birth day

as time
has
passed,
a day
that i
don't
care
to
celebrate.

birth day

is only
a dark
reminder
that
i am
now
closer to
death
than
birth.

as the
years
pass,

why
would i
want to
celebrate
drawing
closer to
my own
demise?

with
so much
still
undone,

that
won't
get done

with a
body
that can't
keep up
with my
mind.

and
each
"birth day"
only
reminds me
of this.

life,

it goes
by
fast.

like
a
bullet,

ironically.

BANG
BANG....

buh bye

there
goes
my
life.

i was
just
here
temporarily

anyway...


your
'concrete-poet'
11/18
her lips,
lush as
petals of
infinite
red roses.

succulent,
providing
exotic
sensory
pleasuring.

left blind
by the
array of
love's colors
i've never
been privy.

her every
move,
soft and
tender.

leaving me
ripe
for the
bouquet'ed
onslaught
of her
uniqueness.

a uniqueness
from which
i have
never
recovered.

her petals
will never
wither.

her lips
will never
thorn.

she's
the rose
that blooms
in every
storm.

your
'concrete-poet'
11/18
into
ebon
forests
alone
i trek.

limbs of
stripped
trees reach
for the
communion
wafer
hued moon.

unsettling
echoes
of predators
find way
to my ears.

unfamiliar
eyes by
the hundreds
seemingly
fixed
upon me.

yet,
i continue
forward,
never do i
retreat.

fate is
not my
fear.

and fear
is not
my fate.

building a
granite
foundation
of character
represses
any fear.

i stand
firmly
ready
for the
attack
amongst
the shadows.

darkness
will regret
taking a
second swing
at David.

i already
fell
Goliath
once.

your
'concrete-poet'
11/18
humanity
these days,

often
leaves me
in
bewilderment,
awe
and despair.

hunt,
go ahead
for food
of course
but,

why shoot
a bear?

that's just
trophy
hunting,
pound
your chest
little *****
syndrome
in my eyes.

i literally
look at
those that
trophy hunt
as wolves
in disguise.

be you
of course.

just remember,
***
nor I..

your
murderous
behavior
will we
ever endorse.

i clearly
put much
more value
on life,
any life
than you.

i am
thoughful
enough
to know
that
once we
draw our
last breath..

there are
NO REDOS.

**** for
food?
Jesus
approves.

******
for sport?
from heaven
to ****
your
forever home
moves.

your
'concrete-poet'
11/18
this earth
is dark
with poison

rich in
evil
with the
devil's
dirt on
many hands

souls painted
in hues of
misery
and torture
with the
paint brush
of weakness

eyes of
snakes that
continue
slithering by

and once
they bite
....

  their poison
spreads.

your
'concrete-poet'
11/18
i am
  a poet.

burdened?

yes.

  imprisoned-

shackled
     by my own
mind
            i am.

   my passion
is
    only matched
       by fellow
poets.

   others
passion
is watered
   down whiskey
where mine is
    moonshine
  spirytus
192 proof.

    my heart
has
     scars similar
   to
striations
   on a
tree's bark.

   i am
a poet that
   hates themself
more than
     anyone else.. .

but loves
   the idea
of themself
    more than
anyone else.

  want to
know me... .. .
    really know me...
     this poet?

be prepared
  to forfeit
your day... .. .

   getting
to know
   me,

    the poet...?

is going
    to take
a while.

but don't
    fear,

boredom
you
  will never
suffer!

after all
   i am

... .. .
  a poet.

an
enigma!


your
'concrete-poet'
11/18
life
will
crest

life
will
ebb

we
are
oceans

from
horizon
to
shore

affected
by
the
moon

we
are
tidal

eventually
we
drown

because
life
has
death.

your
'concrete-poet'
11/18
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