"apprehended" poems
I hate things that creep, crawl, slither, and sting. But of all these, I hate spiders the most. Why? Because they’re just all … they’re all YUCK! That’s why.
Spiders are one of the worst kinds of insects (arachnids but whatever) because they are the only kind that purposely tries to **** with you. See, unlike ants, or caterpillars, or even nasty-old silverfish, spiders don’t care whether or not you know they’re there. These monsters don’t bother to hide from you. Nah, they’re all like, “I know you see me motha’ ***** and I know you ain’t gonna do nothin’ ‘bout it ‘cause you know I’ma just go **** and end up in yo shirt!”
One of the most common things that people who aren’t afraid of spiders say is this: “Kevin, you shouldn’t **** spiders.”
Me: “Why not?”
Them: “Because they eat other bugs.”
I think what people don’t realize is that … I don’t care! So what if spiders eat other bugs? I’d rather have the other bugs than have those god-awful things creeping around my house. Whenever someone reminds me that spiders eat other bugs, I honestly wish I had the power to communicate with insects, because as far as I’m concerned we have a common enemy. I would join forces with the flies and ants or whatever to **** every single spider in my house. Then I would betray my new friends and **** them too. Case solved.
But, as I think about it, it’s not just spiders that people tell me not to **** because they “eat other bugs.” Now that I think about it, every single thing that “eats other bugs” is also ten times more ******* scary than the things they’re supposed to be killing.
Have you guys ever seen a “house spider” sometimes called a “house centipede"? If not, google it right now. That’s the kinda’ thing people tell you not to **** because it eats the other bugs. But just looking at its picture I’m like “holy **** I’ll take a few mosquitoes over that **** any day!”
See, what people don’t realize is that I don’t hate spiders just for the sake of hating them. I hate them because when I see one I want to burn my house down and have it rebuilt from scratch. If I fail to **** a spider and the thing runs off, I will not sleep until my target has been apprehended and killed. I will literally sit near the spot it disappeared to with a flashlight and a can of windex until it returns to face its crime of entering my room.
O.o yep.
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 9:28 PM UTC
I'm frozen,
And I can see your spirit fade away
The liveliest shimmers of all I've seen,
And I can't do anything;
My heart burning,
Trying to melt my surrounding ice
giving a last try
to catch your glimmers,
Then it gave up
Because it apprehended to be late,
So struggle breathed out;
Then I don't know how long I slept
Maybe hoping to see you in my dreams,
Where we'll go to that street
where we always wanted to be
My rosy flush and your musing gaze
As the wind swept past the starry horizon
with the sparks of pure amaze;
The sweet scent of that blossoming love
I still remember
I watched it go away with my heart surrendered;
Now,
I'm an icy embody;
Witnessing only the passing times,
without hope;
Who could've thought that not getting over means
there's no hope?
Not that I see miles away;
Even if I try to
These icy flakes blocking my way,
I'm too cold to be resurrected now;
May 28, 2022
May 28, 2022 at 11:52 AM UTC
It was the early days of the organic food craze
and my wife, ever a slave to the latest fads
(which disposition sometimes benefitted me pleasurably
but mostly cost me dearly)
made me run on an errand
(like: “Fido – go, fetch!”)
to get some organic vegetables
and arriving, I blurted out to the produce guy, stumbling:
*“Some ****** for my wife”* –
and that wise guy, Oxford-educated as he was
(though a failed Professor, so ended up at the greengrocer’s)
he said: *“That you must induce or encourage in your wife, Sir;
I cannot and will not be of service in that connection.”*
And I slowed down and I said:
“Well, dear fellow – for my wife, have you any organic vegetables?”
And Oxford-educated as he was, he did not understand such fads
having mostly a sedate and Classical demeanour
and he pointed his most English nose to the air;
and so I attempted again to sensible-phrase my inquiry:
*“Are your vegetables -
and this I ask on account of my esteemed wife -
sprayed with poisonous chemicals?”*
And the Oxford guy apprehended now, and he pronounced:
*“Poisonous chemicals for your spouse
you must procure yourself, Sir”*
Now, that was an idea. I knew Oxford-educated guys
were smart in some way or other.
And since then I have been free of my wife.
I have no need to run on errands for no baby, no more;
though I do have to count bars,
limited as my numerical skills are,
as is my verbal proficiency.
And the Oxford guy, meanwhile, I have it from the grapevine,
has set up an ******** Food Chain Store*, worldwide;
I knew he’d go places, sooner or later, far and global
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 8:06 AM UTC
A LIFE TORN APART
When I first peeped into the world, I deemed it fit for the growth of my
miniature. When I peeped again, I trembled with disbelieving eyes at the
emergent live labyrinth that stood staring; but then, can an opinion change
an existence? Maybe, just maybe
As our mother packed and left, our father drove away. We remained hidden in
desolate souls. We were striked with a giant of a being called sustenance,
which dwelt in providence. Sincerely our begetters ought to have thought of
our brilliant futures. We deserved a life, to run the race towards academic
heights
Just the other day I overheard, my hemophilic father tying the famous knot
with a fellow MAN. Then I thought, what would become of my ego? Would I
walk with MY head held high facing other heterosexually raised colleagues?
Would I even get the strength to chase after the big price? I think not
As I grew up, I hoped for an illuminated course. Now I walk in converging
paths. After my fore-bearers kicked their ***** apart, I sobbed after my
dressed mother, they say. But who could have thought that I would turn into
a walking stone?
Walking through streets in search of well-wishers, I wished my parents had
held onto their existence. She blamed it on lewdness while he held it all
upon the mistake of an early pregnancy. Was I born unwanted? Was I smuggled
into this existence? I cease to think about it.
As a student, I thought my father’s charm the way to go. As a child, my
mother’s “generosity” to male neighbors elated me. Now as a parent to be I
think, what would my apprehended seed think of my responsibilities? Will I
be faced by delinquency? I thought the rod could do a lot to effect
change. It never did on me. Maybe I ought to mind the examples that I was
given not.
With my Progenitor bidden by the feared misfortune, I still sink in the
memories of my father, taken away by the same old grabber, HIV/AIDS. How I
hate you HIV….I beseech thee to move away from me. I promise my dear life;
that I will always run against the traffic. I will ensure I entangle myself
not, in a creased heart and walk with head held high. With the hope of
giving my bairm, the kind of life that I always wanted
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 8:43 AM UTC
The high priestess issued a religious order against us both,
We were punished for being dearly in love with each other,
They apprehended and executed the two of us lovers mercilessly.
Our heads dropped down to the floor in a pool of blood,
The bodies of ours tossed about so very much agonizingly,
For my heart heard our connecting string break into two pieces.
I was made to watch as the axe was felled on your neck,
What I failed to do for all my lifetime with you was happening,
Tears were jerking down my cheeks relentlessly refusing to stop.
I felt that I saw your soul taking-off from the body,
She appeared smiling and beckoning my soul too,
Soon my head was severed from my body too.
My soul joined yours and then on we are hosted by the temple,
Now they have started worshipping love in our form & face,
Fabled is our story of love & entirely unknown to all of them,
Our souls still brew the hot coffee of love behind those altars.
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 2:20 AM UTC
Sinister ministers deliver scriptures per
Illicit missions to present religious works for intrinsic worth
Men amended an "Amen" to end to the verse
Then apprehended the script they knew Kemet had written first
I’m in the blemish my kin is a part of the sin it hurts
Given my hair and skin were both considered dirt since the birth
It’s printed in their gospel I’ve been getting worse since the curse
It’s vivid plagiarism for the villain to get the perks
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 12:36 AM UTC
The sign said no entry,it meant me,I know it,I rode on right through it and thought that I knew it
all.
The policeman in a court date said that I, just would not wait for the lights to go green and he'd seen me do eighty in a thirty mile zone.
I was sent to a home for the wayward and flighty,a light sentence upon me,could not believe I was not free.
See me, on a saturday and I'm back on the racetrack,known as the M thirty motorway and I'm clocked at a ton by the feds in the lay by,who with sirens mad blaring came a tearing along after me,nicked,apprehended me and again,I could not believe I was not free,
I got four months in Dartmoor which get a poor recommendation,it's no picnic park for the youth of this nation,released in September,though it should have been May and soon after that in a 93 Fiat with go faster stripes,I was striped up quite rightly by the boys in blue and tightly,
handcuffed and roughed up and locked up again.
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 7:56 PM UTC
Apprehended in the moonlit night,
Of the silhouette of a mystery,
The clenched fist hesitated to show might,
Stared at the wall hangings of tapestry.
Curiosity crept in and courage whispered to his ears, "Go Leonard, go."
His feet trembled, but bravery ruled his heart.
He reached for the lamp, as the fear, he forgo,
He walked, to find the cause of disconcert.
He stood, astonished, at the sight of a black cat.
It meowed, as slowly, it vanished behind the trees.
he heaved a sigh of relief, and laughed, at ease.
What was he so afraid of?-
The answer lay in the breeze.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 12:53 PM UTC
Under the fists of steel
I wonder
If we’ll flutter
Like butterflies
Trapped under the steel thumb
Of the man who vowed to save us
Like Pavlov’s dog
Would the butterflies
Grow steel wings
Just so that they could survive?
Under the fists of steel
I wonder
If we’ll cower
Like an apprehended child
Afraid
Of a sin we did not commit
Would it be right
To call blind disobedience
Democracy?
A placebo effect
From our fears and doubts
The butterflies,
Despite the burden
Of the additional weight,
See the steel wings
As a cure
Because instead of
The scream-filled halls
We heard silence,
Ordered by the man
Who dared to say he’d save us,
And called it peace
Aug 15, 2016
Aug 15, 2016 at 1:15 AM UTC
for Alex
a man holds a good book
as if his hands are cuffed
turns each page
if only to relieve
this, that, wrist
when late
he may
set the book down
to light, or drop
a match
his whole life, planned out
the lit and the dropped
he may pause
here and there
to smoke
to belabor
the end of his life
where he sees himself
slipping from the cuffs
which undoubtedly
fall, then disappear
into some
nightly sound
that wakes his wife
who disoriented
is thankful
she will be on time
her first date
with a man
not yet
apprehended
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 1:22 AM UTC
A world convulsed at fallacious lies,
With a pensive reality,
And caliginous skies.
A night as dark as the depths of hell,
Malignant capabilities,
Your sinister voice I know too well.
Due to your influence,
I have become oblique.
Dreading all the words
That you speak.
Am I truly the one you seek?
Now I have prospected
and also detected
That the only way to be consummate
Is to remain idyllic, and appreciate
The taciturnity you’ve effected
I apprehended
That I should have escaped while I could
But I pretended
Like I misunderstood
That you were do good.
You insanity was cloaked by a hood.
I’m not endorsing you to deliver my downfall,
Aforementioned here, is my last stand.
Absent from reality I’ve become,
Just to plummet down this peak once more,
Due to the careless vivacity
of the fellow that is blind,
to his doings unkind.
And now, all you do is provoke
The constant fear that I have chosen
the wrong bloke.
And for this I have frozen
A friendship that was golden.
I really shouldn’t crave you
but for some reason
I can’t abdicate.
Jan 17, 2012
Jan 17, 2012 at 11:43 PM UTC
If looks could **** there would be no need to search any further
you would then surely be accused of that first degree ******
But since you have such a deceptive and changing illusory face
it would be very hard indeed to substantiate and prove the case.
Many would be those who would even defend and plead for you
giving all manner of testimony in saying the evidence isn’t true.
They would also state that in support of their own ignorant belief
nobody could really tell the difference to avail of any other relief.
The allegations against you though would have to be disproved
for all of the suspicions and charges to be thoroughly removed.
There would also need to be absolutely no shadow of a doubt
in respect of your presence which was at the scene thereabout.
It seems that by the evidence available you've had a good run
what some observers would thereby call a ****** lot of fun;
for such a long time now you have been getting away with it all
but you have undermined the circumstances leading to your fall.
Sooner or later it may also happen that the table is turned around
and a suspect is apprehended with the accusations that are found.
The term of 'being innocent until proven guilty' then comes into play
a sure reminder that the system of justice is gradually making its way.
___________________________________________
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 5:44 PM UTC
H C = C = O
...2
Ethenone.
Formal term for Ketene.
a Colorless gas at Standard Temperature &Pressure; with a sharp irritating odour,
Not much far closer,
from our love, meaningless at Social Technical Policy, boring like an unpaid decoder.
•• ••
O = C = O CO2
•• ••
I was wrong to would've apprehended of Hour Love as carbon dioxide ,
Naturally occuring in time, with two double bonded souls to a single heart.
S = <3 = S , in a lovical formular,
Soul = Heart = Soul.
Or did we undergo Mitosis?
Where we were processed and divided into a sequence of four phases..
Prophase our love appeared tenacious,
Metaphase we lined up portraying our sentiments in the middle of the terrestrial sphere
**** Walther Flemming for creating
Anaphase because that's when we split up
And Telophase made **** sure that we are sealed in different new terra firms
H ...H
...\ /
....O
H ...O - Water
...2
We were like
Water and Oxygen,
Without each other nothing was possible,
because without water we could die.
I Thought Love Was Science,
I think I was Right.
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 12:02 PM UTC
Glorious hills,
Hall of fame.
Cheap thrills,
God of the Game.
How did I get here?
Shipwrecked boat,
Undiscovered land.
Sore throat,
Parched and bland.
It came from above,
Woken by the sun.
By the sight of a dove,
My training begun.
I fought beasts,
I ran till I could run no more,
I challenged chiefs,
I won the war.
My ordeal had not ended,
It had literally just begun.
My road was not apprehended,
By myself or anyone.
I surfed waves,
I braved the whirlpool.
I plunged into the ocean caves,
To recover the infamous jewel.
I climbed the mountain,
Silent and still.
At the peak lay a fountain,
Ready to spill.
The water enlightened me,
I was ready to fight.
Nothing could stop me,
As I flew into the night.
At long last I was home,
Captain's armband.
In this very stadium dome,
I will create history by my very own hand.
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 9:05 AM UTC
Forgive me for remembering
what should not be remembered
Forgive me for questioning
what should not be questioned
Forgive me for apprehending
what should not be apprehended
Forgive me for persisting
what should not be persisted
Forgive me for pretending
what should not be pretended
Forgive me for enjoying
what should not be enjoyed
Forgive me for hurting
what should not be hurt
Forgive me for aiding
what should not be aid
Forgive me for trying
what should not be tried
Forgive me for fighting
what should not be fought
Forgive me for letting go
what should not be let go
Forgive me for thinking
what should not be thought
Forgive me for starting
what should not have started
Forgive me for ending
what should not have ended
Forgive me for breaking
what should not have been broken
Forgive me for forgetting
what should not have been forgotten
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 12:29 PM UTC
Stems of light, apprehended,
comprised in a frame
of fuzzy, speckled imagery.
Memories etched, staining time
along spectrums once focused
with refined precision.
Apparitions of past fragments,
transcend; condensed on fabric
weaved through the eye of a lens.
Feb 27, 2018
Feb 27, 2018 at 5:39 PM UTC
This Week, and Next Week Too
Heroes come and go,
Some enshrined but really entombed,
Famed for momentary action,
Bronzed and interred, sentenced to life imprisonment
In "this was history" books.
Others simply a one night stand,
Newspaper front page today,
A homeless man's shoe stuffing, the next.
I like heroes plenty too,
My favorite kind are those who are heroic
Every day, in the small ways,
Plain vanilla, unspectacular, yet is not
*Vanilla always first,
Above all?*
I lean toward toward those heroes
Who in every child a leaf do see,
Gently moving it along for just an instant,
A wind, a covering breeze,
Nourishing it briefly then sending it,
Floating, strengthened, onward bound.
I lean toward those heroes,
Who see a tree, a school,
Knowing that so many leaves need be apprehended,
Knowing that to all, one hero man, cannot attend.
Yet in his waking hours,
The despair of enormity
That limits most, with its peculiar powers,
The tired thoughts that would have us say,
Let some else be a hero today,
Clouds not his sight on which
We now rely,
A daily hero has a greater vision
That does not succumb,
This week or the next.
The man that seeks no glory,
But our world does glorify
By raising up the children
One dance step daily,
Is our hero, this week,
And the next, and the next...
June 23rd 2012
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 2:56 PM UTC
The death of a child
Cannot be portrayed into words
But only understood
By the deepest trenches of the heart
The moon hung its head low in the night sky
A perfect circle to personify infinity
Whether it was the message of a spirit
Or a coincidental language of the planets
We will never know
Something tugged on my spine
To turn around, and meet the eyes of a ghost
A mirror, I thought
For it was the ghost that I saw in my eyes
During my personal ice-age
A stranger alone, but
Not as strange as the loneliness
Of the aftermath of death
Do I dare speak?
To harvest hidden emotions of the past?
I spoke meek and astutely
Then stepped out of my skin
To show him my crooked spine
Because rotted bones and knotted arteries
Speak for themselves
He understood that I apprehended
That a grave for one is a grave for two
One for their body, and one for your heart
A weeping embrace in place
Of lost words stolen by mortality
Oct 3, 2011
Oct 3, 2011 at 1:38 PM UTC
D A Y L I G H T:
⠀
In my premature years, black licorice had always been my favorite treat, as it evoked memories of my favorite bird: the crow. It was something like a token of my admiration. Laid in a brittle bed of crisp-like-fall leaves, eyes that were once much bigger would gaze at the sky and see it as a continuation of the ocean. I assumed there was more distance, more leaves, more crows; because the ocean was never just the boats that wavered on the surface.
⠀
I never apprehended that throughout the day is when crows are most distinguishable. Their ebony cutouts, nefarious eyes, and visibly oily obsidian tones contrasted greatly against my favorite element of day – they rode through clouds like mere puddles of fog. Their squawking did not reverberate as boundlessly, nor did it ricochet against the buildings and quivering pine trees. The morning time is when the crows divulge in their breakfast meal, sipping dew from the tallest blades of grass while dressed all in black. It is never the question of, “did you hear that?” or “what was it?”. The crow is the crow as the pigeon is the pigeon.
⠀
⠀
N I G H T F A L L:
⠀
When the world is cloaked with its darkest twinges of night is when the crows become the /crows/, disappearing into their forest lairs. There, they resemble storm clouds that crackle with an aloof thunder regardless of hovering just overhead like a guilty conscience. At night, their hell reigns on a foreshadowed sanctuary – a repetitive funeral, Satan himself occupying a casket made from twigs, the flesh of mice, and children’s shoelaces. Your mind morphs into an unhinged vault, where they prowl and feed on your visions, and devour your common sense. They dilute your integrity with ingenuity. The crow is no longer something vexatious, but rather you are - an intruder - and he, above you in every sense of the word.
⠀
I lie here now, patient as the sun’s shift ends and a somber veil falls over relative land. I no longer face the obligation of licorice, and instead between my teeth resides the root of a sleek, onyx feather. “Sono vivo gui.”
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 3:53 PM UTC
If we all tried and did something good each day
we would then help to keep so much evil at bay.
And in the world there would be a lot less crime
and so people would not have to do penalty time.
The same can be said about the telling of lies
that are deceptive which most people despise.
Because no one really likes to know they've been deceived
especially after being told something false that is believed.
This raises those related issues of virtue and vice
or conduct of what is or isn't regarded to be nice.
The laws of the state are to be followed as a guide
by all the people who are by them otherwise tried.
If found to have transgressed in a particular way
that did not conform to a specific law of the day.
There's usually someone about who sounds the alarm
when a member of society is suspected of doing harm.
And when the offender is apprehended and brought to trial
they have to plead their case before a judge without a smile.
If the evidence against them is too strong to acquit them of the charge
they'll have to pay the penalty imposed or forfeit their freedom at large.
This may be a fine to be paid or period spent confined behind bars
where the person convicted is placed and from society kept afar.
But if they're acquitted of the charge in court and allowed to go free
they'll be satisfied with the justice system which tried and let them be.
This is sometimes the situation regardless of the suspect being really guilty or innocent
and doesn't praise or say much of the law when the verdict handed down is too lenient.
That is why when worldly human justice falls short or doesn’t rightly prevail
what's known as Divine justice will eventually step in and recompense entail.
___________________________________
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 3:42 PM UTC
A darkened path, a search for the night. A walk through the valley of hope, down the isle of wishes. I sort the source of his rage, the antecedents of his ways. His name, Father.
A mentor to some, a dementor to many. His rule of Iron, staunch in his antique ways. Sometimes I think him Gothic, clogged by wrath. Like a counter-fort of fire, albeit difficult to fathom, backbreaking to assimilate.
His ways full of thorns, his path curly in my eyes, straight in his words. His buffonious look, like cold water on a burning star. As a child I felt like a Marie, his transformations made me fiasco. Because in him I was born, soon after, born in me was his touch. My cries like that of a toothless dog, a tongueless convict.
But then I think myself a miniature of his. A live labyrinth built over the years. Analogous to his countenated nature.
I suppose I would strive to lacerate my soul
from his spell. To be at liberty with my spirit, because in me he lives. To be to my apprehended child the fore-bearer I never had.
----------
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 4:15 AM UTC
In silence I sit not knowing
what to hear, feel, or say anymore.
My skin tingles
and the eyes of my mind
have become blind with numbness.
My heart is asleep,
waiting to be desensitized,
re-awakened,
reborn, and
resuscitated with
new life,
self revived, born anew.
There is a variance and void playing hopscotch
along a traveled path
In my heart and mind
seemingly endless.
I,
I have forgotten myself and
the meaning of my life is diluted with
self medicated thoughts and inhibitions.
I have missed my destination three times,
To the fourth power.
In self discovery, recovery is born and
I, momentarily, have stopped listening
to the malicious ridicule and flippant mockery of the many voices that
formerly apprehended me.
I am the earth inside myself, a genesis formed,
and as new light sheds away my former darkness,
I embrace the despotism of my soul, binding it's brokenness;
emancipating the heaviness of my vision so the he that is truly
in me, is able to
see and know his greatness.
The incarnate,
incarcerated inception brings life to procured thoughts
and in the imagination of my good self
I sit in silence waiting for the
final contraction to
push
me out
into my purpose
that was bred into
the fibers of
my soul, ages ago.
I have watched the sun rise and the moon set many seasons.
I have seen the sun creep through the valleys of my barrenness
casting an eclipse of validation on false evidence;
realities, appearing real,
and the shadow of death
that has threatened to compromise my life,
many times over,
I
no
longer
fear.
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 5:55 AM UTC
ghost, anyone’s ghost, perhaps your ghost
steps back from the mirror
a door into the imaginary, an apprehended space
where is visualised a discordant haze
a pulse of implosiveness
that never intersects with anyone
yet stares back at you
releasing a helix cycle of identities
where in indolence cleanses
are made lamentable
with odorous contempt
for the pitiless destinies
of ghosts, anyone’s ghost, perhaps your ghost
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 2:13 PM UTC
Never had I seen such beauty like yours,
Such a worthwhile smile that shapes me like a file.
Never had I seen such wit as yours,
Such a rightful judge to the cruel misrule.
Never had I seen such persona, with playfulness, reasonableness, uprightness, and inquisitiveness.
Never had I seen perfection, the quintessential condensation of all great characterization, in balance with my imperfection.
Yet it is only wise to appreciate you with my eyes, as my body is apprehended by the past, the future, the time, and the agony.
The life I've experienced has taught me that love is futile, served with sadness and unhappiness and dolefulness with a side of temporary blissfulness.
The idea of success impedes me from obtaining happiness, from settling for ‘less’ and portray a smile nevertheless.
Warped by expectation, limitation, and exploitation, time isn't sufficient to provide you with my fixation, affectation, and ministration.
Sustainability I cannot devise for when I witness your brown eyes, brown like earth, which with the kiss of rain and the seed of love can allow the flourish of life and euphoria never dreamed of.
My heart accelerates uncontrollably, approaching me to a heart attack of which I'm never coming back.
I suffocate as you leave me breathless, yet you suppress my stress and hopelessness.
I so wish to warm your hand while wrapping around your arm.
I so wish to embrace you in my arms and promise you safety for eternity.
I so wish to feel your lips and your hips, never letting go until the last grasp of my fingertips.
I so wish to stare at the stars to your side, while I admire your eyes, hoping that our love never dies.
But being with you is an impossibility, in addition to an atrocity.
Separated by time, a history, and personalities, war would form and never end in peace,
For my peasantry doesn't deserve your royalty,
For my filthiness shan't nudge your pureness,
For my darkness can't cohere with your brightness.
I'd be put to trial for the exile of your smile, the most intact of the wonders of the world that would now be purled.
I wish I could love you but never will I deserve you,
Never will we be together, for we would be an incompatible tether.
I wish I could be with you but it is true that we are through,
Never shall our past be repeated, for it won't be greeted, but rather maltreated.
I wish I could but I've understood from our childhood where I stood and where I stand,
Never will I know, if I were… with you, know where it would lead to.
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 9:52 PM UTC
This being, is a ghost in wary distance,
Vaguely grotesque,
Obscured and silent,
How could you have seen?
Your future is a foggy vision,
Your life was uncertain,
Your secrets—still hidden,
And your scars remained,
Apprehended,
Souls collided...
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 1:43 AM UTC