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Cné Sep 2017
Long lines looped the carousel
the first time you gazed my eye,
mounted on that chestnut mare,
grasped tight to the reigns up high.

I see his face around the bend,
a corn dog in his hand.
Locking eyes as I rise. I blush,
above the crowd he stands.
  
Light flickers, mouths water
delicate contoured lips laugh. I smile.
The music hesitates along with my breath.
I think I'll be staying awhile.

Bewildered and a little dizzy,
I dismount with a giggle.
I lick my dry lips, dreamily,
hoping he is single.

With the wind, a light mist blows.
I can see her slowly get wet,
stumbling she falls my way.
I'm excited, this day isn't over yet

Drip, drip, drip upon my face,
anxiously, I turn to hurry.
In my haste, he catches my waist
swallowing... I fall covertly.

Lips moisten, I pull her near
a kiss, slipped, tongues twirl,
wanton whispers whisked away,
drenched deep passion's unfurl.

A stranger's kiss upon my lips
beneath the dreary skies.
Soaking wet, I'm still on fire
He caught me by surprise.

A stranger's kiss upon my lips
beneath the queching skies.
Heaven sent, a burning desire;
she, such a welcomed surprise.
A collaboration with TSPoerty.
In honor of the State Fair of Texas opening day ... tomorrow.
https://hellopoetry.com/TS_Poetry/
Thanks for the ride Tim!
Alyssa Underwood Jul 2016
“The love for equals is a human thing--of friend for friend,
brother for brother. It is to love what is loving and lovely.
The world smiles. The love for the less fortunate is a
beautiful thing--the love for those who suffer, for
those who are poor, the sick, the failures, the unlovely.
This is compassion, and it touches the heart of the world.
The love for the more fortunate is a rare thing--to love
those who succeed where we fail, to rejoice without envy
with those who rejoice, the love of the poor for the rich,
of the black man for the white man. The world is
always bewildered by its saints. And then there is
the love for the enemy--love for the one who does not
love you but mocks, threatens, and inflicts pain.
The tortured's love for the torturer.
This is God's love. It conquers the world.”

~ Frederick Buechner, The Magnificent Defeat
Kenji Apr 4
She walks with grace, and kisses like a seductress.
She handles with poise, and fights like a warrior.
She dances with beauty, and sees with wonder.
She has the eyes of a devilish cat, Cleopatra, a destined goddess.
Luscious lips as she bites them with effortless ease, soft and supple, tastes like cherry.
A dark mysterious demeanor that screams, tell me more.
Skin as soft as silk, toned with honey brown.
Seductive, sultry, sensual, and ****.
Bad, bold, brave, and bewildered.
She is the Taurus woman, a woman to be greatly feared of her undying passion and intense magnitude.
Magnetic and love so soft, it can rip your insides apart till it subsides with hers.
Majestic as the great white horse, flips her mane and looks at you seductively.
Fear not my great ones, we are all just gods in disguise.
Kiss me, touch me, hold me, and **** me.
Brooding with a territorial existence, protective, possessive, and romantic to the touch.
Love me...
As I will love you back, 10 times harder.
The Taurus woman

Sun in Taurus (Stubborn, seductive, sultry, sensual)
Mercury in Taurus (Slow thinkers, common sense speakers, logical, practical)
gleck Jun 2016
He comes in with sword so sharp
Prying the princess away from the harp
She is bewildered by his arrival
Guards try to stop him in a fight of survival
Without mercy he chops them down
One by one they fall to the ground
All of them defeated
With the same sword I am greeted
So I break the castle to ruins
Killing all remaining humans
The princess is gone
This is all wrong
I was only trying to keep her safe!
Then the stranger came in thinking he was brave...?

Oh-
Oh no--

All alone now
Still in awe how
I now understand
The play is grand!
There was one more blank spot to fill in
My role as *the villian
I’m fine, thanks…  

                                                      ­                                                                 ­                       
Is that what you truly mean?

Or do you mean
I’m tired…
I’m lonely…
I’m hurt…
Confused. Bewildered. Angered.
Disillusioned…
Skeptical…

Or maybe
I’m distressed…
I’m woeful…
I’m pathetic…
Lost. Vulnerable.
Infuriated…
Empty. Lifeless. Crushed. Tortured. Dejected. Offended. Afflicted.
Desolate. Desperate. Rejected. Heartbroken…
Tormented…
I’m scared…
I’m disgruntled…
Embarrassed…
Weak. Dreadful. Hungry. Aggravated.
Guilty… Shameful… Frustrated… Jealous… Horrified…
Overwhelmed…
Devastated…

Defeated…



Is fine ever what you truly mean?
Or is it a cover?
Terry O'Leary Nov 2013
PROLOGUE
The Flame, aflicker, licks and flays,
illuming evening’s negligees
With braided curls she swirls and sways,
and flits and floats in light ballets

           APOLOGUE
A Flame, to conquer creeping fog,
flew dancing towards a random log
Her flight perplexed a leery frog
beside a silent somber bog

The Flame, a ripple, all alone
alit on leaves where birds had flown
The aching twigs began to moan
A rising breeze began to groan

The Flame arrayed an ancient oak
with torrid tongues and veils of smoke
A ****** bailed, the dam had broke
The leery frog soon ceased to croak

The Flame uncoiled and lashed midair,
consuming crowns with utmost care
A crazed coyote fled her lair,
left in the lurch bewildered bear

The Flame, unfurled, went wild and grew,
enkindled cats and caribou
Remaining... not a residue,
as reeking vapors bade adieu

The Flame revealed her strength unshackled
Flora, fauna crisped and crackled
Fire Witches clucked and cackled
One more forest stripped, then hackled

           EPILOGUE
The arsonists were well aware
the Flame would travel everywhere
The weirs are gone, the land is bare,
and soon you’ll find a city there
Blue Melancholy Mar 2018
Twists and turns
winds and binds.
That's the labyrinth of my mind.

Lost, confused,
bewildered, bemused.
Wonder where, wonder who?

Losing, winding,
wondering, finding?
What could this capsule be hiding?

Broken, tattered,
torn and shattered.
That's the story of my heart.

Waking, shaking,
aching, breaking.
What could this ceramist be making?

Aching, crying,
screaming, lying.
Is this the way I should be dying?

Plain, boring,
pail, zombie.
That's the sculpture of my body.

Cold, lanky,
shivering, shaking.
Why is something always aching?

Not too good,
not too bad.
I have nothing, so, why be glad?

My body may not be unhealthy,
but inside I'm a total train wreck.
Oh, ****...  She's using the analogies to describe herself now
Dimitris Sarris Jul 2018
Most people teach but few learn that
false hopes are more dangerous than
rightful fears, so let the unseen days be.
Feeling grieved and bewildered,
who could judge at such hard times?
You have the valiants of a good man
"they told me", you will endure.
Sometimes the ending is the best escape
for there is beauty in the breakdown,
why should i be afraid?
Aniron Jul 2017
I abandon the path and mark my visit
deep into natures greens and hidden groves
how the beauty of everything intoxicates me,
and consuming it all leaves me only with no sense:
speechless and bewildered, like a baby.
words seem but a lost cause to me ;
it is almost as if the ferns and its charms
don’t want to be spoken of –
not even a praise.
upon astray land I leave my trail
up the thick pine hill, down the lonesome glen
I sit desperately, in search of only half a word –
it makes no difference at all.
a hint, a hum of frigid air
deep twilight falls upon me like a star
and I fall with it into my own silence.
the hypnotizing haunt of crickets in unseen places
numbs me, almost becomes me
and I become them, like everything becomes
the other thing that lives in its own way.
and just hearing the wise creek babbling,
the traveling breezes’ secret murmur ;
I know I have been unaware all along.
the poem was never mine to write:
I have only to listen.
Steve Page Apr 2017
"Didn't He tell you
Wasn't it clear
Did you not realise
Did you not hear?
He is now risen
He is not here
He's gone on ahead
Please hold back your tears.
We won't need your spices
Don't look so amazed
Go tell everybody
His body's been raised."
So shocked and bewildered
They left the cold tomb
And ran to the others
Who hid in a room,
"Jesus has risen
He's body's not there
Let's go now and meet him
In Galilee where
He'll explain it all to us
Make clear what He said
Please don't look so worried
No need to be scared.
Jesus has risen
I tell you it's true
Let's go now and meet Him
Let's start life renewed."
Easter is bigger than bunnies. See gospel of Mark Chapter 16
Tim S Nov 2016
I thought I would be raising a glass to freedom.
But my counterparts didn't know that history had its eyes on us.
The choices seemed apparent,
Yet, we have been left bewildered and scrambling -
Wondering whether we did all we can.

My glass is raised to freedom -
The end of freedom.
History has repeated itself.
The beginning of the end.
And thunderous applause filled the amphitheater.

Those that have felt wronged have decided the fates of those that have had no wrong doing.
Two exes.
One overwhelming Y...
It's ineffable.

We may weep and mourn today.
We may weep and mourn tomorrow.
We may be frozen in the moment -
But our legacy isn't etched in stone.
It can be changed by us all if we choose..

These sleepless nights will wear us down.
The disrupted R.E.M. may disrupt our rest.
But we must only rest until we are capable to go on.
And when we move, we will move as a force of love.

Love will oust the darkness that has descended upon us.
Love will out.
Truth will out.
We will endure the worst and rise.

And then we will raise a glass to freedom.
We will raise a glass to all.
We will raise a glass and drink to the revolution-
The revolution that will be a beacon of light for those that need it most.  

In a sea of red we will be the silver lining
In a sea of red we will be the light.
We will call those home.
We will call to those that need us most.
We will be united against the fear.

We will rise and rise and rise.
We will rise until lambs become lions.
We will overcome.
We will show them that we cannot be killed or swept aside.
We will rise up.
This is obviously based on current events in my home of the United States. I learned we are far more divided than united than I could have ever imagined. My heart breaks for my LGBT friends. It breaks for my female friends. It breaks for all of my friends that are minorities in some way, shape, or form. I've been so inspired by Lin Manuel Miranda and his work of Hamilton. This is a testament to him. This is a testament to the nation we should be.
Sister and I loved to play, to run and twirl and roll in grass all day. Momma gets mad when we go too far but our yard is massive we live on a farm! Running on rolling fields of prairie, singing and laughing and acting merry, shot right through the tree line that marks our abode, slid across the rocks on Old Joser Road, saw an old lady who walked with crumpled toes and spoke too and listened too a pack of crows, plucking weeds and picking a thorny flower she called out to us that fateful hour;

  “Oh my and how lovely, two twins so cute! I had thought no one lived so far out here, away from the town and its charming cheer? Why don’t you come over and meet my pet crows and I’ll show you two a trick that nobody knows!”

  I leaned down to consult with sister you see, she being younger she’s littler than me, I told her to stay close while we watched the show, then we’d be off and away we’d go;

  “Okay old lady my name is Tim and this here’s Tam and this place you’re in, is our family farm and that guy in the field, well that’s our Dad, and if you mess with us he gets real mad, so no funny business in this game and we’ll be nice to you just the same.”

  “Agreed indeed you little man and I can’t wait to see you in my pan!”

  Now I had to think on this real hard. Did that mean something about being able to see or was she talking about eating me? No matter, no problems and boy those crows, did they sure put on some funny shows and acted like they had lots of smarts and seemed just like pets and warmed our hearts;

  “Thanks old lady we gotta go we’re almost late for dinner you know?”

  She moved too fast and came right up and pulled out an odd-looking wooden cup;

“Wait there dearies, not so quick, about that dinner and my sweet shtick, you see you owe me a trick too, two coins I’m asking there of you, you bring them up to my cabin on that hill and I’ll teach you some magic and give you a thrill!”

  “Okay lady!”

  I agreed as we ran, if we don’t get home soon it’s gonna be my can! ‘Cause I know my pops he’ll beat my **** and I’ll be sent upstairs with nothing to eat, so I told little sister to move those feet!

caesura

  Whisk you down the road of boiled toad, and singeing hair, of whispered things and fires' flare, of evil looks from open books, pigeon’s toes and a chicken gizzard, while around your legs it crawls and creeps, my hungry lizard that never sleeps! You gawk! You stare! My wrinkly-face, the dank rank air in my dingy place, the dusty shelves a-lined in books and creepy crawlies in every nook, cobwebs and spiders at every corner, piggies run squealing while the chickens banterer, ravens caw at strange green light from lantern but back to all those shadow corners where little bad things spy and salivate, thinking on what they had last ate, and there you are shaking, nervous, trembling; a porky little piece of meat and something we all want to eat!

  “Oh don’t be scared my little one, I’m kidding, teasing, just having fun. Hand me the coins I asked for earlier, when we crossed paths along Old Joser, draw near to me, come here, come a bit closer!”

  Be careful will I not to bare my teeth, or lick my lips or stare too deep, for one is easy, two a dangerous feat and I so want to have my little porky piece of meat! I stood on a ladder with little Tam on my shoulder, so she could see the *** as it smoked and it smoldered, I directed little Tim over there to a seat and he saw me lick my lips as I thought about their meat.

  “Aha ha ha ha ha!”

  I laughed out loud as I cast in the dust and the billows changed color and kiddies made a fuss, but then the sparkly things popped and shimmered in their eyes, while both of them let out marvelous sighs, bewildered, bemused and tricked by my lie, I threw Tammy in to my cauldron to die!

  “Nooooooo!”

  Little Tim, little Tim did he let me in and punished will he be for that little sin, I whispered a spell and took up my broom and zapped a hole in the floor out in the room, where Tim was running and dropped him in a hole, down a tunnel he went that saved his soul, for out he shot back on Old Joser Road, no wiser no worse for the trick I showed!

Now listen up children or this is your lot,

For I’m out there always lurking with my ***,

I’m always hungry and so are my crows,

We’ll eat you up all the way to your toes,

“Jimson and sassafras, morning glory, woodrose seed,”

“A ***** of my finger, lock of my hair, a thimble and tweed,”

“Two coins, a cauldron, my cunning and your breed,”

“Whenever I’m hungry that’s all that I need!”
(Joser: Joe-Sir) rhymed with (Closer)
This is a retelling of the Sumerian story of Tim-Tam which is the origin of Hansel and Gretel. This entire piece came to me in a dream and I wrote it down in one sitting over ten minutes. Grimm's Fairy Tales are about warnings to small children...warnings that not ALL adults are good people and sometimes starving old people in the woods use trickery to eat kids. The phrase 'two twins' is a reference to the dual nature of myth as both actual events and cosmic. Gemini and the two earthly children.

Two coins to pay the boatman who takes your soul across the river Styx.
Kevin J Taylor Sep 2015
This—  This is the closest we have been in forty-seven years. Graveside, I close my eyes. See again, her lips smeared, her head turned, as she had lain unconscious. Whispers of Other Men—   Immoral—   Immoral living—  Declared unfit for motherhood and I am only days from four.  

Before that, in white shift sitting at the foot of her bed and singing quietly to herself. Singing, brushing and lifting her hair. Letting it fall. She is lovely to me. Later that night, weeping, anger, fists and cries.  

At fifty-one I look like him. Fist-Man. Father. He wept in Irish taverns filled with weeping, singing drunks. She had danced the Sunrise on Hastings, whatever that meant.  

She was gone when I was taken. I was gone if she returned.  

A Child Welfare office filled with nervous women, children dressed in Sunday-best and a faint wash of fear—   these memories, all memories, discomfit and jar.  

A metal cup with orange juice. Warm, sweet and slightly bitter. The far end of the room. A bed made in a wooden trunk. Eyes slipping. Box lid closing. Sleep—  

Bewildered, pushing, opened, the room lies stark, white and empty. No mothers. No children. No one waiting here. The lump that rises to my throat is the same one— the same one that rises in spasms from my chest on that dark-boxed, white-roomed and room-filled afternoon.  

In forty-seven years I would stand above her on that overlooking hill. No words to mark her place, a plot numbered between other unmarked and numbered graves. Maybe she was gone again.  

Gone before I could tell her what had happened, that I was sorry, that I would be a good boy, beg her— find me.  

Eyes opened, I have waited long enough. The sun is hot. White lines trail across the sky. Paper from one pocket. Pen from another. I write. Roll tight and push as far in as this ground will allow.  

White paper, ink. Graveside for her. Wayside for me.  
A mark was kept. A mark was left.  

A deep breath in, not held and out.
The Sunrise was a low-end hotel on Hastings Street in Vancouver. The bed-in-a-trunk sequence was as described. The orange juice had a sleeping drug in it and the trunk-bed was used to separate children from parents or guardians without a fuss. '61. Alberta.
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry from common things.)
Ivan Brooks Sr Mar 2018
She was probably the most beautiful,
of any woman he had ever seen.
She turned every head
and stopped time from moving
and movement everywhere she went-
His mind went woozy as he thought of her.
From what he already knew
she was not only beautiful,
she was smart and
an accomplished professional.
Was this a sweet dream?
If yes, he wasn't prepared to wake up from it,
no not yet!
Maybe she was just a product of his imagination,
which was impossible considering that she was standing before him.
She was a woman of exceptional beauty,
probably the most beautiful woman
he had ever seen!
Helping her to her seat, he was overpowered by something.
Wait,it was the scent of her perfume;
It was the mixture of something
he wanted to think he recognized,
which he didn't and something
he had never before smelled.It was nice!
She seemed so flawless,
He thought her bath was prepared
in the constellations by beautiful goddesses,
and her bathroom was the milky way galaxy.
Yes her skin was undeniably radiant,
accentuated by the presence of large almond eyes.
"Wake up!" came the weak old voice.
Bewildered by the old barn keeper's presence,
and momentarily unaware of his location,
he panicked and squinted his eyes.
Oh ****, he was asleep, this was a dream!


IB-Poetry©️
3/2/2018
A dream can give a poor peasant a chance to be with a beautiful woman, in a pristine environment, living a life of privilege.
Keith W Fletcher Sep 2016
My eyes are beyond polluted
By the overflowing inanities
That paint wordless post-mortems
On yesterday's lost fantasies

Rolling over lifeless as dead certains
When obligations fall into disrepair
And the king of all invocations
Awaits power sitting in an electric chair

As darkness shrouds the uninspired
In  triumphant ticker tape parades
While the bewildered beast becomes the feast
A million glasses in toast are raised

To the jesters unequivocally basphemous proposal
To the queen of all frustrated converts
Who Once Upon a Time willingly surrendered
To the impresario pretender
Who fooled the world by laying siege on the empty house of cards

And with all the power granted
By the grace of obscenities triumphant screams
Separating me from reality by infiltrating my failing vision
With the polluted overflowing inanities of these cellophane dreams
Angie Christine Oct 2018
wall

writer’s block
creator’s block
artist’s block

what blocks the creative , artistic flow of a poet, a writer, a speaker of the truths of the heart and soul of humanity?

if you , my fellow artists, dreamers, poets, writers, soulful people, should discover the answer to the question we all ask , please do share; for I am weary , bewildered and discombobulated; and all the metaphorical, ephemeral, infinitesimal words trapped inside me are scratching and scrambling to come out .

with love and raw honesty from a fellow blocked writer
by Angie Christine on 12 October 2018 at 8:57pm
zebra Jul 2017
the child's house
domicile of estrangements
his parents dressed him like a little girl
against his will
a pox of gender confusion
glum aura
he ascended by violence
and lived through the logic of a mirage
except for copulating with demons
which of course
was ruined by
the good Christians
they who always hate ***
not wanting to be reminded
they are animals too
their heaven withheld
their halo's sullied
the vulnerability of desire their crime
Eros a disgrace
still beating their ******* until a wicked thunder
the pro-creative
an affirmation of paradox
between the continuity of life
and the dread of death
***** resurrections
a second *******
**** flood
without redemption
Satan standing on their necks
while God pulls them up by their hair
rebels to reason
bewitchers of wit
deranged by the myth
of dolls
wood and plastic painted corpses staring
and a blossom throated Goddess
ham handed monkey fist
jerking off in search of a bulls eye anyway
eyes bleeding on bare legs; lifting a white cotton dress
a bulwark of erections
like canons blasting puce spats
under his frilly skirt; a red rain
haunted by dead girls dancing
like homeless hip bones sway
a bewildered phantasm
in a doll house dream
DEATH *** GENDER RELIGION ADULT EXPLICIT
CK Baker Feb 2017
There’s an assembly in the making
and the suits are all shuffling in for the big event
making their way to the front row seats
****** in nose  
hanky in hand  
and all colorfully draped  
in those cuffed pin stripes
and Jerry Garcia ties

now what would the Grateful Dead
or any of their fine entourage
have to say about this foul routine?


Apropos of that
they’re talking in the 3rd person
with tight syllables
and wavy hands
and all taking a run
at the state of the union
there’s Valentino
and Freddie
and good old Sal
"look....their fiddling with their nuts!"
cries a layman from the balcony seats
the Yin and the Yang
have got even the most liberal minded
scratching their heads
as questions fly in from the field:

don’t you know the way it used to be?
have you no morals?
which way to the exit!?


These front row fanatics
have surely been scrimmaging
in the corn fields
all down in that classic 3 point
watching their weight
with sample selections from the
Spicy House and Yaas Bazaar
members of the congregation look on with (concerned) envy

pass the aperitif...the big ***** lady is on deck!

Union heads are running rogue
loading up on grievances
and lines
passing files at a make shift pew
jumping the bunkers
and stepping on clams
while the orderlies move in  
for governance

It’s a bewildered state  
and only for the mind of the rigorous
Jimmy D would say:
“it’s nothing you *****...to the victor goes the spoils!
everyone has a bit of good you know...
you just have to find it!"

Unrest is growing in the ranks
and the masses are unstable
Time to hammer down
with a formidable brace
and two tick play
Deb Jones Oct 2017
February 2017

Her cousin's name was Jason
His brother's Fiancé'
Had a brother named Mark
They became good friends
Jason and Mark

Jason was attending college
His dream was to work for
A big cat rescue service
For which he volunteered.

Mark was nursing a broken heart
He had just split up with his girlfriend
Justin and Mark were both 22
Jason wanted to cheer up Mark

Jason was an experienced hiker
His Dad worked
For the Sheriff's office
As Captain of the Search and Rescue team

Jason asked Mark
To go on a day hike with him
In the snow last May
They were excited

8,000 feet up
The snow was crisp
The crunch of the ice
Was loud in the silent air

They mostly stayed on the trail
Occasionally stepping over
The barriers when something
Caught their attention

The last time was when
Jason said he knew
Of a perfect view beyond
A stand of trees

Again, they thought nothing
Of stepping over the barrier
Despite the warning signs
Posted along the trail

Mark was in front of Jason
Both walking and talking
Laughing
Mark asked Jason a question

Jason didn't answer
Mark turned around
Bewildered
Jason was gone

Mark thought Jason was playing a game
He called his name
No answer
He called his cell phone
No answer
He screamed for Jason
No answer
He pleaded for him
No answer

He thought he heard Jason's
Cell phone ringing in the
Quiet bleakness of the snow
But no answer.

He saw Justin's footprints
Seeming to disappear
Into a darkened area
In the snow

Mark followed their foot prints back to the trail
He called the park rangers
And was told to wait there

The search and rescue team responded
Jason's father was not
Officially
Allowed to go

He drove to the site by himself

They found Jason quickly
He had fallen down
A crevice
Approximately 1800 feet deep

Without a sound to echo in the silent snow

There was nothing they could do
The fall killed him
The snow prevented
A rescue for a body

His father setup a campsite
And stayed there
With his son
For several days

Until he was forced to leave
By a heavy snow storm

The family had a moving and emotional memorial service
Of all he was
And all he could have been

The church was overflowing
With family and friends

Many Police officers
And Sheriff Deputies
Attended in full uniform
To support the parents

They, alone, filled 4 pews

Over the months
The snow melted
Unfortunately Justin's body
Was not recoverable
The crevice too deep and narrow

His mother won't accept that
Some day she hopes to have her son home.

We all pray for the same thing too.

Goodbye Justin, we all love you and haven't forgotten you one bit
This happened this past year. It seemed forever for spring to come around and to try and recover his body. Some people said they should have never went beyond the trail step-over fencing. But don't all youths feel infallible? Such a horrific death would not have been foreseeable
Sam Fickling Mar 28
The sea
an opened
door

sea of sun

utterly
bewildered

To not see
the sea
to hold a gun
to the world
believing
all is
as it isn't.
Mike Adam Dec 2018
Borne into this
World

By the will of
Others

I have wandered
Alone

Bewildered by the
Ways

Of man
Axion Prelude Dec 2017
The solitude of when two hands meet garners thoughts of warmth and want for needs unspoken

I miss the days when simplicity was as common as the delicate exhale shared when two lips release from one a other

To gaze through sultry windows of the soul, soft yet weary with fervent witness, beckons notions of wanderlust to a place that shines brighter than any I've ever seen

I watch, bound by valor for not seeking more through presumptuous ineptitude; bewildered by the plight you've been mired by, I wince at the thought of harm coming to you

Your trust exudes a powerful purpose; wrought from the ashes of all that have claimed to impose before, I succumb to the surfeit of such a staggering meaning in that gift

I hold myself in bated breath for the day you would ever need my heart for your own, but stay guided to be here in spirit, ever more

Although my basic wishes be forlorn, in somber muse I find great purpose to be a part of this grand fate bestowed upon me

You are all I've ever sought; and through disbelief, I am remiss of all that's mired me before

If only, one day, perhaps we could be more..
Infant writer Jan 30
With such ceaseless light falling from heaven on my late shut eyes
Calling off my soul for the perennial journey of after life
With inquisitive eyes I glanced around
When I found
A maiden's soul sitting on the rock
Her eyes spoke that she want to talk
I stamped my feet across the aisle
To reach the maiden's eye
She glance at me and asked me why
What was her fault that she had to die
I glanced at her with bewildered eyes
Her eyes had her tongue
Which stood as a barrier between her pain and fake lustrous smile
A drop of tear roll down her barrier
Spoke things which she could not speak
She stood up and marched by
No word fell from lips
But the tear was enough to make me cry
I don't know why
Rhoni Marjonelle Oct 2018
she was in front
of him
and he was in front
of her
each holds endearment,
love, and attachment
each sings their affection,
for further clarification
each pair or reciprocated words
were always heard
always sung
and bewildered.

up and above
they seem to soar
but they dropped
they seem to laugh
but they cried
they seem to be happy
but they were lonely

on that night
truth was revealed
truth that he believes
but never "she"
she was troubled
she was worried
but most of all
she was appreciated,
loved or liked,
and befriended.

he was bothered sick
he was targeted
but she won't let it

thus,
he became her inspiration,
her motivation,
her clarification,
her beautiful distraction.
Rizna M Rameez Sep 2018
Careworn, looking right and left
Stranded in the midst of ravaged haven
Bewildered at the sight of theft
A million lives, stolen

A broken sob,
Escapes the chest
That hid the horrors deep

For now he can no longer amend
regret.
17.09.2018
A battle worn field of death and
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