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  Oct 4 T R Wingfield
RoseMarie
I will not cry for you
because you don't need my tears

this extra salt
will not comfort you
nor give you strength

I will not cry for you
because my tears will not change anything

my tears will not bring you back
my tears cannot recreate the life we had

I will not cry for you
because you can't see my tears

and you do not understand
how much I've lost

I will not cry for you
because you were always above tears

tears are for the weak
who cannot change the present
and cannot face the past

and you are neither of those things

So I will not cry for you

I will carry on
into the great unknown
to do honor to all that you have given me
and to the person you once believed I was

but every day
I will cry for me
because all my life
was not enough time
‘Cause you  never wrote any of the good parts down
You just lived ‘em
and let ‘em
s
 l
   i
     p
          
             a

                           w
                                               a                    y

You knew better
than to try to capture
the silliness in its hay day
because then you’d have
to face the facts of
the very choices
that you’d made;
and there would be no question -
whether it’s was worth it -
to waste the days by trading them
for nights of frivolity, and frolicking,
and frittering away.
What should have been,
and what is so,
and where it came from,
and who’s to blame
would all be there in Black and white,
instead of vanishing in the haze.

And in your own hand, no less;
your words,
a confession dictated day by day
of what, With your own eyes,
you did see
- All the magic and the wonderment of this tragic comedy -
through foggy lenses bottle thick and stained:
dreary rambling in shadows made,
and heard and said
a many things
in drunken dangling reparteé.
{•:[\|/]:•}no one ******* cares{•:[\|/]:•}

                                          _ -====- _
                                      . + T  [ ^ ] T + .
                                   /  .•^•.    .•^•.   \
                                  |   <(•)  }  {  (•)>   |
                                  (..          /^\          ..)
                                   \* /|'_'_'_'_'|\ */
                                      \\ V         V //
                                        \\ ^----^ //
                                          \ '-''-'-''-' /
                                             * -_'_- *

                                          _ -====- _
                                      . + T  [ ^ ] T + .
                                   /  .•^•.    .•^•.   \
                                  |   <(•)  }  {  (•)>   |
                                  (..          /^\          ..)
                                   \* /|'_'_'_'_'|\ */
                                      \\ V         V //
                                        \\ ^ __ ^ //
                                          \ '-''-'-''-' /
                                             * -_''_- *

(Found beneath the body of the author, who was crushed by the weight of a megalithic stone- his writers block)
p.s. - I spent far too much time on the ascii vampire skull; but isn't it neat?
T R Wingfield Dec 2020
Tonight, I drank
In revelry
To celebrate the life I've made;
The life that was not handed to me;
The life I was compelled to create.
Tonight I drank to you and I,
Despite the mistakes and the pain.
It's not the losses that I've suffered
Which remind me of the consequences paid;
It's the simple fact
that now,
Despite the effort that was made,
I'm left with only memories
Of days I treasured day by day.
I would not trade the ones yet coming
For any of the my other days.
But know that since you became my history,
The future will never be the same.
This is a response poem inspired by I drank by rozana
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3705809/i-drank/
T R Wingfield Aug 2020
Sometimes we cant stop talking
Try as we might it is to no avail
We've something to say about every little thing
And we've no way to be sure
they can tell what we mean
And it seems like we never can completely frame
The point we are trying to make before the other chimes in with a tangential observation:

     See I don't think you know
     what I mean. What I'm trying
     to say is that the very thing
     your talking about is what I
     believe but a little bit different
     in some semantic way and,
     hold on, let me just think and
    finish my thought

    and then you can speak.

And then we are coming at nothing from obtuse trajectories and analyzing and then there's a misunderstanding and we start defending ourselves over a misunderstanding, your tone inflects in a verbal retreat and my tone becomes antagonizing
And then we are fighting over some misdeed that we've already tabled for the sake of you and me.

And sometimes we just can't stop talking.
Mostly it's me sometime I just can't stop talking.
  Feb 2020 T R Wingfield
Rozana
tonight, i drank
i drank
but not to quench a thirst
was it to forget or to remember
everything was as it was supposed to be
late afternoon sun lazily laid
soft and golden    
and long shadows
was it after those steps up the stairs
when i walked into a darkened room
to the bed that i didn't make, but we had shared
and the smell of you that hung
h e a v y
              in
                 the
                      air
like you had never left but almost like you were never there
is that what betrayed me
the nostalgia mixed with the absence of you
leaving me in an empty room

w a n t i n g

it is a broken promise, or one that you never made
Drunk poetry. Literally.
T R Wingfield Jan 2020
I feel
like I died a
horrible
****** death
at the hands
of some great
and terrible beast
with razor claws
and gnashing teeth
that escaped its cage
and pounced on me
out of the shadows,
glinting eyes
reflecting
fire from
the wreckage left
by the mile-long circus train,
now derailed,
after running into me
full speed.
"Oh my god... I'm never drinking again..." He said, lying to himself, and God, in agony. "You'd think I'd have learned my lesson by now."

Happy New Year!
T R Wingfield Dec 2019
How come no-one ever pulls for the bad guy. He's just out there doing what we all wanna do: Being self-interested, self-imposing, self-actualising, carefree, and ego-maniacle.

Really he's the hero- making destiny manifest by his own hands; the spiritual successor of the settlers and explorers, who just happens to have run out of room.

Is it not those do-gooder heros who are villians,  for real, by forcing these noble individuals to abandon their dreams and fall back in line, with threats of violence, persecution, and hard time. They are the very embodiment of fascism, through and through.

So lets here it for the bad guys who keep the world sane, by showing us were all humans, one and the same.
So three cheers for evil!
Hip hip hooray!
Hip hip hooray!
Hip hip hooray!
Seems like this is how all the world thinks these days.

A counter-intution for those who are interested
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1863686/the-belltower-tolls-midnight/
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