"begrudging" poems
I sit doing my calculus homework
The homework that I should have done yesterday
The numbers swim in front of me
Until they spell out your name
I take your derivative
To find the critical points
And realize that our entire
Not-quite-friendship
Has a downward slope.
I still ride that curve down
Pretend I am falling in love
Instead of falling deeper and deeper
Instead of what is really just
Begrudging tolerance.
My homework remains undone.
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 6:40 PM UTC
Rain drops run like tears down the window
as my Car speeds past another Lay-by
lamenting those past bring no solace
at the horror of those yet to come
ahead an old man struggles
his Car is aged, broken down
every mile a small mercy
as desperately he hopes to carry on
begrudging my car’s reliability,
I look in sadness as we pass him,
he looks wistfully
as the sun dances on my shiny paint
how I wish I could stop!
give him my engine!
transfer my fuel!
maybe give him my tires!
the Road is yet too long
I have no strength for it
no yearning to drive another Mile
best to give to those who want
that they may travel past and smile
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 9:15 PM UTC
in ashes hidden, smoulders god of love
from matted dancer's focus conflagration purely come
continues still perhaps in empty homage
of a sa ta na ma
personage of ((Shiva))
white bones pierce the sky
in upward curtain-seethes of heat
beyond imagined burning hells...
the triad ventures into zero-zones of anti-life,
sands of absolute defeat.
shadow trust imparts
a silent teacher's mantras;
soothing psychic words,
"Bala" and "Adi-Bala"
carry over dunes of morbid thirst--
the gape of ancient serpent-maws
choking dust of frightened, elephantine skeletons
fissured by immobile sun--
their inner sound become cool water of a summer stream
in timeless desert, traverses strain of royal line:
god-fated tutelage of seedling savior,
lightning skill with bow and virtue sinew
shining arms horizon's arid form:
despite begrudging honor kings expect
when offspring given after years
in hard-earned sacrificial grace:
yet still obeisance ends in facing demonaic rage
to which is pitted youth to slay--
despite allay by symbol feminine,
as if to question her abode would conjure her
in dire storm and quake announce gigantic step and hairy gulf--
with arrow sprays destroy Thataka's trident, curdling throat
the slitting of, rejoicing pantheon proclaims heroic,
forever railing under epic breath of tacit page theodical:
"we gave you progeny, now grant us our theocracy;
before your son our asthras lay their weaponry"
.
Aug 12, 2012
Aug 12, 2012 at 5:03 PM UTC
i am a determined
young man
with nothing but my
aim
my shoulder
and my name
i envisage to race
ideasl with a face
encouragement is main
nothing would do to reign
but i never take
lame
to be a begrudging game
there is more to
the same
more and more
with a tame
but not to filtered blame
to equal less and less
apprehension weighs
why pick up
when you base
measurement with a case.
freedom may want to laze
but i wish it to raise.
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 3:18 AM UTC
Refrain:
Free-ee-ee caravan
Won't you join me on the free caravan?
Just let your hair down
Try, try to unwind
Please free your mind.
We'll go beyond the wind's domain
To find that dip in the ground
Where true freedom is found.
Feel your soul fly free.
1.
Let's escape the confines of this caged life
Of ******* to banks, of toiling to work
Of rushing to shops, of accepting too much
Of just too much......
2.
Gotta leave behind all the piling possessions
These things which steal your flight
Rob your sight
Increase your plight
Make you fight
Gotta seek what's real in life.
3.
We see the landscape changing
Yet it's all the same
Age teaches us yet we learn too late
That your childhood is so precious.
4.
So now, no more trudging, begrudging
Just flying free in the wind
Journeying to that dip in the soil
Where there is no more toil.
S T, 24 April 2013
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 7:59 AM UTC
There is no blame.
There is no blame.
There is no blame.
There is no blame.
There is no shame
unless you blame
or forget to learn
there can be shame,
but there is no blame
there is no blame
no room for blame
nor time for blame,
there is no blame,
no blame at all
there is no blame,
it will only stall.
No blame.
No blame.
Make thus thy mantra:
No blame.
::
THERE IS NO BLAME
AND NO SHAME
UNLESS YOU BLAME
THEN YOU BRING SHAME
for there is no shame
nor any blame,
unless you forget to learn,
or you yet yearn
to call for blame;
and endless shame
but there's no room for blame in this life of limited time
nor room for shame
nor to refrain yourself from anything but yourself;
no time for that
no room for that
it is only hate
and a grudge,
what a shame.
Work towards improvement.
I hold no blame
and try for no shame
in who I am and what I do.
Yet there is blame
and with it, shame
but what a shame
is this blame;
Work towards improvement.
There is no blame
in the face of such blame.
I cannot blame you;
but still I maintain
that there is no blame,
nor begrudging shame.
Work towards improvement.
There is no time for blame
nor room for shame,
nor need to blame;
I hold no blame.
No blame.
Gain.
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 4:05 AM UTC
There lives a dragon in my stomach.
That pokes and prods with every scale.
With heat from it’s flames that leave skin blushed.
A bloated squeezing growing from the lack of room.
I check my stomach daily.
Searching for holes and bruises,
My hands running over bear skin amazed.
And yet, I feel it now,
Playing chess up my spine,
Each claw catching as it climbs up my vertebrae.
Leaving chills and goosebumps in it’s passing.
I’ve cried out for help.
Wanting nothing more from this beast.
But it leaves nightmares with it’s presence.
And it’s wings make perfect walls.
People just get tired after a while.
Just “the boy who cried wolf,”
But as I spout more words to them scrambling for help.
I see the smoke pillowing out of my mouth.
And before I could question,
We were both just as blinded.
I have a dragon in my stomach.
Years spent together like bitter friends.
Growing used to the burn of it’s hugs.
Even dousing the flames on my own at times.
A begrudging compromise.
Now overtime the beast grew too.
Spending more of it’s passing as a shadow over my shoulders.
Even with much less hold on me than before.
It still watches with delight.
Some days weighing like a backpack of bricks.
Whispering in my ear, coaching. Letting smoke fill my head, confusing.
Most other days are more bearable.
At night the beast stays on my chest.
Like a scaly tiger it curls on top,
With a kneading purr as it settles.
I never quite remember sleeping these nights.
Flashes of tossing and turning from being uncomfortable.
Poking, and prodding, and burning, and now chilling, and now waking up sweating.
The fog only clearing after spending time awake.
Alas there is a dragon in my stomach.
A spiteful beast that took hold there.
With greetings just like an old friend.
And when I finally demanded it’s name.
“Trauma” the beast told me.
Oct 18, 2021
Oct 18, 2021 at 11:03 AM UTC
click
click
clack
On a white marble floor
If you're a woman,
you already have
one foot out the door
of a room filled with
all the conversation
and opportunities
that a man can afford.
This is a scene we've all seen before.
Paid way less
when you're told
that you worked way more.
I'm sure a client will adore my face
in a meeting,
but what do i do with the horror
when he hears me speaking?
I'm reeking of the sour aftertaste of everyday misogyny.
My worth measured
by the distance between
my skirt and the floor.
And when I protest,
politely, of course
Being told that I can do better,
I can be more than a bore.
My skin revolts
From the last time a colleague
brushed his hand accidentally
against my everything.
My strength and independence rot
in catacombs made from begrudging wombs,
waiting for their lives to begin
before building a tomb for another.
My ears hear no corporate conflict.
My eyes read no unjust verdict.
My knees wobble of no panic.
My voice even now is not frantic.
I try to use my woman card as a shield,
But they already know I'll yield
Because sadly
Feminism, safety, and my daily routine
don't get along very well with each other.
If I could stretch myself to my full capacity;
Correction.
If you'd let me stretch myself to full capacity,
I'd be taller than these nine yards,
Stronger than this silken thread ,
Darker than this black,
Louder than this naked mic.
My worth is equal to the number of folds in this sari.
Uncertain.
Defined.
Redefined.
Ever changing.
As I shift move walk stumble run shuffle sprint
Dive
Into the storm.
Riot chhod,
I'm a civil war of colour.
Black sari
Black eyes
Black bindi
Golden jhumkas
Red lips
Multicoloured sword at my hip
Swinging at the shackles they placed on me.
Din ke dus dangey lad jaati hu mai,
Saal ki solah siyaahein bharke ruk jaati hu main,
Kabhi kahin khade rehne ki jagah mil jaye,
Toh iss duniya ki acchhaai se thak jaati hu main.
Aug 17, 2017
Aug 17, 2017 at 10:09 AM UTC
It’s Sunday morning, about 8am. My BF Peter and I we’re doing our laundry. Most of the time, we spent in my dorm common room, sitting side by side on a red corduroy couch, while our clothes washed, and then tumbled away in the dryer. If you want privacy on a college campus, or to do laundry in peace, avoiding the weekend laundry rush, do it before 10am.
"Why do you wear these," Peter asked, pulling and lightly snapping the hair-band on my wrist.
I pull my hand back, protectively. "If I don’t have a hair-band on my wrist I feel out of control."
There’s a new me. I’d decided - civilized, unemotional, clear-sighted.
"I've got a lot to do before summer,” Peter said earlier, “so I made a spreadsheet.”
I felt a shadow pass over me - our future is, at best, undecided. So, I shifted gears, the way the new me is trying to do lately.
“A Spreadsheet!” I said, like I approved, and he grinned. I’d made him happy. This is what adults do, I’d decided, they have civilized conversations where decisions were made or avoided - but there was a small, dark thing in my heart.
I got a text from our dryer saying our clothes were dry, so we headed down. I love the smell of fresh laundry and the feeling of shaved legs against fresh bed sheets - a luxurious combination no guy will ever understand. I made a mental note to shave my legs later.
The last couple of weeks I’ve been working on summer fellowship applications. A successful summer fellowship is one of those things I’ll need when I apply for med-school - like grades, faculty letters, physician recommendations, community service, a great MCAT score, bla bla bla.
My mom knows the 200 things med-schools use to cleave away pretenders and she’ll rattle them off upon request and sometimes over groaning protests.
What I need, ideally, this summer, are clinical experience hours. There’s not much at stake, just my future, the respect of the faculty, and the begrudging acknowledgement of my pre-med peers. My mom was quizzing me on my progress last night. I confirmed that all the applications were in and I ended with, “I haven’t slept with anyone yet, to gain advantage - but we’re still early in the process.”
She was not amused.
Feb 20, 2023
Feb 20, 2023 at 2:13 PM UTC
SO PRIKETH HEM NATURE IN HIR CORAGES
Never did
help my Da enough.
Always
head-stuck-in-a-book.
"Donall son..."he call
"Can you hold this while
...I saw.!"
"Awwww Da!"
I'd wail.
Me lost in Chaucer
and his tale.
And so the saw saws
but all I see is..."Yo!"
"The Miller was a chap of sixteen stone,
A great stout fellow big in brawn and bone.
The saw cuts through the afternoon.
Pauses: then....chaw chaw
Chaucers on again.
"He did well out of them, for he could go
And win the ram at any wrestling show."
"Say what...?
Oh, don't get me
wrong I
adored the aesthetic beauty of
sawdust floating
in a universe of its own
suspended in sunlight and shadow.
The smell of pine
kidnapping my mind.
The green dance of the bubble
in a spirit level.
Didn't have time for all that
hammering and sawing.
I was a boy on a mission
ever since our teacher sighing
"Oh I...don't know why I
teach you scruff Chaucer
...you'll never read the book!"
But by the weekend
( furious at the rebuff )
I( ha ha)HAD!
My poor auld Da
only getting begrudging help.
"Whan that Aprille..."
( the words falling like gentle rain upon my mind )
"...with his shoures soote
the droghte of Marche..."
(Words words oh sweet words. . .)
"hath perced to the roote"
(My mind. . .)
"...bathed every veyne in swich licour,"
(the bubble in the spirit level
poised perfectly...perfectly poised)
"Of which vertu engendred is the flour."
Nov 2, 2016
Nov 2, 2016 at 5:29 PM UTC
Winters grip pulled tight today
ice crystals grown from dust to diamonds
frozen mist clinging to trees and stream
put my face in water too cold
felt it shudder like I did begrudging my warm
walking and dreaming and waiting
what do I yearn for I know in my heart
summer's gentle song and touch
and too hold that one dandelion seed
for a little while in my scarred hand
then let it soar for ever
I would be a weight too much
with me it would never fly
just to see her rise will be enough
then I can go and walk alone
Jan 21, 2011
Jan 21, 2011 at 8:25 AM UTC
Burnt out on
a legion of increasingly mobile devices
for a legion of increasingly immobile people
Antisocial networks and a friends list
of listless friends
But what judgment is justified
while staring at square screens with
increasing intensity
and begrudging propensity?
An information ******
that can't get a fix
for all that's wrong in their world
Let's start to run a shutdown command
march away from the heat of indifferent ****
pull away from those fright emitting diodes
crowding a fiber opticked off planet
With nothing better to do
No plans that aren't metered in Gigabytes
We can topple their towers of babel
and towers of cable
And the night sky will shimmer with thousands of stars
we never knew were there
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 12:24 PM UTC
the lights from the street below
shine weakly into the silent room
she lay in the tangled sheets
staring off into the night
a television set oddly turned to face the wall flickers while
its low volume garbles its incessant whispered babbling
like some deranged man talking to himself
the scents of ********** thick in the air
there is a tray of food gathering dust
a bottle of wine untouched
she is motionless
the **** skin of her face glistens in the
shifting shadows of her silent thoughts
i sit in the hardback chair
with difficult breathing apparatus trailing my mental footsteps
i tread carefully through the narrow dark wood
of her languid eye with small talk
laying out a feast of interesting topics
she is not hungry
a storm flashes lightening far out to sea
images come to the mind of a ship chasing the dawn
desperate to break free of the natures fury
and the captain at the helm
heroic figure standing fast against the odds
holding to the wheel and shouting to all hands
the rain falling in tangled sheets
focus returns to the room
she is falling motionless entangled in the beds sheets
i am the brave helmsman standing fast
this ship has already sunk
daylight appeases the minds of the
littered minefield of broken and bent on the bedroom floor
so they now allow begrudging paths safely to be seen
her eyes have closed
sleep
the dust encrusted food and the stale wine
make a feast for the birds who's small wing fluttering
are the only sound
the sun's heavy light falls in a narrow shaft
that glows against the dark wood background
i slowly ease my hand into its warmth
like a swimmer testing the waters
i dive in
and my soul swims the shaft of light
up to the bright world
leaving this place of shadows
and this woman of darker dreams
she awakens hours later
to find me laying on the floor with one hand extended out to
where the sun once held sway
laying there wrapped in my dreams of liquid light
dreaming of the day just past
and the days to come
she lay next to me
and cups me in her arms
while weak lights from the street below
shine up into our quiet room
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 11:47 AM UTC
I know you always saw yourself a knight
But I did not realize for a long time
That I was a page.
You were my sparring partner
Who taught me to come at the world
Gun drawn
So no one could out-shoot me.
You told me,
And I know,
That Justice wears a blindfold because
She slashes her sword indiscriminately,
And looks at that scale
Never.
You always saw yourself a lawman
I always saw you as a fool.
I never realized I learned law
At your feet.
Fallacies and ways of
Drawing out argument and diatribe,
Loopholes of morality through which
We spin.
You taught me to be technically correct,
The best kind of correct,
Always exploiting but
Always within my jurisdiction.
I only know now I was a deputy
To a sheriff of ridiculous stature.
You taught me THE ART OF WAR.
It was engraved in stone for me
Like an all-caps Roman monument.
THE ART OF WAR
Is sprawled across a stone archway in my mind
Where you came, and you saw.
It marks your conquest.
You made it my way of loving,
Of relating to the world and the people around me.
You made me a martyr and mercenary,
Standing atop a hill in golden armor,
Sunlight behind me and wind in my hair,
An avatar of Durga,
A disciple of Joan of Arc,
A four-year-old poses in chainmail
You wrought for her.
Illusions of grandeur such as your own
Come with this territory.
You taught me
As your mother and father
And grandparents
Taught you,
THE ART OF WAR-
That love is just begrudging words of sweetness
Issued only after ruins lay all around
And both parties are sufficiently vulnerable,
Their bricks having been pried away with crowbars.
Love is only an apology given to mollify
The wounds you have already wrought.
The only privilege loved-ones are afforded,
Is the bandage that covers up the customary
Destruction
That is your normal face.
You and I only ever knew love as
You clipping my wings
And I breaking free to spray
The shrapnel of those chains
Into your face.
We added to each others' pile of scars.
It was so rare for us to run into battle together,
On the same side,
Voices as one in a battlecry.
I don't even know how long it's been since
Us soldiers-for-hire got hired
By the same team at once.
You cast me out of steel
Like a sword.
And now I am the legendary blade
Destined to clash against you for all eternity.
We will only ever know ceasefires
Of a day in length.
We will run through the flame,
And we will practice the art
You taught me.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 2:49 PM UTC
The key to the past and future
It lives and runs in the essence of a child innocence fends off wrong thinking that leads to guilt it buys
The future without investing in error that is born of greed turn back to the days that are golden purity
Was fixed who sought personnel gain at the harm and pain of others you moved through rings of joy
That were ever present this constant could be found even in the adult world of upheavals in your world
There was a slower pace it never caused to race haste can cause unexpected disaster a Childs hands
Feels its way down dark passages there is still high surges of energy that detect what lies ahead if it be
Good or sad at times that tears are shed by the little ones they hold such power of grace they displace
Lasting hurt with the soulful knowing linked to a higher fathers love if at times of anger danger or
Temptation we would return and stand within this impenetrable wall so many of life’s troubles could be
Shortened and at least lesson their degree of severity the future would unfold with a higher degree of
Nobility standing in the center instead of a begrudging corner resisting freedoms challenge and its
Reassurance that all will be well no we push on we refuse the power that reflection holds surly life is a
Circular affair it isn’t a strange occurrence that has never happened before and there is always the
Divine shoulder to rest on and ask for wisdom but so many are above such things you can see them
Ever where the grim looks are so telling they missed mercy and love that walks by their side no they
Push on ahead they know best all they really do is open themselves to the enemies well laid plan to
Cause them pain and heartache why walk a path of foreboding when there is one drenched in sunshine
Bright happy charms as even and the swell of distant church bells ringing their truth affords a power a
reverie that is ever constant don’t be so adult that you rob yourself from the inner voice that flows in
both directions without fail it finds the higher safer ground your feet sure your life will take on higher
meaning and you will be a source of comfort and wonder to those who know you
Jan 9, 2012
Jan 9, 2012 at 6:06 PM UTC
This feathered quill with fluted nib stands idle in an idle hand and a man with little time to spare,despairs of flowing from its point,a point to make,a case he cannot state.
It is late the ink has bled,I am being led to some conclusion,propelled to see a page, unwritten not by me but by the elements.
Underwater I breathe air,a little trick I found when underneath the earth and being ground, they thought into fine dust,the fire was just a place to warm my bones while the winds sang songs to me in dulcet tones.
And still the quill sits silently as if begrudging me a moments rest, it would be a feather in my cap if only I could slap another word out of its tip,but no letters slip to form these things,it seems that silence only brings me emptiness,even less than that when words within are crushed and flattened by the fattening of worms that squirm and hold me in their coils,and any words there were are spoiled,deleted,secreted quietly and forgot about.
In the tomb without a light, this ink is but a link to further things to think and if only I could force this quill to spill something.
Underlined in red and on the tombstone up above it said,
'here lies within a man so thin
and yet so thick
his quill
a magic stick
his ink
a skating rink
Magic couldn't save him'
But this is of another page when reached upon a ripe old age and suitably I shall erase that which pertains to me.
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 1:07 AM UTC
Haus 29 is a magic number;
its once whispered dry silence,
then collapsed like black tulips.
Her wooden frame smiles under morsel Sun,
night protrudes giving out
Coagulated rhythm.
The denizens drone in droves,
even forests cannot contain them,
bystanders flock in,
looking for unexplained carolled groves
conversations staked on fevered implausibilities
the villagers respond in begrudging ignorance
Aug 16, 2012
Aug 16, 2012 at 6:10 PM UTC
Forever: it is not a word I know,
Its bounding aches, its tugging groans,
Whereof I speak, thou knowest not,
My mem’ry fleeting, forlorn and rot,
Because this is of tales of my naught,
I live on only to be here, forgot.
-
-
I have saved the life of a child who shall never know my name,
The love I had for my Love, doth she not want to feel again,
I’ve fought for allies, only to now be believed of conspiracy
I’ve liberated my beliefs, only to now be under new tyranny.
I may die any day here, perhaps with the coming sunset,
But in my name and mem’ry, a candle forgotten to be lit.
Time is mortally timeless in this solipsistic reign,
I write my tragedies knowing not a person will feel the same.
-
The ghosts of faces taunt me in my regretful sleep,
Begrudging me to hide my face from all distaste and weep,
Although this feeling flourishes in this daunting midnight air,
The daylight only brings me knowledge of my true despair.
For even my children, even if I were to have them now,
Would forget my name also, I’d be but a whisper upon a cloud.
-
I could go about this life living in the best way that I could,
If all was start over, the same mistakes I made, I would,
But it does not change the fact that no one ever my name will know,
Or remember it with time if even fondness were to grow.
For it is a curse that deaf is eternity,
To my name and quill, knowledge that this woe is me.
-
My love will be forgotten,
For woman, for warmth, for longing,
My words will be forgotten,
In ink, in music, in harmony,
My breath will be forgotten,
For I leave nothing, and nothing again,
My name will be forgotten,
Knowing this makes me insane.
-
Forever: it is a word I will never know.
Love has left and died, and it seems it always will,
I don’t deserve the music I process in my head every hour of the moon and sun.
I don’t possess the strength or skill to properly put what feelings lie in my breast on to parchment.
I cannot scribe a good enough requiem, and I certainly leave no worthy revelation.
Forget my name, and remember those worthy. Forget my work, and remember the ones that fill your heart with happiness and inspiration, for no one need look upon mine and see the struggles of someone that ne’er need complain, or deserve to.
-
It is what I hear all the hours of any of my wretched days;
The cacophony that is the choir singing hymns of me being forgotten.
Jan 20, 2013
Jan 20, 2013 at 12:12 AM UTC
Slept through all that ******* Thunder
but not the closing of the front Door?
Pardon us, your ******* Highness,
for living some of our Lives
before ******* 18:30;
Please, your ******* Highness,
take a step back from yourself
if you can fathom anything
other than yourself.
We try not to begrudge you your Schedule;
reciprocate by not begrudging the majority of the House theirs.
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 9:35 PM UTC
Left behind
But not forgotten
So much to say
But I'm not talkin
Feeling alive
in a world so dead
Everyone keeps quiet
With much to be said
The words on the lips
Of silent mimes
Ticking of the clocks
That run out of time
Waiting on something
That just might happen
Though its not funny
I'm still laughin
Waging a war
That has no sides
Where many innocent
Lay down to die
Through the silence
The lies could be heard
I listened to them
But didnt hear a word
I knew the truth
It was right in front of me
I just couldn't make
The other people see
They ran toward a light
That flickered and died
And more lies were said
To keep them occupied
I ran the other way
Ready to sacrifice
In search of all the things
That are good and right
This is the world,
The way we live.
Begrudging and angry
To not forget or forgive.
I'll not say that
There is no peace
But for us
Its just out of reach.
Dec 11, 2010
Dec 11, 2010 at 6:41 AM UTC
The price paid, begrudging none
The True Debtor knows the cost
Parts willingly, and would again
Should ever more be required
Feeling each moment that more is owed
Though so little, so little is asked
Giving all, every drop
Of heartsblood for the cause
For none greater exists
Nor could such ever be risen above
Always asking, What more, what more
Can I, to you, bestow?
And the smile, the touch, alone
Are the given response
Satisfying, overwhelming
The True Debtor, with luck unmatched
Pays again, 'til naught remains
But neither fades nor diminishes
And so Love moves the two
Each feeling the debt
Each paying their all, their all again
Until it cannot be said to whom the other belongs
Until they cannot be told apart
Mar 22, 2012
Mar 22, 2012 at 12:37 AM UTC
In your eyes
Have none of another dreams
Careful, not let to wipe memories
Which all belongs to me
Close your eyes if you wish
Just like thinking
No one see you
Before i shot in the head
Even my own eyes begrudging you
How should i let you
Hurt by someone else
Through the blue sky
In the valley of death
The roads that coming to you
Waiting for killers
With an innocent youth
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 3:37 PM UTC
How could you
Suddenly come into my heart
Without knocking
And even leave a hole in it
Picking at locks
That weren't yours to pick at
Once a forgiving heart
Now filled with begrudging sorrow
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 8:37 PM UTC
The darkness flees into the night
The hunger gladly chases light
The fear indulges in the fight
I cant get it right
The desperate often come out sore
The lover always asking more
The silent child always cries
But i can't scarecly get it right
The ache can dull the greater pain
The solitude can mend or maim
The whisper can confuse the lie
Still i won't get it right
The honesty set on the shelf
The past begrudging future help
The day breaks naught but for itself
So i must get it right
The Once and Future comes no more
The Poet taken for a bore
The story none have heard before
Once I get it right
Sep 18, 2016
Sep 18, 2016 at 2:38 AM UTC