each pocket has a purpose
church bells shatter through the surface
the worthless circus sunday service
a procession past the pickled mirthless
dispersions of persons pass pews
hoping He accepts the time served, in lieu
and thus this pocket is purposed for you
At the masqurade parade all day
That preys on insecurity
youre sure to see a bargain,
sharking, armed with curiosity
but the cost is often hidden, lost
in a forest of desire, in a silk lined pocket
and this is where they keep your wallet
search for solace in a sound structure
then ruptured synapses, flayed fluster
rebuild it all, regard life's lustre
meander melancholy with what you can muster
place them in a pocket, each respective,
one for your lessons and one for perspective
as the pickpocket of fear plays with the reasoning detective
A bit of rhyming fun here with a few feelings expressed against some aspects of life completely biased and brazen.
Sew up those pockets people.
He took a seat
beside me and held
out his hand
A smile crinkled
at the side of his
deep hazel eyes
The sound of
was lost under the
noise of the engine
as the train
but I sat stilled
as his lips moved
I felt the swell
of my chest
as I could
feel my breath
moving and in
and out of my
as a smile smothered
my whole face
I could see a small
box peeking from
the pocket of his
trousers and my
my heart welcomed
with complete faith
token of love that I
would soon be gifted.
So there's a pocket in my purse
Its unopened or maybe its cursed
Am I just indifferent or maybe I'm afraid
(I'll let you in a little secret)
It's where I keep my favorite blade
It's been in my company for quite some time
In the moments I chided, in the moments I chimed
I have always kept it close like a love another
(I don't even know how to say this)
Sometimes even closer than my very own mother
But I like how it feels on my soft skin
I carve through my teary eyes, a ****** grin
But sure I hope that I don't die
(I don't do it to **** myself)
It just gives me hope that the bad times will pass by
Its been a while since I have cried
I feel like a psychopath with no feelings to define
So I reach out for my blade in the purse to feel something
(I won't throw it away so soon)
It gives me joy to know that i can sense, even if its hurting.
Brave sky under mine.
Warm Earth above mine.
Silence air .
On one side.
On other side.
With clear brain in my pocket.
I go to walked it.
Sometimes I wonder
if the smile I gave you
is long gone
or do you keep it in your pocket and put it on from time to time
in the darkness of the night
with violin in hand with
sand in your pocket
i go i step again
where will i find that
I live I want to live
find the last treasure
to burn to burn
and darkness and darkness
play a tune
one melody of the world
play the misty of mist
but fog and gloom
and not know darkness
I just realized
As I was shuffling
Through my poems
A majority of
When i was fourteen
I learnt how to tie a rope
And practiced on a small string
until i could tie it with my eyes closed
i kept it in my pocket
i placed it in my bag
I played with it when i was lonely
and held it in my hands
Now i'm nineteen
I no longer remember how to tie a rope
But i still keep my small string
In the deep corner of my drawer
only words never actions
Oh! Let me be you.
Who walks with a sun in your pocket
for every rainy day.
Who stood at crossroads
and decided which road shouldn’t exist.
Let me be you for a day.
So that I am not the one
who hides in hollow words,
who makes her bed on the dreams of others.
Let me be you,
so that I can put out my hand
always with the confidence
knowing that the love I ask
shall be given.
But what is this that I feel?
Why my hands shake?
Why my heart cries?
Is it because
the one who is breaking the wall
with bare bleeding hands
has the same pain, same fear
as the one who is hiding behind that wall.
Is it because
this love, this life
leaves no one without scar.