It strikes -- the scorching sun.
Her hair is messed up in a bun.
The habit. The veil. It was a chain.
She walked passed--
Dashed on the abbey,
Where she belonged.
Down past the silent corners.
Deep inside the high-unending walls.
The deafening silence,
The mute languages.
Secrets. Enigmas. Paradigms.
Hides the very thoughts of her shadows.
Her history,
Her memory,
Her identity.
Alas! Her name will forever be a mystery.
Buried secretly in a discreet grave--
Wasted. Rotting.
Concealed by the glowing epitaph.
Unsheathe--
Destroyed she will be.

Slips of time,
Stolen by,
The frustrating cry of empty space.
Just 3 words, just 3 breaks,
The clock ticks by,
I see your face.
Skin for every pocketed minute,
A strand of hair for each delayed train,
A minute here, A minute there,
An hour lost in anywhere.
Slips of time,
Stolen by,
A friend from a better place.
You're with me always in places I refuse to see,  
Teaching me to tune a better melody.

All in, do nothing, or do this

line by line imagine-ing, the verb behind what if,
the quest ion, sparking attention at the mention

cognosis troubler, bull in a china shop,

bringer of missile launching knowledge to fight with
a fuzzy visioned ****** breed of Andre stature,

pinged, 'im. Right between the eyes...

imagine doing that on the nineth at Pebble Beach,
with a nine iron, poised to

smack
a pink and white Ping classic purchased on Ebay for six bucks.

-- can't get that picture,
-- never had the feeling of whacking ball after ball into the desert, for the helluvit... if you missed that

you must have a metaphor of your own, for aiming at nothing,
and hitting dead center every time.

Fear of death is real.
Yet again;
we spend our days
forgetting to live.

Merely surviving...

We are afraid to leave
but we do nothing;
while we are here.

A retired man returns to work:
he's tired of his freedom.
Watched every show,
Read many books,
The lone-king of his kingdom.

A life of striving, working, waiting,
finally completed.
Now finds it empty,
finds it wasted,
hope has been depleated.

He woke at last before his death,
and let out one last sigh.
Reflections hurt,
Regrets aplenty,
Long past time to die.

Great works, and definitely Captivating words
When I was trying on, but got treated like turds
I never expected to be rejected within the birds
It struck like a lighting, an unexpected shot
Burst down in my deepest guts till it rot
I believe that I may have won, except for someone's not
Stupid rules, drove me crazy from grabbing the gold
Your selfish heart give chills in the atmosphere's so cold
"Join us", I'll never trust this person again
My effort apparently has a ****** end
You know who you are, and you should know what's best
The community's nothing without you, so why don't you just rest
Till this "love, pain, & poetry" becomes less,
Less than a thrashed out old bird nest  
I thought I had the chance with an awesome luck
But no, I was rejected getting hit by a truck
I could probably win anyways by giving you a buck
While your self-centered, greediness snuck,
Someone's doing there best to get a heart struck
By Great words, and effort unending
You only chooses to the group your loving
How about those ones who were really trying,
Only ended in such messed up endings

Rows of angry red
eyes stretch endlessly onward.
Morning “rush hour”.