Is it something?
Everything?
All there is?
In this simulation
We call life,
Anything's possible.
An infinite echo.
A forever-ticking clock.
A perfectly sharp blade.
A rope, rough and ready.
She hangs it up.
To hang a picture.
A picture for HIM.
For us.
For everyone.
Echo,
          echo,
                    echo,
       ­   echo,
gone.

Love is but a rope wrapped tight in various knots.
Just when you think you have one undone; the next is a bit harder
to undo.
If not careful it becomes tighter and the moment of anticipation
begins to fade.
This hurricane of twisted thread, bind as rope.
Willful to this release.
Time is key to those deserving;
Creating a memory that will last forever.

with the raging wind
as our enemy
you threw the rope
down at me
i clung to it
tightening my grip

up

up

up

i climb


midway through the ascent
confusion washed over me
for i expected you to continue
pulling me up

gently and hesitantly
i tugged at the rope
to call your attention

'continue?'

you never bothered to look down
and I never
ever bothered
to hold onto anything else
beside the rope
our rope

it was too late to see that I was falling
and broken bones
are just one
of my many shattered pieces

only after i was ashes
did I understand
why the highest soar
has the most painful drop

-i can still remember how both my skull and heart crack open

I was nothing but dwindling fragile strands
Hopelessly intertwining every bit of me
Around your heart
To pull you out of the vast darkness
That you were planning to drown in

The start (of) /
a braid or a rope /
is nothing (at the beginning of this) /
it is only the idea stemming /
from a sapling or a seed to become /
a tree /
reality /
what we touch, see, and wish to be /
Ancient beings can feel how they are not free /
I notice this is my mother’s face /
as I lead her to the restroom /
so near, too far for her /
the years count with her /
the (counted) years count the steps to the toilet /
and consider just holding it /
because the pain of walking so clearly outweighs /
the pain of holding your *** after birthing 3 children /
one of them dead /
okay, birthing two children /
I was cut from my mother /
Regardless, /
maybe if you cut out the lungs /
things would cease to be /
chaotic like the outreach /
reaching out a hand /
praying she’ll find me /
because I’ve gone too far and can’t rewind //////

maybe if you remove my lungs…. /
I could stop focusing on my breathing /
give you all of my love /
show you I am not worthy /
of that admiration leaking from your ears //////

don’t be jealous of me

Poetry comes an poetry goes
haiku sonnet epic ink
in any style even prose
sometimes I can't even think,.
other times the well is dry,
maybe I just need a drink,

A little drink a little smoke,
loosen up it's summertime
maybe take another ****,
come up with another rhyme,
yes cmon it ain't a joke,
cmon you know I'm feelin' fine,

Under the sun of June again,
holding onto hope,
cmon now an be my friend,
grab on to this piece of rope,
in its strength you can depend,
when it seems you cannot cope,

just look to my lovely sun
for inspiration,
it is certain to deliver.

Ma Cherie © 2017