"8th March 2018
A pen found its ink
A purpose found its man
The mother of all that's beautiful
brought me a gift
A life skill that would be my passage of lift
He came to life in unhealthy mental weathers,
his soul was birthed in shabby unearthly waters
and bound to mine
in an everlasting covalence.
he was given to me an agent of healing – an outlet,
a living freedom;
a drain for my pain,
a gift and a curse he is a stain on the domain of my name – but
I take pride in our duality,
my existence paradigm was on the edge of a cliff
suicidal - I lay on my back under the roof
of a gloomy identity
my name and my frame
soaked in melancholia of a quantity
that exceeds the infinite.
You and I
Are a year older
I am a decade wiser
I can feel it in my hair
the truth in its absolute quintessence
is a universe closer.
The way you hold my mind in your gloves
gives me sleepless nights and faceless days
but who am I to question my panacea?
I promise I will make the most of what we can be.
A savior, a tutor, a sage
My poet, my light, my flame, my light.
A year ago - i became a poet. Help me appreciate my penman. This is my first post here with you family. Thanks.
Tragedy ends here and now
Pull me through the wires
I can sense your blood thirst
Did your business go down?
Unfortunate that the war ended
For you, I limit the life expectations
Judge ruled out the grave stones
For you, dealing requires no mercy
No heart for heartless creatures
Who put them through this?
Have you no soul that’s pure?
Then must the robots finish you
They’ve one thing common with you
They function without a heart
one by one
each card is dealt to you,
another chance comes your way,
seven new chances lie in your hands.
is full of new hope, opportunity and desires,
you take a close look at them all
with those gleaming eyes.
to you this is nothing but a game
as you feel no shame,
you skip over other’s emotions
and reverse the connections you have made.
you proudly discard them each
one at a time
and pick up more along the way,
before leaving the others behind.
they eventually all are placed in your discard pile
until there is a singular one left,
a single card, she is all that is left,
and you contently call “uno”.
your turn approaches again,
you look down at your final card
with your gazing green eyes,
and you place her too, in the discard pile.
it was just a matter of time before you discarded me as well.
Even though teens today say that they know love
Love is misunderstood, it is not that simple.
Even though it's easy to tell about love
People find love in different ways.
He, she, them, it's not the same.
One may find one at the bar, one at a ******* Uno game.
Never assume you know love, especially of others.
Especially when you haven't gone out the world in order to find it."
That You Know
That You Know
You Know just having a bit of Fun! Ha!
Uno, yes uno, just one. One winner that is.
The game where fathers condemn their daughters to draw fours without mercy, and mothers just skip their sons.
The game where friends and foes change as swiftly as Hermes carries around bustling news to the gods.
Oh how I love the game. There’s no such thing as a civil round of uno. No matter how hard you try, you will turn in your spoon and tea cup for draws and skips. Where reds frequently fall.
Colors will trap you in their endless loops, unless you have the number to set you free.
Yes uno, just one. One winner there’ll be.
All's fair in love & war, you know;
we can say the same for good ol' Uno
Cards to chest, we play to win
Secrets to self... lying through teeth's skin
One by one, we discard our head
to advance our master plan
Changing colors when most convenient--
a fickle fate none too lenient
When they're ahead reverse, reverse, reverse;
bury them until it hurts, it hurts, it hurts
Come their turn--skip--back to me
Laughter, sin, and repeat
And when but one play remains:
hit 'em hard... just to play another, again
The only way is forwards
The only one I'll take
The only one I'll get to
The only one I've got
The only one I should need
To ****... or to succeed
So yeah I took a bit of a break from writing and this it all I could come up with at three in the morning.. Not great I am aware but better than nothing I guess
or "one more."
One more stop until we're home
or close enough to call it so.
One more stop until we're close enough
to driving our car and picking up ***,
To grabbing a coffee
to restart the night.
To talking 'till that predawn light
that reminds us why
we fell in love
the first time.
— The End —