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 Apr 2015 Tom McCubbin
wordvango
though effort,
       hard textures
personal failure,
         lyrical climaxes,
arbitrary closing
           the opening of
senses....

        feelings,
pain ecstasy,
              evolving,
coincide.....

to make me human...
   brings gloom
the taste of sugars
       at times
simultaneously,

my head revolving
    spins takes all of
all in.

taste it's bitter-sweet
She's like deliquescent caramel,

the cool side of a pillow

        to lay your weary head,

subtleties of springtime &

          warmth in wintertide,

whispering hope upon lush  

        Zephyrus pipe dreams,  

    mellifluous nymph with wings

                 of a butterfly warrior,

softly determined,

    unfailingly true-hearted,

       whilst relentlessly ferocious

  Wise, yet sometimes struts

        blindly in the light,

       as dulcet tones of a cello's

           melodious marmalade

            in sentiment's tender fancy,

she's beauty, charm,

         knowledge, poetry,

               utter strength,

               & humane weaknesses,

she's twisted and ethereal,

           her aura sublimely captivating

     you may covet her body,

            you'll never possess her soul
It’s good the world is not made to your dream
and people aren’t how you wished them to be
your needs are never satisfied to the brim
your wants keep growing endlessly.

It’s good you don’t get all you love to own
to your eyes all mysteries are not clearly shown
your questions are stuck and queries remain
your joy’s exuberance is diluted by pain.

It’s good uncertainties hinder your way
your lips can’t utter all you want to say
your plans go awry path fills with mess
hurdles keep coming to block your progress.

It’s good you ever feel far the distance
always hope there is a second chance
events don’t take the course you will
you retain a void that you yearn to fulfill.
I've now served 10 years
Out of life with no parole
All due to the fact
My heart she stole

But she is a great warden
Makes me tow the line
Or face solitary confinement
In the dog house as my fine

I have to admit
There has been a riot or two
But she has always done
What any good warden will do

She just looks at me
With that "Really?" stare
And this convict knows
He's approaching the electric chair

And with a cast iron skillet
She is an artist it is said
Be it on top of the stove
Or up the side of my head

But it's not so bad
This "prison" life
When you get to call the warden
Your loving wife.
Find solace in solitude,
There is no shame in that.
We are unknown to ourselves
An ocean to which we delve.
Scarcely coming up for air,
Entangled in fathoms
Whirlpools of despair.
Waves of introspection
Spare us shallow reefs
Yet cast us into darkness
And the horrors of the deep.
 Apr 2015 Tom McCubbin
wordvango
the odds of
gathering together all
the stardust
making fools
and kittens
inside the beginnings,
is making me consider,
I am little universes,
with pieces of eternity.
I am eternal.
I love the quest
I live then in
the answer, and the questions.
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