Sonnet LXXV
So are you to my thoughts as food to life,
Or as sweet-season'd showers are to the ground;
And for the peace of you I hold such strife
As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found.
Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon
Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure;
Now counting best to be with you alone,
Then better'd that the world may see my pleasure:
Sometime all full with feasting on your sight,
And by and by clean starved for a look;
Possessing or pursuing no delight
Save what is had, or must from you be took.
   Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day,
   Or gluttoning on all, or all away.
~~~~~~~~
By:Shakespeare
and rddjpc 75-present.

A wise woman once told me
Anger is no trustworthy emotion for a poet.
Thus has my hot heart's spring gone dry:
Pain and fury sapped it,
Soft tissue stripped and bitten from without
And within, leaving only smoldering bones,
Teeth dulled and nails blunted;
Calcified soles to carry me
Through desert darkness,
Where at last brittle, broken
They fail. No more strength
In clenched fists,
Nothing
But hope in a desert of light,
To join there those equal to anger,
No longer its slave.

Is it about you or God,
Does your religion teach hate,
A bed of roses may not be your life,
But it is was Jesus who wore the thorns of strife,
Don't judge but show love everyday,
God will sort us out on judgment day,
Live your life so when you die,
Nice things people say won't be a lie,
If you're going to be religious,
Instead of a nut be a fruit spiritually delicious,
It's good to talk the talk,
More pleasing to walk the walk,
If you keep your eyes on God above,
Then how can you not know love.

Sleepless
by Intoxcy8me

It's just time, one tik, one tok,
a movement of hands-on life's big clock.
As each tomorrow becomes today,
is our destined end on its way.

Shadows forming around the edges of my life.
I've seen enough of pain and strife.
What's to do when sleep refuses you,
night after night devouring time too.

A heavy sigh escapes echos of reproof,
My lids are heavy but my mind is aloof.
A void against the glass the rain did beat and bicker,
driving my taste for some more corn-licker.

To drown my conscience in another batch,
to start the day again from scratch.
Just to sleep if only for a few,
there's only so much I can do.

We poets were a sensitive lot
in a world that shat on us
although we fought.