oh, oh, oh
I have missed some
The Poems ThatMaku
Or-better put your
Ventures of a Vickedly
Oh, Oh, Oh
sway n say
The name of
The name of
Poem - -
it's not Funny!"
the poreaders Delight
Even in advance
A day prognosis
for all bitter brothers n
We stand alone in December air,
The moon our only spotlight.
Amidst a claustrophobic silence
I probe my brain for sweet relief.
Fingers twitch on the vice in my hand;
To blow away my cares,
In dancing rings into the wind,
But still, I cannot speak.
Though I try, I find my words are fleeting;
My lips remain resistant.
And despite how I may want to,
I can't seem to ever say
How much I wish to have your smile
Be so close to mine,
That I could play 'connect-the-dots',
With freckles on your cheek.
So, I hide myself in a thousand miles;
Yet only several feet away.
And I'll isolate the prologue
Of a story yet to start.
Because longing from a distance
Is all I'll ever have;
Each futile gaze I throw your way,
Will further steal my heart.
To sit in silence, listening to others
blubber about things they think they know,
and I think I know better
because of my rigid brain.
There are forgotten circumstances
of misplaced judgment onto
what always feels like me.
I’m so sad my life
is being defined on others’
emotional baggage projected
on my mysterious complexity
that is seen as naive and worthless.
Falcons do not concern themselves with inching worms
Nor bears with minnows
Nor I with you
Of lesser men. Opinions are kept. Quiet and out of respect. Even when it's not deserved.
Reflecting the inmost being, or simply what's wallowing at the top of the subconscious.
Consciousness, divinity, split pea soup shredding through me.
Mental perceptivity and **** beads: better out than in, I always say.
Check yourself before you Shrek yourself.
Green Onions tell me in grocery stores, "It's never Ogre."
I once thought the world to be flat. Maybe you thought that, perhaps you didn't.
Fluid change of though patterns strike at the heal of the what wasn't.
Wasps leave me be. I drained the pool where I used to be.
He told me the other day; he told me nothing.
Hugh Jackman's nasally in the Les Miserables film. That doesn't rhyme with anything, it's just true.
— The End —