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 Apr 1 Gerry James
thank god i can’t write good poetry
the best poetry comes from pain and hurt if you ask me
so although i can’t write like i used to
at least it means i’m doing alright
hurting is healing
The wolf came upon us all
to devour the wicked and the weak
he would stare into your eyes
if he sensed you were good and true
he would walk away
leave you and yours
to live another day
So when the wolf came near
I chose to stand
next to you
I don't know why I allow myself
to be charmed by you,
your bright face and dulcet tones
promising me rich rewards
for my investment
if I give in just one more time
and return to you.

Why do I believe it will be different this time
when I have come back
time after time
submitting myself to your allure
only to see my efforts crumble
into a thousand pieces
like a clump of litter
from the cat box.

Maybe next time I will remember
the odor of those crumbles
and not allow my imagination
to fool me into returning.

But I doubt it.
This dark soil
teems with potency
of light and life
the sun stirs the soul
hidden in wait
for the creative juices
to flow and saturate
its seeds to spring.
I am unsure what is worse;
seeing you in my dreams,
or not at all.
Each way provides
hurt and sadness,
and the realization that you’re gone and never coming back.
News headlines talk about
people attempting
“The Birdbox Challenge.”
When in all reality,
we are all stumbling through life

And the real irony here
is that,
people are too blind to realize
they are already blind.
Just a thought on the most recent, idiotic trend.
Today I realized I’m responsible
for the destructive crash
that brought me to where I am.
There were quite a few red lights,
but I ignored them completely.
After all, it’s the green lights
that always look so beautiful
when you are out at night.
If something were to crawl up inside
do be careful; the deeper the
******* the more volume the
I wouldn't want you
to pull
when you could keep it up,
loving me like a stranger straying
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