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Jun 8 · 32
Wonderment
Marebear Jun 8
Summer air and drenched leaves
The sharpness of the spines teeth
The wind gliding through my soul
This simple life, such truth it holds
Enclosed in the light that shines through
Is the ties to the past prugh’s

Emptiness in the eyes of the viewer
He now lack’s the creativity of the grauer
The withering spine of the leaves
Are now wounds of the deceased
As the red infects the roots
He sits at the trunk thinking of the older tune
The song is no remembrance
The chords are a mere semblance

Her hands let go, her fingers careened away
He believed she might stay
For little time was the due
Maybe he hoped too much from the douwe
The dove fluttering by
Coots his eyes to be lies

To be god's fool
The one he sent out to ramble of helpless needs
And bite his omen in exchange for blissful deeds
I will promise what you say holds truth
Unless you say, I love you
For when I say your name
The red string is only my proclaim

Let this world be greedy
Oh god, make us bleed
Make the artist the muse
So even they can feel the love
Maybe the poet can hear his words
So he can read his melody
We are too starved to express
So much the world feels less
With this abyss of art
The world can seem so large

Do I say these needs to be my own?
Or do I ponder what was once shown?
Where the starving woman dances
With the wind she can only see
Like the wind has immortalized her spine
Dashing and jumping in dime
The colors she deems so colorful
Even though her love is not pliable

Why do you not see the beauty of the world
Is thou not human, not born?
Even a worm will turn
When the rose is not returned
I will die from this heartbreak, and this curiosity
This vessel in my chest,
will burst from the velocity
I will give and ponder my old addiction
And caprice what was once love

With my bones that she touched so deeply
I sacrifice and create
What would normally cremate
May this obsession eat me alive
And make my heart palpable
I doubt from all the smoke
That I may even be edible
A poem about obsession and expression of that tie.
Complexion of love, loss, and the creative process. It reflects on the struggle of the artist to express deep emotions and the pain that comes from unreciprocated love.
Jun 6 · 43
Gods Melody
Marebear Jun 6
The roses grot, White doves fluttering by
Endless dreams in the sky
Untouched though, never taught how
Summer air and drenched leaves
For thou is not to teach
The dreams were never reached

The wind gliding through my soul
Little clouds flowing along
A melody of god's way untold
A repetition to understand
Listened once, forgot again

Grief they say is the last form of love
Being clawed away are these yearnings for more
They trim the leaves, water the roots
Maybe new buds, new petals, will bruit

To be god's fool, color blissful deeds
Petrels coot slandering lies above the water bed
Sent out to ramble of helpless needs,
in the blue canvas, never dead
When will the bluebirds coo?
Will they too
paint their sins, close to the dunes?

What if god is how you describe
with caressing hands and gentle eyes
You say his name so attentively
despite the one syllable Melody

When will her eyes glow for me
And not the being who took her loved
Simmering is a prayer on my lips
that is authored to no god.
The poem is about dreams unfulfilled, the religious misunderstanding of gods ways, and forbidden love for a girl who is religious. The person encounters grief and hopes for new love to sprout and talks about how liars will follow god but when will people who are not believers truly be happy? The person also yearns for the love of someone now willing to give it.
Marebear Jun 6
Silence is deceased as your language
Although a code
Of the timing, tone, height of your voice
The tilt of your glasses, to the curve of the jaw
The dimming and scatter of my freckles
To what we saw

Sneaking across the field of unspoken words
But stooping along my front steps of my world
Why do whales roam  with their dead calf
Even though their demise is foretold?
Some beings cannot live without their other half

The living of the delicate swan
Or peace of the sleeping man
What shall we do without his hand?

Fragile to touch, scared to break, to wake,
To bother.
What if his life is still tethered
When dead, you shall cradle the being, for pain
It may not be slain
For time had ended it’s due

For the satisfaction of touch, connection
last strand of humanity one was born with
Has withered, the pain, no longer tethered
The air
No longer fair.
The explanation and experience of attachment, how when something beautiful is fragile, but when dead, like a butterfly, you play with the being. This poem explains how it hurts to love someone when they are dead.
May 15 · 64
Perspective
Marebear May 15
If all the people I loved in this life were to disappear
The grains of my soul would fade
I embody love to its finest definition
The clay is moldable, definable to the muse
A reflection of the strings tied

If my love is a reflection of others love for me
what if the mirrors break?

His hand cradling mine
Or holding a bloodied knife
My heart beats it’s melody
A painful screeching tune, or forsaken philosophy
Whales glide with their dead calf
Although the time will take its course longer

Shall humans fate is to see the worst in people when eyes first meet
What if love at first sight is the irony of vulnerability
A failed perception.
Or just a lesson.

That life’s first breath was bitter
filled with smoke
To be fulfilled, the lungs must be blackened
Heartbreak or love, a thought
May 14 · 83
Finest Act
Marebear May 14
Oh, to be so vulnerable
I trusted you so much
You lifted my shirt, and I thought you saw my soul
Your touch was painful

Oh, to be so vulnerable
To say the beauty I hold
And say I look good in white, not gold
I trusted you with my body

Oh, to be so vulnerable
Even the dunes ***** next to the shore
But my love dimmed no more
Isn't love supposed to be tolerable

Oh, to be so vulnerable
I wasn't aware addiction could be a caprice
For touch, there was never a price
But then you left, and I felt the mellowness
of hands without its fellowship

Oh, to be so tied
To want to stray but never hide
To feel the fear but not the wrongs
To feel the stabs but not see the blood
The Finest Act in God's way
Was to make a tune
never to be played
emotional vulnerability of love
May 6 · 83
Field Of roses
Marebear May 6
She’s so beautiful
She’s a distinct petal out of a thousand roses
So bright and radiant, but feels out of touch
She feels dark, so out of love
One says she changed, but a million are blinded

She’s a philosopher
An artist with her words
One says sadness
While she writes a silent ocean
Her brush steals hearts

Summer will find us shortly
In the bristling but once-filled heaps of grass
through the wind, the howling of sorrow
May the sun find our chests and warm their holes
For the lovers in the past have torn us through

I hold their hand for them to stay
But they drift further away
Must be killed three times to hold
These poets' eyes are not foretold
Despite the words that pour from the soul
A field of roses will rot
If the gardener does not trim the grot
Admiration and nostalgia

— The End —