I have always thought if two people were in love
Together could take any obstacle
If they tried their hardest to work it out
No problem could remain unsolvable
I was the paradigm of hopeless romantic
Knowing your heart my greatest wish
A privilege to be chosen as your queen
Knees wobbling like jellyfish
I was sure our friendship would not fail
You were the only thing I ever wanted
We could survive on love
What had my head undaunted
To those who are disillusioned
I beg you to stop
Need to open your eyes
Before you fall from clouds
A far drop
I found my theories to be wrong
All along living a dream
Two hearts in love did try
Both burned as a team
Our bond destroyed by negligence
We will rebuild our lives apart
Misfortune cares not for romance
Time removed softness from each heart
In my mind delusions are shattered
What love is
Will I find strength to fall once more?
Or be alone as long as I live?
Love is two imperfect people refusing to give up on eachother
A hand scribbles violently.
The pen carving through the lined paper.
Black Ink spilling out of the deep cuts,
Soaking into the pristine page.
Words blocking out the light,
By illuminating knowledge.
Strong, scared, and weary hands fight.
Sometimes writing poetry feels like you're getting ready to go into battle.
(Land that doth marry mother lode
of sublime earthen land and sea).
Age of exploration
ushered cruel fate
against “red” men living
in bliss by agents
patch of eden north
o Mason Dixon line
longitude: -75.95591 alee
by divine providence
with dyslexic humorous bents
Cecil county Maryland
lies like plump backward letter “e”
witnessed topographic erosion
pocked imprimatur marked
thru inundation of
melding coastline like Galilee
in particular by Chesapeake Bay,
that body of water
abutting like natural fence
first witnessed by captain
John Smith in 1608
mistaking himself tong tied
in sole of Italy
learned faux pas, when crossing paths
with Susquehannas hence,
offered tobacco sticks to natives
from injured wounded knee
said other sundry tribes curiously eyed
then (I utilized poetic license)
took smoke from packet of Kents
which twist on actual
historical facts manipulated by me
but more truthful account awash
and replete with more
than interspersed nonsense
and incorporates tract situated
in so called Fertile Crescent – see
settled by Europeans of English stock,
who emigrated with nary a pence
“taming” shrew like “noble savages”
plied Leviathan sized ukuleles
whose might exploited for felling forests,
which timber built cabins with vents.
Solvent and solution
Kept assuaged for so long
Treading in the selfishness of my subconscious state
Of barely traceable memories, spurred on by the gravity of time spent
At the briefest hint at past involvement
Each leaf falls, eventually.
Every pristine little well formed tended to.
Each nurtured, cared for, parcel or idea.
I can watch them for hours
Watching them fall, one by one, for hours.
When days start to bleed together, out of the corner of my eye,
I can always see them, marking progression.
Collecting in drifts, then, taken by the wind, then
The rot sets in.
I used to watch this.
I used to find time.
The roof cast me in its shadow, even standing along the banister that runs along the length
Even as the final rays of sun start to vanish one at a time
As the inclement weather crash all over the city,
I discovered the untitled disc of a lost movie
I turn the t.v on and saw the family
Gaining something in return called ‘sympathy’
Surreptitious pictures of the impecunious
Propitious time for those opulent
Impudent behavior, Gratuitous violence
Amorphous hope and lucid nightmares
Misery, anguish, sorrow and pain
Hapless child hold tight to God
Pathetic story will end soon
as the morning sun dissipate the fog
Worry less, pristine day will come to heal your soul and broken heart
The mirror exposes,
The flaws of man's face,
The mirror is where vanity spawned from,
The words of a fable,
Telling of the power of the mirror,
How it reflects or even steals your very soul,
Your essence of being,
A mirror for memories,
A multidimensional World,
Crafted and forged,
By the hands of bending light,
And the powers it holds,
The silver like surface,
So pristine one could jump in,
To be consumed by the world,
Held within the reflection.
A rose is beautiful to behold
Its stem a pain to hold
Though easier to hold
Is a rose without thorns
Really a rose
Pristine and true?
This poem came from listening to my professor talk about trigonometry. Much more entertaining to focus on this, I think.
I want to tell you I'm okay
and that all is peachy keen.
I want to say I'm doing fine
and that my grades are pristine
but I alone am not enough
and despite my desperate need
for control I think I need help
of the medical persuasion,
and I'd like to think I'm strong
on my own,
but honey have you tried *******?