Your face,
is etched in my memory;
a beautiful portrait of colour,
to stay forever in this mind.

Your face,
keeps this man;
finding a need to love,
to carry on with passion.

Your face,
is more lovely now;
with each passing moment,
that reflects each passing day.

Your face,
surrenders to my kiss;
for my body and soul,
will belong to you, forever

stores are running deficit
provisions unreplenished
ovens seeing less of flames
you're writing love poems!

cobwebs in the rooms dance
future in shambles unplanned
caught in lunatic trance
you're writing romance!

dirt is marking the wall
worries bursting the skull
expenses shaking nerve
you're busy writing love!

no bother no future plan
quickly dwindling ration
drowned in dense emotion
you're pouring passion!

My strength comes from my anger
My anger comes from my pain
My pain comes from my failure
My failure is my shame

Adrenaline pushes me forward
Synapses  fire in my brain
My ideas become my plans
My plans drive me insane

The spiral is unending
It keeps taking me around
It crushes my inner being
It dumps me to the ground

I keep on listening
I hear the deathly sound
My voice has denied me
I can't be heard in the crowd

My life is bittersweet
It's left a sour taste in my mouth
Since the day that i was born
My life's been going south

On being ask why I waste my time writing poetry.*

A poet lives three times:
once remembering,
once writing,
once being read.

Three lives unfolding
the genetic code
of the soul.

Not such easy
lives to create,
but they produce
a map of memory
that vindicates
your existence
and may lead strangers
to small, keen joys
they never imagined.

Modest delights
keep hearts alive.

  ~mce