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Steven Boston Aug 2020
Life not lived
in still stance
glued to my tree like altar
dreaming of what could of been
roaming the Serengeti scorched trails
my flesh beating
jungle drums blaring
head high in a roof of galant green

alas the realness of reality revertebrates into my cold expanse
I am but a statue of beauty crafted
hands of my maker smooth but firm
as they caressed my curves
connected in that memorable moment
standing still in ticking time
ever eternal
state static
I wrote this about an ornament Elephant sitting on a table in my living room
Steven Boston Aug 29
Dwelling where the tears cry blood
echoed nightmares ghost my tortured shell
In streets not paved in gold
but misery mountains that I scale everyday
wearily sauntering around their slippy slopes

As I die a little bit more everyday

Sitting on my concrete throne
chained to the only thing I know
an abyss of loniless
my friend
my foe

As I die a little bit more everyday
This poem is about being homeless which I have experienced in my life. Now removed from it I wrote about it.
Steven Boston Jun 2020
The love that beholds me, awakens the senses, an adrenaline shot to the heart, eyes wide open as If breathing from the deathly hallows
The rusty cogs slowly turn, gaining momentum, as the lost love pours through me like a monsooned river, hitting every part of me, a flicked light switch in the dead of night, as light overflows the darkness, my being is transformed, I'm alive, I'm alive
Steven Boston Jul 2020
Falls of the liquid clear
rushing and crashing
transparency diamond sheeted
beyond a glimmer of another world
lies hope of an eye seen

Bewildering beat within
skips in song
thirsty I lavishly drink it in
beauty perceived in a moment quenched
as I survey the tumbling tears of creations cries
Was thinking of a waterfall earlier so wrote this
Steven Boston Sep 12
To dilligently seek his forever face
focused eternally upon his giving grace
even in squals that hover
under his wing you hide in compassionate cover

Knowing the love that longingly lasts
to hold you like an anchor sure and steadfast
pressing on towards whats in wait
your refining process toward the heavenly gate

Never lose sight of where your going
no matter what the evil one has thrown
for storms and squals open opportunity
to glorify his name in broken community

Shine bright like the night star
breaking bounderies in cities near and far
taking hold of Pentecostal power
leading people to his refuge and tower

Like Pentecost the Spirit will fall
then they will hear his compassionate call
"There's nothing to fear"
"My child come near"
Steven Boston Jun 2020
The whisper of a gentle breeze
makes me stand still and feel at ease
The call of a morning bird
music to my ears it may sound absurd
The rays of a setting sun
is when I know my day is done
The beam of the lunar light
is all part of His Heavenly delight
The ever insuring waves from the motion of the sea
and all this He created for little old me
The colossal clouds in the heavens above
this He commands is an act of my love
The whisper, the call, the ray, the beam
it's reality in our earthly dream
The Father speaks in so many ways
you've only got to look to see what He says
This is the wonder that He created
water, land, and mountain tops jagged, and serrated
He is in everything we see
and all this..for you and for me
Steven Boston Aug 29
Freshly sharpened knives slice
at my numb skin
as I bound forwards bleary eyed
in the blueness of the morning

I breathe in the freshness of its delights
head awakened
in a juggernaut of thoughts
the expanse of being
suddenly aware
of a dark shadow
in the recesses of a shop door

it shifts quickly from my peripheral vision
I'm suddenly drawn to it
as my curiosity wells up inside
of my cold shell

I feel like the cat who is just about to spend all nine lives
uncertain of what lies in the boxed doors
to material worth.
whimpers the voice of the unknown

my eyes acclamatise
to the darkness in front
in view now
a dishelved man slumbered

face old beyond his years
he catches my eyes with his sad gaze
emminating from them
is the story of a journey of old
a soul lost in the past

such desolation
stonniness conjured

in the blink of an eye
Steven Boston Jun 2020
Seed planted
lost lands of confusion
meandering the field of persuasion
the well watered words wearily sewn
out of proportion the yeast expands
yesterdays horizon vast and plentiful
today's frayed threads coming loose
A small poem about the doubt that was planted in Eves mind in the garden of Eden.
Steven Boston Aug 2020
To speak of the silent voice
would be to be laid bare
as the world glares on
gavel in hand ready to slam downwards
passing sentence to another

Imagine thyself
encapsulated in the looking eye
gavel dissolves with a heart melt
pondering their weary woes of ticking time past

Tear trickles your consciousness
meandering through vascular alleyways
no longer bound by piercing sight
but flourishing in a garden of unconditional compassion
Judgement to compassion was the theme! Was thinking how our perspective can change about a person through the lense that we view them.
Steven Boston Jun 2020
Beautiful bride beckons her groom
as her heart beats and bounds
Gleaming groom gleefully falls
under her intoxicating gourgeousness
Radiant red refined and romantically real
engages his very being
Serendipitous souls searched and sought serene at last
Harmony in heart hopefully happy
and honoured in marriage
Wrote this after a Khmer wedding in Cambodia.
Steven Boston Jun 2020
If I could speak whispering words
what would I tell you?
I've been used since birth
till death it will continue

I've seen spring
winter too
naked to life's elements

I do not feel
I'm dead to the touch
I used to sit in a fantastic forrest flush
I longinly long for those days
when I felt the wonderful wind
Blow throw my spindly hair

Oh but it's gone
I'm listening to tales and weary woes
of wars had
Scars left
Tales of the neighbours wife
and wee jimmys strife
What a life

The days I long for..
when families come
with love and laughter
Galant giggles
Tenacious tickles
Forever times
but soon they depart
as I'm left enchanted
longing for the next encounter

But sometimes..
I'm as lonely as lonely gets
the lost key never found
Shrouded in a coat of sadness
Oh how I miss the place that I grew up
now I solemly sit
on all fours
as if the statue of grey friars Bobby
planted without roots

My only solace
Is the families fun
My only..
My only
This is the personification of a park bench
Steven Boston Aug 2020
Traversing lands green desolate of human connection
to view from afar weary shapes of relationship fractured
seismic shifting barrenness of enveloping another rhythmic beat
two kindred north to south shackled in sergeants chains
pondering seasons of antiquity
captured momentarily meandering wonderfully through synaptic responses
neurons ablaze in glory of timeless touch
Steven Boston Jun 2020
The sweet budding flower
reaching like Jacobs ladder
where dust meets eternal matter

Co-joined on the forging anvil
of words spoken.
no longer broken

Intertwined like lasting fabric
made to last
daydreams reality
rosey clarity

eyes wide open

Its true
Its true

No mythical myth

Love happens
Steven Boston Jun 2020
I care not for the boxed city behind the walls
Look to the white sheeted hills where I stand
In all my emerald glory ready to release my fiery terror upon the ones who stupidly scorned

Ostrasised for my peculiarity

'Fire breathing' they shouted
'Witch' they chanted

What do they know of being different..

My cold wet hand holds my burning-orb
Fate will release its hand on this dark dark night

Sheep to the slaughter
Sheep to the slaughter
Fantasy piece
Steven Boston Aug 16
Sweet smelling nectar floats fervently
Its auroa encompasses our aching beat
as our branches intertwine our rosey clarity
everlasting binding forged for two
grafted upon a ray of serene beams

her emerald gaze pierces my scarlet thread
spilling secrets never told
intoxicating vivid vivacious veil
falls with its spells attached
roaming the shores of fragrant forever

to be yours
to be known
to be loved
Steven Boston Aug 2020
Porcelain fragments
crumbling like aged papyrus
into voice of being
ego echoed
to shores of Normandy
consume thyself
Taking a look within and the war with self
Beyond the drone of pitiful noise
lays his nightmare silent voice
dark treacle running through
his vindictive veins
shouting for spilled scarlet floods
in the arena of his rebellious reality

We ask
is the psyche awakened
of a heinous human

As he premeditates malicious ******
in his razor wire embroiled shell
venting vicious violent thoughts
from his cauldron
overspilling with the essence
of things past

Into abhorent action
it bounces and bounds
'Heres Johnny'
the sun rising for him
as it sets for another
he's lifted from his numbness

adrenaline gushing
through his warped floodgates
saturating the twisted air he breathes
without it he is but a nobody
drowning in the normality
of real reality
Wrote this about what makes a serial killer tick, was for a prompt.
Steven Boston Aug 28
Spiders eggs hatching
consume my weary fractured vessel
embodied in canals of conflicting emotion
muted to the outside world

Ghost in a shell
wondering in the valley of death
fallen debris pierces my conscience
floating on the monsooned mayhem

Kamakaze in-flight and bound
thoughts chained in steel
painted in perilous poison
maiming every interaction

Train stops with sudden jolt
in its tired teary tracks
unaware of the pittiful plight
deep sighed breath in rescued relief

And then again
and again
and again
Steven Boston Jun 2020

The kiln fiered ceiling
air hung in its splendour
Eloping with rebellious nightmares
I slid into the boxed blue wheels

Radiating the aura
Of a vice grip grasped by another
I laughed in the abyss where dreams were lost
Narcotic fuelled

The meandering gray roads lay before us
Little did we know
What lay ahead in our frenzied future fight
As if Artyon Senna
A nano-second
The click of the fingers
Nightmares begun

One dead in shadows of reality
Shunted by the lorry of consequences
Crossroads before me
Which way to go

Suffocated in the cold light of day
Perpetual prison
I was only 15
I was only 15
This is about a car accident I was in when I was 15
Steven Boston Aug 28
She didn't know her name
her label for life
such a travesty for a beautiful soul
to be lost in her identity as a young woman

came the call from the distant left.
from the far right.

alas none of these tags felt like they belonged to her spirit lost in a wayward world
she was found on a crystal clear night
stars ablaze in their glory

abandoned at the docks
where ships delivered their bountiful cargo.
she was a cargo so dainty and precious
in amongst the robust ships and containers

they found her by the old rickety rail tracks that led to nowhere
once used but now forever forgotten

she had deep blue eyes
that sang a soulful song everytime you gazed upon them

this is her story
the one who was found
the girl with no name
Steven Boston Aug 30
Trepadation stares its way
as the cage doors are raised
people like ants
on the sweet taste
of the sugar of consumerism
lost in the highs it brings
smiles return to once long faces
it was but a distant memory
to be cut from humanity
relationships chord cut
when a virus awakens
an emptiness that dwells within
easy for some to return
as if sliding into a new pair of shoes
for others it will be squirming
and squeezing
into too many sizes small
do we forget the pain of others
admist our own selfish endevours
Steven Boston Jun 2020
The soft brush glides my aged papyrus skin, as it tickles every milli-metre of my being. A strange sensation never felt on my flat sheets, like a ******'s first touch.

I once stood beauty adorned, by the gaze of a naked eye, sheets of glory ablaze.
What is this foreign, flowing femme fatale?

My chest heaves and splutters, as it engulfs the expanse, of my silent pleas. I am glued steadfast to the only friend I've ever known.
My only escape, to peel my skin forward, and surely, and slowly perish into the timeless silence.

But suddenly like the dawn of day, I feel the glow of life reborn, as if a Phoenix rising from the ashes!

My weathered look, past and gone like a summers storm, as I stand ridges raised in my coloured coat
Wrote this about wallpaper being painted
Steven Boston Sep 2020
Barbed wire intrinsic thought
in the trenches forever caught
wearily wraps conscious care
in nomansland laying bare
bullet grazes flesh is torn
tear gas erupts heavens mourn
battle of malicious mind
bayonets cross the ghastly grind
ensnared in perpetual prison
doubtful fear rambunctiously risen

— The End —