DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, for M.H.K. :)

I sat
startled by the dead rock
talked to its wind, responding with a nod
chatting:
I suppose people out of date
out of stock
been looked at so questioned
what should

a promise I shook
hands with to keep for
good, to keep for worse
already knowing the door handle if the
door stood up for a logical force

for the familiarity to
pertain, individuality speaking about protectiveness of a sword
I suppose myself aware of purple
leaves in certain
to keep the looped
downfall, truly to the word

flipping through leftover
meals to minds sold
experience essenced of trailed up
thought after the show
footsteps pressing footsteps to
the underworld living for one
demolished, two-thirds to go

                                                             ------ravenfeels

DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, it is the leap of the known knows of the unknowns:)

be the wither
be the pain
I've written the
wholes of
that one pathed tenth trench and
paced lane of an ever
a ten a twelfth of three sixes
an ever
again, I'd come to come
through in neat shall
the pleasure of today is the same of the
pleasure
of that year

now come
my memory into the eye
onto the foreseen
one through an eye

for the written to them shall
burn to the past to
commit lie
draining my pen
onto the forges
of day in
sublime tortures
dimming my life my tent swallowed by
a fox
a god's a falcon's a once sought
eye

so trace my words I write
here I write have written today for
they shall be past of some lesson of
a mean just the same tell
them to read tell them to listen well
indeed for a poet's riddles shall
trick and deceive tellers the
tortures till moons till
the one till of hell

                                                                   -----ravenfeels

DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, who's watching me now?: I'm not liking the capitals:)

I don't like people seeing me think
I feel exposed----
to the lots
of the knows
It's like they're reading my mind
they're reading my thoughts
It's like they're reading my lines
they're reading my poems
It's like they're reading my rhymes
they're reading my tone

But I know that they're not watching
it's just a mindless look
But I know that they're not
when they can't see behind my lots
But I know that they're not
when they throw off comments
shooting their shots
in ******* me off
in slaughtering nods
in not ending with dots
in being a being of a being bot
& confinement is their knot
when their tongues are off dirt
& a look is now a flirt
& the means to being humane
is one luxurious walk in a desert
& the question is an alert
gotta be sane in here by effort

Who's watching who?
Who's watching me now?
You have to be reserved
or else you pay for the blurt?
Get yourself onto the lane
or else a doom of an inert
so 'go ahead,
I support dancing :
just not under the rain'
sorry you'll stain?
so go
go
go
go compose yourself to the knows
drink your tea
keep it nursed
do it all
all rehearsed
die of life
die of thirst
don't count me, me don't assert
me no insert
in your park
in your scene
in your perch
Go get your tickets
go buy your theme
to that seat
to that concert
of the so called dream
                                                           ­                                ------ravenfeels

survival mode Liban
the logos of the statement just like any other
some curse it like it's some occasion
maybe it just needed a vocation
instead of the maybe
so the intelligence of its diction comes at cost
that one of its mind jailing mine
the ability of writing today is the lack of writing tomorrow
why does it have to be
for the words
to be a hostage
of the momentum of a pen
the golden age of today for me is the golden age of tomorrow
again with the maybe
or maybe not
already noted a 'useless' spot
the older I get the smaller I feel
from the exposure to the lots of the real
the younger I was the bigger I felt
from here
from the bubble of the lots of the real

                                                           ­                                -------ravenfeels

DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, how many journals do you go throughout the year?

he fades
for real this time
I'm losing sleep over myself
not over him
over his rhymes
if I can prove his existence in my brain
I can't
it doesn't even exist
even if it does
still not the same
his effigy is one for the flames to eat
and for the bridge to burn
on my poems his body lays
a skeleton my feet passes in between
thoroughly
between the lines standing in the way
dust coming back to follow me
with no second thought
or maybe just one
one thought between me & myself
how many more journals can I go through?
through which I go out of throughout the year
through which I go out of thought about cleaning up
some fear
of this dust from all over my poems
so give me back my poems
the winters that went away
those are mine to keep
to show them
until the last page
of it
of it all
and don't read them
because then you'd have to call

                                                           ­                                     ------ravefeels