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Melody Mann Jan 7
Weary is the wanderer who travels with no true destination,
Hesitant is the past he's abandoned home,
Unconscious is his pursuit with no avail,
Forgotten is her memory as he treads sporadically; endless turmoil.
neth jones Apr 2022
His :

i make my travel
reseeding you
                my dear heart
                      into a compact unit of storage

i relieve from our nesting comfort
dismiss our established downey base of cooperation
                                   cleave from our snared compromise

instead to bed and thieve an unshared atmosphere
guilty joy followed by joyful normality
no stale thing

unravelling light
  lifted
(secure
  that I've a capsule world
  when i turn
  toward our lap again)

goodbye of you i am mended
made completely free
                    on the first turn of a corner


& Hers :

you leave me
      on your travels (you-were-my-travels)
you leave me susceptible
my heart alters to become
       a weak permeable tissue of easy tamper
       membership structure is dissolved
         returned to the vital spill
           welcome fluent contamination
               villainess and godless vibration
                  of the goddess confession

dress hooked up past my waist
i'll power-**** away my morality on day one
each day following shall be made easy
  ushered along in brutalities slip steam
                        and the prom of eddies

back in time i've been working on something..
       i'll call it The ****** List
criminal joys and tasks of double self daring
committed
     (not folded over
       or veloped in the knicker drawer)
           it operates as a basking lurk
                               tucked discreetly
                                 correct behind the eye
                      a charm feature of the unconscious
when released
   it's something melkish and larking with energy
   tacking harm to my activated mischief
      kinetic value and uncontrollable spur

in your absence
     i am permissionless
abyssless
i account for nothing

nooks of the apartment
the memory of us quickly forms a ***** coral
i've stopped washing to suit this mode
my body, a journal of stains and earned bruises
i holla and bay at mementoes of our brace
and then stop at the near point of the neighbours tolerance

time has crushed in on its own thesis
become gummy and tenseless
skipping about in haphazard spasms
  backstep, bow and reversal
     now
          observably organic in motion
           and proud of its many personalities

Oh, You're Back Again !
    no, it is your ghost
is it a spy ? ... i doubt you knew you even had it
it threads in and out of my company
seeming baffled and far from its comfort zone
did i put you there ?
i don't call you
the physical you
because you said 'no phones'
              and 'only in emergencies' (is-this-urgent ?)
Is This Urgent ?!
i restrict where i live in here
     keep the windows widowed and veiled
it makes for an unreal canvas
i'm weeding for a correction
sensual precarious highs
violate
in a spate
with this time alone
i'll make our home a vile space
a defication
and i can make no sense assessment of it any
i fight against digestion within these premises
i stay still long enough i am softened and palped
            by a dense atmosphere and salivations of contact
and outside..

the streets are exhausted
and i've quite the nasty reputation
violence, baiting and thievery
inebriation and toxic language
i shall soon be policed
no doubt i've lost my job
for now our place is a dare for vandals
             when i am an insensible heap
                 and perspiring over you in delirium
                    they devalue the exterior

unearthing
i'll find my creative sprite
that is good
i had missed it
now this is urgent (this-is-mine-was-always)
i take up a notebook and puke it full
i take sticks in my mitt and scrawl my charcoal visions
the blood visions
   the primal mud
  on all our walls

can i piece back our home by your return ?
can I sufficiently correct the blurring history I've smutted ?
do i care to ?
no more fading into 'partner'
lease is up
you'll not find me here destroyed
or waiting
    naked but an apron with my hands cupped and mouth open
i'll have ravelled myself up tight
- having stoked my inhuman malady -
     i'll mate my own travels

                                                        ­             - aborted
renseksderf Apr 2022
The journey begins always in the mind
but it always manifests with the sliding
of rectangular boxes encasing index cards.
The faint odour of vinegary wood ensues
and a chase scene begins in a wooded
forest of leaves, bound by hundreds and
thousands upon thousands of both soft
and hardbound varieties, gilded or plain.
These days a computer terminal or a
touch screen has replaced these boxes
but their function remains the same;
being akin to boarding pass gates that
regulate your voyage above and beyond.
The moment we are in is all we have,
The past is over, the unknown, tomorrow,
The few seconds, you have been reading this,
You can not replace, or go back and, borrow.

There is a soul inside of each of us, who we are,
On a journey through the universe,
Now a stop-over, planet earth this time,
Every soul living a different phase of life,
Why, we all think differently, within our minds.

As the soul travels to reach perfection,
Learn discover, as much as possible,
During your visit to earth this time,
Always be prepared, for your, next travel,
Another place, unknown to our human mind.

The Original: Tom Maxwell © 1/14/2022 AD
5:50 AM
This journey has taken me, through the woods,
I have passed along, countless miles, of streets,
I could not begin, to remember, all the faces,
I had the pleasure to meet.

Many are now, just dreams, when I sleep,
It’s not all smooth, and easy,
I’ve had my share, of sore feet,
I am still searching forward,
After admitting, many days, I was beat.

Some days seemed short, others long,
Hopefully, we made the right decisions,
Now that our life, has moved on,
Some day, we will all just be memories,
Like the words, of an old love song.


The Original; Tom Maxwell ©
12 / 21 2021
5:00 PM
We each got aboard, life’s train,
Different years, times, and stations,
Never knowing for sure, our direction, or way,
As we ride on our journey, we choose,
Needs, wants, our values, hopefully, good relations.

There are times, everything, rolls smooth and fast,
Others, we will stop and go, slow like a snail,
Realizing, every plan can change,
Much patience, luck, needed in all decisions,
Honesty in all communications, hoping our wheels, stay on the rail.

Everyone’s ticket will expire, we never know, how or when,
As we pass much scenery, beautiful, fun, to sad, confusing times,
As our miles see, many faces, they arrive, and leave each day,
We cherish those who cared, knowing, one day we will hear,
God, the head conductor, say this is the end of the line.

                                                                                                                  The original: Tom Maxwell © 7/9/21 AD 12:20 pm
-elixir- Jun 2021
The life's ride unravels
new visions yet to travel,
through the eyes of the old,
who lived through his life, bold.
Through the odes of the heroes
that survived the rain of arrows,
the blood that spoke in it's silence,
outliving the brutal violence.
The swords that reeked of cynical intent
that left the voices of the needy distant,
into the mundane walk of evolution,
into the urbane solution
of living through a window
of technology due to a limbo,

caused by a uncanny cough.
INTROSPECT
Each of us are very unique,
More than obvious ways,
Hair, color, shape, size, face,
Just our outer shell, during this stay.

Thoughts, from past experiences,
Our travels & journeys through time,
We are all A mixed breed, of sort,
After centuries, think back in your mind.

Any two people, will not always agree,
If to much time spent together,
Humans, sea horses, may be one other,
The only creatures, that try to mate forever.

Respect, learn from, enjoy others,
None of us are perfect, our actions, ways,
We are in this passage of time, to grow wiser,
A short lesson, preparing us, for future days.

                                                                        Tom Maxwell © 12/13/18
Thomas Harvey Jan 2021
What if life stopped tomorrow
The sky's were no longer blue
And you never felt no more sorrow

Would you still feel sadness
Or cling to your anger
Though a great mystery lurks in the bliss

The day the seas give rise
And the nights where you feel empty
There where you wasted your time spreading lies

A greater place awaits
Where your actions of today, are washed away
No matter the cost, because in the end it's all left up to fate

Perhaps living is the hardest part
But at least we still get tomorrow
To try again and stay true to our heart
Thomas Harvey Dec 2020
While walking through the tress one day
I stopped and wondered of life before
How little and close everything was to the core
And how precious words were to the say

Now it's lies that prevail
Truth is buried down below
Dreams die, just as rivers flow
But perhaps the worst is the ones we lose along the trail

Yes, I find many lost souls
My discoveries let them live, how they should be: FREE
For the old cliché, even the blind see
While the ones who stay, search for the loopholes

In reality we're all just trying to buy time
The ones who can't, say life's not fair
The others, well they don't really care
And me, Well I just do anything to make me feel fine
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