blissfully unaware of consequence,
pinching pennies for my soul.
Color me anxious, color me a fool,
   Pressing nose to neck to subtle
ignoring hands pushing tolls.

Color me anxious, color me grey,
   Burying the obvious beneath alarm,
testing the limit of anguished vanilla.
Color me anxious, color me perturbed,
   Hiding emotion behind faux smiles,
pretending reality isn't just filler.

Color me anxious, color me black,
   Night becoming less a time
and more an essential surface.
Color me anxious, color me silent,
   Feeding the darkness, the empty
ravenous and out of place.

Color me anxious, color me blue,
   A prescription for a valid weather,
Storming under the heat of the sun.
Color me anxious, color me cold,
   The wisps of breath belying heat,
an exhaust from the body of one.

Color me anxious, color me true,
   A hue that exists not on the wheel,
skipping those that know.
Color me anxious, color me through,
   Trials that shouldn't ever hinder,
polishing reality for show.

Color me anxious, color me love,
   Never so serious, but straight forward
intention just to remind you.
Color me anxious, color me gone,
   Drunk off my broken psyche,
but ever willing to color you.

Color me anxious,
   Color me...
Lucas Keith Apr 2016
'Twas a wintry April morn
  To which we were given to the chill
Of a surprising revelation
   Snowflakes falling bitter pill.

Spring had receded rather quickly
Only one day separating the fools
A joke of sunshine's colder shoulder
Old wives tales and yarns on spools.

So dust the crown ever so lightly
A halo crisp, fresh, and white,
On the crocus and sweet magnolia
  The tail end of Winter's might.
April 2nd, 2016
Lucas Keith Feb 2016
I
I dwell in the dank darkness of dreams,
 Where lucidity takes me wherever I please.
I escape the woman that 'knows me best'
  And expel her lies like demons from my chest.
I blink away blindness buried in night
  The struggles of waking into morning light.
I choose  a face from my many mortal masks
  And move through silence into my daily tasks.
I am remembering solace as I try to forget...
This is not as serious as it sounds.
Lucas Keith Feb 2016
Forgive me, Love
  I lied when I said my heart is with you.
The truth is closer
   Buried beneath walls of bone and flesh.
Ramparts resurrected
  Rebuilt faster than your fingers tore them down.
Curled up warmth
   The ice pressing in on the fetal attempts to ignore.
Here it remains
  Straining between breaking and apathy.
Fresh wounds
   The wolves smell the blood and weakness.

In love,
Out love,
   Oust love,
Shove the Queen
from her throne,
  topple her crown.

Forgive me, Fool
  I lied when I said my heart is with me.
The truth is further
   Exposed to the elements, the wind and cold.
Walls a shambles
  Crumbling quickly to ruin as the seeders break them down.
Lain out death
   Gone frozen and stiff to become   mummified ignorance.
Here I remain
  Lost between idiocy and intelligence.
Scarred wounds,
   The vultures pick away at meat and meekness.

In life,
Out life,
   Oust life,
Shove the King
from his coffin,
  topple his corpse.
Lucas Keith Jan 2016
I cannot be your husband,
 For he is another man.
Even though he's a foolish ***,
 He is the first to have your hand.

I cannot be your husband,
 As you are someone else's wife.
Even though it's a matter of law,
 The vow still holds till death from life.

I cannot be your husband,
 As you don't really want me as such.
Even though I am committed,
 Forever wed no longer means that much.

I cannot be your husband,
 As I won't be able to keep promises grim.
Even though till death sounds lovely,
 I would rather focus on how we live.

I cannot be your husband,
 For my promise will never fade.
Even though we only live presently,
 Your love I would never degrade.

I cannot be your husband,
 Unless you changed your mind.
As even through eternity,
 Hold out your hand, and me, you'll find.
Lucas Keith Jan 2016
…aloof or a fool,
A new dude or old school?
Having a trying time,
Writing a fine line,
Unraveling like a spool.
Feeling like the guy who'll
Use a contraction that no one uses,
Muses to the point of confuses,
Loses himself as he peruses through,
Each memory of you,
  Each word he heard,
   Each touch and kiss too,
And every smile,
The minutes he lingered a while longer,
Hoping he left the bond stronger,
Not weakened by seeking,
Hidden meanings, peeking from cover,
Never there, but an overanalyzing lover,
I have become,
Which isn't fun,
Nor what you desire.
So as it comes down to the wire,
Let's feed this consuming fire,
Blooming flowers in the mire,
A garden vibrant,
Growing and verdant.
As our passion builds higher,
Allow me to sire the breadth
  Of love to the furthest depth
   Of your magnificent soul.
A realm transcending goal,
To know you as a whole,
  From end to end to start,
   From mind to body to heart,
    From normal to abstract to art,
And smart to silly and new
Every understanding of you.
As you peer straight through,
All of my attitudes and moods,
To see me vulnerable and raw,
Placing your hands on me to thaw
The ice and frozen gaping maw
That consumes my everyday away,
Playing awry with anger to stay
Against the grain with a dull saw.
So I return to the lyrical poetry
And fervently sow the seed,
  And nurture it till it becomes a tree,
Wait for Autumn and gather every leaf
And write my words down on each
To show you what I truly mean
And capture beauty from the scene
That depicts from vivid life to sleep
Resting quietly in Winter dreams,
And sew gently all those leaves
To bring together from death to life,
A new creation born from strife,
Each word painted on canvas rife
With yellow, orange, brown, and red,
Nature's trash given for dead,
Now a map of journey lead
From each word I haven't said
  To the volumes I've penned in hope and dread,
   To display to you, my love is true,
That I believe in me and you
Even through my darkest moods,
Fading between the Grey and Blue,
The Civil War I'm prone to
Try and win but often lose.
But you bring forth the other hues,
Colors vibrant, warm, and bright,
That could place a rainbow in the night
Amongst the stars and soft moonlight,
The backdrop, an eternal void of black,
  The space impact, of infinity cracked
By the light you give, holding nothing back,
Treating me like I nothing lack.
And so I return to the green,
The garden world beneath my feet
  And dig up earth with hands, softly,
   A cool, ***** shallow tomb
That becomes new growth warming womb
As the seed I place sacrifices
Itself to feed and give life to this
New growth shoot free of vices,
Reaching the sun of its own devices,
Gracing the sky with weathered caress,
The Earth it turns to silently bless
As a bridge in this world to Heaven mess.
It smiles to those in success
And life and love and death and duress,
Never trying to shallowly impress,
But being nurtured by little me,
It abides patiently
For Autumn, to gift me it's leaves,
So I can in turn gift them to you,
Thousands of words written true,
  And a myriad of ways to say 'I love you'.
Lyrical poem I wrote regarding someone I hold very dear.
Lucas Keith Jul 2013
The Sun sinks in an ocean of red-orange,
   finger-painted clouds wisp skyward like
     a crown along the horizon.

The breeze coming East off the lake flirts with
   the transitional line into light wind, caressing,
     then pushing the waves to the shore,
       capping them with foam and bravado.

As the water continues its advance and retreat
   maneuvers, the ever-changing line of damp
     sand eventually gives way to dry granules.

They gather loosely but build and construct
   their tiny selves into a quickly gradient hill,
     reaching up in defiance of the water below.

To further their illusion and separate from
   their desert cousins, dune grass soon secedes
     to towering White Pines, who's darkened implacable
       stare is only softened by their swaying and the
   translucent white halo given by the nearly
     full moon.

Paying little attention to the tides she tugs to
   and fro, Luna stares solemnly west toward
     Venus who shines piercingly alone in the
       darkening sky.

A thigh thick sand-covered driftwood log
   imitating a bench rests peacefully, poised for
     company to sit down and enjoy the perfect
       panorama.

So I sit, and feel small, even as a sand spider
   skitter bursts past my feet and the insects fight
     the breeze that would seem a maelstrom if I
       were as tiny as they.

Calm becomes an essence in the air much
   like the sixth sense of foreboding, every breath
     an aeon, every blink a motion capture shutter
       speed.

The heads of swimmers that bob betwixt the
   waves like human fishing lures burned to my
     memory, the scent of water meeting earth
       coats the interior of my nose.

The world envelopes my ears, as I close my eyes;
   distant laughter, splashes of cloven waves, branches
     brushing in sober communion, the wind touching
       every tangible entity.

Then it's a walk back to the car...
Lucas Keith Aug 2013
She speaks only in soliloquy,
   never daring a coupled conversation,
  for who could understand her innermost
    thoughts better than she?

The whispers dancing from left
   to right, logic to lunacy, and back
  again, painting a world that none
    have the privilege to see.

Silence casts a clever shadow,
   blank stares like broken downtown
  walls, painted with attempts at
    liquid existential monuments.

Yet it's more than empty air
   shimmering with anticipation for
  words to alight across the dust
     to carry the world she lives in.

She speaks… but only in soliloquy,
   never caring for a coupled conversation.
Lucas Keith Sep 2013
I saw them frenzied and purposeless.
  I saw them hectic and hurried.
    Wayward ants with no queen, no
       direction.
Madness of movement, building… fixing.
  To no end, they continued, ashes
     and rubble bequeathed new crowns.
        Shiny modern facades and feats.
They weren't in union, isolated incidents.
   Unbound by laws, but held by expectation.
      Ignored cries, human deprivation, and
        dreamless sleeps till death.
Progress protected fleshy robots, preserving
   the fevered pointless rushing.
     I saw them pretending to live, to connect.
       I saw them die, become dust, pounded
          into cement and forgotten.
I saw them cold and apathetic.
   I saw them with falsetto smiles, screeching
      sincerity, while left hand denying it.
         I saw them fade, to nature and ghosts.
Lucas Keith Dec 2013
Were I real, I would paint the sky.
  Were I alive, I would chase the stars.
Were I plastic, I would never die.
  Were I honest, I would be the King of Mars.
But I'm not these, nor am I yours,
  for the die had been cast far before
I looked deep into your eyes, entranced,
   and unable to perceive any but you.
Time froze for an eternal moment,
  then I blinked, causing the world to
return around me.
Ruination was the path before me,
  disguised as promising hope and
potential happiness, so in disregard
   I continued forward, blind.
My heart ran ahead, like an excited
  child, letting go of my hand, it
raced forward towards wonder
   but instead found a broken clock.
It's face cracked and missing glass,
  it's arms bent and twisted into mockery,
it's frame warped and weathered,
   it's intentions dead and silent.
I lift it up and gaze solemnly,
  my reflection broken up by the cracks,
and anger burns through me, my
   reflex to throw it away.
But the beauty of it's brokenness
  drives human nature home and
I can't release it from my hands
   out of violence.
I replace it on the ground for another
  to find, for another to hold for a moment,
hoping that soul can maintain it,
   can bring some life back to it.
So I fade away into mist and memory,
  never suitable and again less than enough,
praying that my heart will hold my hand,
   and only leave to be held by an understanding soul.
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