Prolly will too, judging from afternoon's frore air.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMLXXVIII)


Blue skies are but a memry now fr'intents,
And is black even littered with stars' tale?
I canna look.  Twas frore when we'd avail
Our selves of talk where afternoon was thence
Chance for rehearsal, late as we'd for sense
Put cafe tables side by side, light pale
With greyish region clouds nor blue's detail
But gone ere dinner was put on, and whence?
Ah, how all we'd enjoyed is lost as twere
To wasting hours which never but sift through
Sweet minutes spent with brothers, and in tour
Dear friends.  I had espresso with Dad too,
Spent two bucks on a cuppa coffee fer
The chance wi' friends, and did I, LORD, seek You?

08Apr18b

too sickly an idea, to age beyond activity;
what allure can be founded in limitations?
this flirtation we have, as naïve kids, with growing up too fast
for the fear of missing out on all the fun of adulthood, of decision making
not understanding the freedom to be found in permitted passivity

before realising that brittle bones and looser skin,
and wrinkled eyes, and sunken cheeks,
the vanity within that corrodes self-esteem for every grey hair found,
is something we are far more comfortable seeing
in anybody that isn't ourselves

Teen mom, Photo bomb
Blood rights, ***** fights

-- I watch from below as She
Gurgles down the words --

Plastic fairy, No dairy
*** scandal, School vandal

Magazine cover
Take cover:
Bullet babies
greased
in chrysanthemum
powder

--
c

I'm inspired by the fire dancing on the walls
as shadows crawl across the floor toward unopened doors.
I'm pushing boundaries profoundly past my sanity,
past the vastness of my vanity.
I'll capture the rapture of ever after
as disaster's cast around me.
I'll find the magic in the moment
in the beauty to invoke it.
For I've broke and I've been broken
and fear is now outspoken.
I hear the mystery in music and words unheard before.
Like the seers whom always saw it and couldn't be ignored.
Implored by Heaven for the masses
the stars will guide the way.
I'll swim through this sea of darkness
until tomorrow brings us day.
The crashing waves caressing me
at the helm of my dismay.
Splashing me incessantly
whispering foreplay.

Beauty hurts,
A wound that leaves a scar.

A scar that leaves a wound,
A wound of the soul.

It causes bonds to be broken,
Love to die,
Greed to grow,
And worst of all,
It strips you of your identity.

Friends to enemies,
Lovers to haters.

Slowly creeping in,
Your gaurd forgotten.

The vanity kicks in.

Beauty hurts,
A wound that festers,
Growing and tormenting the mind.

Am I pretty?
Don't lie to yourself,
Beauty for you, does not exist!

A flower never boasts about how well it looks or smells
A pineapple never gloats about it's sweetness
Nor does Pizza ever exult in it's own deliciousness

So why then do we flaunt our fading beauty ?
Why do we celebrate our expiring youth ?

There is beauty in silence...

Then again...
A picnic with pizza and pineapple juice sounds good night now

At last, the truth came out.
I was an accessory to her outfit.
The many plastic bands that dangle against her wrist.
She was into fashion.
The appearance of how things look.
She placed more above me.
The beginning.
Lost in the reflection they'd give.
This false perception of how she'd feel inside.
She'd sit and fidget.
Checking her reflection on the screen of her phone.
Unable to differentiate who was who.
Another attachment left to sit on the dresser.
Laced in things to compensate what's missing.
The face of her phone cracked

she was a leaf
holding up the blossom
that grew above her

it is hard to love a flower
because beauty
is sometimes vain

that is why i love her
and not the flower
for leaves are not vain
they do not envy
they are kind
and they are true

it is easy to let beauty blind you
for leaves fall before petals wilt
-k.j.c