"castaway" poems
He loved her and she loved him
His kisses ****** out her whole past and future or tried to
He had no other appetite
She bit him she gnawed him she ******
She wanted him complete inside her
Safe and Sure forever and ever
Their little cries fluttered into the curtains
Her eyes wanted nothing to get away
Her looks nailed down his hands his wrists his elbows
He gripped her hard so that life
Should not drag her from that moment
He wanted all future to cease
He wanted to topple with his arms round her
Or everlasting or whatever there was
Her embrace was an immense press
To print him into her bones
His smiles were the garrets of a fairy place
Where the real world would never come
Her smiles were spider bites
So he would lie still till she felt hungry
His word were occupying armies
Her laughs were an assasin's attempts
His looks were bullets daggers of revenge
Her glances were ghosts in the corner with horrible secrets
His whispers were whips and jackboots
Her kisses were lawyers steadily writing
His caresses were the last hooks of a castaway
Her love-tricks were the grinding of locks
And their deep cries crawled over the floors
Like an animal dragging a great trap
His promises were the surgeon's gag
Her promises took the top off his skull
She would get a brooch made of it
His vows pulled out all her sinews
He showed her how to make a love-knot
At the back of her secret drawer
Their screams stuck in the wall
Their heads fell apart into sleep like the two halves
Of a lopped melon, but love is hard to stop
In their entwined sleep they exchanged arms and legs
In their dreams their brains took each other hostage
In the morning they wore each other's face
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A normal kind of guy
Just the guy
No cosmologist
Sans Christian
********* the droplet suns
Distant in the blackened sky
Gotta 'and'er some
The bristled gristle
The cryogenic iris
Steel teeth gnashing
Right-toe left
Ardent in an autobiography
Good man
Soft man
Locomoted his GMC
to the Sea
Thought maybe
With precise aim he
could undertow away
paradise.
No pick-me-ups
In copper-channels
That Ionized the pick-up-truck
With archaea iron
that ugly duck
Reminiscent of the man
In all but--
A castaway
Stowaway
The man who never hesitates
Bop upon the interstate
Lost within
concritical maze
Shoring up
Going home
Giving up
Turned to stone
Marble chin
Solumn grin
Chlidren sing
Seeking wings
How'd he know
Where to go
Will he see
What it means?
He's the guy
The one with the lollipop lap
Licking the syrup off the lip
Of a sweet polished sapphire
Gin
And the kids
My god
They think he
ODYSSEUS
And his dog not yet
Dead but depressive in the gloom
Howling into the midnight grass
And the creatures that stalk
With their ******* youth
Soon their weight will hit the deck
And like a noose,
Break the joints
The planks of which would stress
And bend his eyes upon his head.
God willing
Should he be exhumed
His energies excape to the river
And float,
Penultimate,
into the sea.
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 5:03 PM UTC
Fresh from the kennels. A whole world away.
Companion conversion for a young castaway.
A darling of distraction with irrational fears.
The clumsiest canine with ever aware ears.
Guardian of gourmet. Suspect of all sounds.
He'll catch himself someday, spinning around.
A tug of war here. A muddy mess there.
A lick to the face of the humans in his care.
How thrilled his tail and tremendous his teeth.
How dug up the planet from paw underneath.
The running for fun. The claiming of trees.
The car window ride along - face full of breeze.
--------------------------------------------------------
But now he's a master of "Stay!".
His eagle ears succumbing to gravity's sway.
Napping much more, barking much less.
Now rarer the cuddle, the clean, the caress.
Patch protector. Owner of no debts.
A veteran of various villainous vets.
Birds as trivial as the tennis ball is far.
Eyes now as hazy as the indistinguishable stars.
A howl at the moon. A loosening tooth.
An ode to memories of a modest youth.
They still love this pup. He still loves them back.
May he long be remembered as he faces the black.
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 12:03 AM UTC
I could spend an eternity
alone on this island
with only a string and hook
and still catch feelings
instead of fishes
Jul 6, 2016
Jul 6, 2016 at 5:13 PM UTC
Happenstance to the melancholic gives leave the sin of pride.
Inbound reconnaissance tells not the bearer of influence.
Squeamish at first: a foreshadowing of calamitous bonding.
A space between the mark of corporeal and the ethereal; a stringent hiatus
That which rattles the concrete foundation of morality is scarcely a malleable recourse.
Regret stains the unfounded soul: an enigma of ephemeral perforations.
A separation of the unmitigated humanities; misandry topples the writhing snake.
Impact; a cleansing of the maker's flaws integrated solemnly.
Complacency arrests the administration of the abhorred; unbridled is the autonomy of a guru.
Ambivalent giftedness burdens the reliant and haughty.
A flick of the tongue brings forth the cinema mortem.
Castaway: alone to wade in the sea of obscenities.
A temporal causality allows no mourning to abscond.
Negligence is not the enemy, but indulgent wrath.
Hesitant: a stroke of qualia begets the end of a maiden.
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 11:13 AM UTC
*Stranded in a car,
Parking lot castaway,
Babylonian sunset,
A star sleeping on regret,
The cold street lights now casting spells,
Down upon a pale face with these eyes painted,
With their shadows*
The rain soldiers are marching in,
They'll crown me with their arrows,
I am the queen of the orphans,
A city for a throne,
And heartless chest for a scepter,
It is rumored that there was a cool of the day,
But it is not found here,
If birds had songs then,
They choke and spit out cruel laughter now,
Therefore the gulls migrated to die on asphalt,
To collect the filth I leave upon the earth,
I have sticky fingers on me you see,
Attached to soggy gloves
**The rats keep eating at my bed,
The rats keep eating at my bed,
The rats keep eating at my bed,**
I cannot sleep tonight,
**The rats keep eating at my bed,
But feed the rabbits,
Feed the rabbits,
Feed the rabbits,
Feed the rabbits**,
The Commercialized Army is pressing in,
Following the systematic skein of procedure,
**Knit the net,
Produce,
Consume,
Expire,
Produce,
Consume,
Expire,
Knit the net,
Catch me,
Catch me,
Catch me,
Knit the net**
I shouldn't be here
Where can I find it?
I shouldn't be here
Where can I find it?
Will I stop myself?
I shouldn't be here
Where can I find it?
Will I stop myself?
Time moves too slow
I shouldn't be here,
Where can I find it?
Will I stop myself?
Time moves too slow
I shouldn't be-
And The Sun Goes
Down,
In,
My,
Brown,
Eyes,
Twilight fixation,
The orange star sleeps in the smog,
My mind in its fog,
Here comes the pale ghost eye,
Peaking through his veil,
Midnight fixation,
Staring down,
On my brown eye island
Where I washed ashore
Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 12:44 AM UTC
If the time ever comes
when human touch
is taken from you
(because you are
sick or in solitary
or castaway or...)
you will understand
how much
you need it:
your skin will ache
as a riverbed
cracks
for
want
of rain;
you will never take it
for granted
again
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 9:49 AM UTC
Tired, I awoke upon a lonely island beach
And gazed on a Goddess above the shore,
With sea foam hair, coral skin, what dream,
My salt eyes, blinded, open, wanting more,
Conspiring with rays of summer she shone
So bright, this daughter of the sun, we stood
I and my castaway crew, to that siren prone
As she led us to her mansion in the woods.
Her potions tamed the forest wolf and lion,
Spellbinding warrior poets to liven feasts.
Why then must she turn ***** men to swine,
By what she most desired contented least?
Desert falcon, my moly held Pharaohs' breeze
And what nil escape above the wine dark seas.
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 7:46 PM UTC
Its as if
A solemn oath
To reminiscence
Had memories
Had dreams
Are you tired of me yet?
It just seems
A luxury given
Fluffed pillows
Explaining the simplicity of slumber
Had a memory
Your a dream
Are you gone from me yet?
It was fact
Actuality
Nirvana upon purple hills
Had memories
Haunted dreams
Are you done with me yet?
It was peaceful
A gloomy rainy day
A solemn oath
A luxury given
Fluffed pillows
Nirvana upon purple hills
Delicious night
Filled by yellow pills
Are you high off me yet?
Its as if
You were a memory
Within a dream
A haunted nightmare
So it seemed
Stuck in limbo
Or purgatory
No longer deserving your glory
Naive
Gentle
Kisses
Sweet and simple
Sent me flying high
Are you tired of me yet?
Leave me to runaway
I'm Wilson
Castaway
I am gone from you yet..
Nirvana on purple hills
Fought the fray
Are you done with me yet?
Roaming
To home im phoning
Airplanes
Night walkers
Street and sweet talkers
Getting high off me yet?
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 10:27 PM UTC
I lied by the sea,
far away from the ebb-
uncared, untraceable,
a heap among the mounds.
You came to me first,
And then joined in she,
both squatted by me,
started the play with me.
Never can I forget,
the first caress-
I know not, yours or hers,
but it was like heaven.
Your juvenile dreams,
naive imaginations,
bestowed on my otiose self,
by your seasoned skills.
Grain upon grains,
both made me proud.
Not conforming to a flaw,
meticulous maven masons.
When your hands tired,
she backed you up.
While she was ******
you tended her to health.
Finally, I stood tall-
an Olympian castle.
Both were beguiled,
I would never be happier.
And, then came the storm,
Satanic vibes infested the air.
I couldn’t fathom what befell,
you were furious, she was crying.
Raised voices, clenched fists,
intimate moments castaway,
I stood a meek witness,
while a relationship was severed.
Came along the lunar surge,
I was wiped away without a trace.
Both stood distant from the other,
watching me fall, filled with remorse.
Mar 2, 2010
Mar 2, 2010 at 9:15 AM UTC
On this sweet bank your head thrice sweet and dear
I lay, and spread your hair on either side,
And see the newborn wood flowers bashful-eyed
Look through the golden tresses here and there.
On these debatable borders of the year
Spring’s foot half falters; scarce she yet may know
The leafless blackthorn-blossom from the snow;
And through her bowers the wind’s way still is clear.
But April’s sun strikes down the glades to-day;
So shut your eyes upturned, and feel my kiss
Creep, as the Spring now thrills through every spray,
Up your warm throat to your warm lips: for this
Is even the hour of Love’s sworn suitservice,
With whom cold hearts are counted castaway.
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The music flowed as smoke rings littered the barroom ghosts for a second washed clean by the smell of stale beer and worn out lines.
It's here I'm home and here I'm most detached from it all I'm invisible only wanting to view and catch a buzz to chase the nights passing .
I sometimes question this existence wonder why the **** no direction suits me best .
I used to fight the urge now I simply have grown to tired to care .
And where odes another find themselves sitting next to me?
Maybe I'm to damaged maybe I'm just happy being alone .
I haven't found the answers cause I truly never gave a **** about the questions to begin with.
There's more reflection in a empty seldom clean bar glass than within my heart darlin and my times all that matters to me now .
I have no options and the past is dead to me as the person who most hold to be the man I no longer can be .
There's always a fire burning I just wash it clean to keep you away.
Maybe when I'm lost home seems the furthest place from my thoughts .
Like some left behind castaway I have simply went insane with time.
Underneath the lights reflection I stand the same fractured and wanting nothing more than a stiff drink and some old song to keep me company into this smoke cast fade .
Maybe home is anywhere I choose it to be .
So try not to question the man who is but a stranger to even me.
Cheers
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 6:46 PM UTC
If to you music is Euphoric
Then to me you are music
Like a needle in a groove
My heart kicks like a drum
Double petal
Metal
It's almost mental
So good I'm off tempo
Lost in an ocean of bass riffs
Based
Cought by your waves like a music castaway
Overcame by your frequency
I could change the station
Hum a different tune
But it would be no use
I'm addicted
As if hearing music for the first time
All I can do is close my eyes
Let my ears guide my wayward heart
As I fall in love with you
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 11:30 AM UTC
There is no moon tonight
just the cold stars
in the unfeeling sky
yet I cling on to dreams
the gypsy caravan
I stood & gazed at
as a child
in the City museum
is still there
painted, gilded
calling for the carefree road
& in my heart
long before I met you
lived my fascination for your mysterious people
enchanters, fortune-tellers,
some say, child & horse thieves
portrayed thus
in my Mother's Russia
- the wild people of the endless road
the people & whose fiery songs I wanted to follow-
& now, in a far off world, bewitched
by you,
I find out that your dark eyes
are that of a gypsy - Romany
& it's like fate
like D. H Lawrence
' The ****** & the Gypsy'
so why, Northener, do you not love me
like your people, I am also a wanderer
a creature of the road
a castaway with no home
than the one my heart happened to find
if you or fate somehow cast this love spell
upon me
if this was meant to be, you should love me, Gypsy
only that would make sense
take me away
let us go a-wandering
across the land, moors & hills
beautiful boy, sweet poet
do you know I once tread the winter's
frost all the night's way to town
for you, hoping to seal
my love's fate
the dark sky
above me
doesn't know how to lament
lost love
the summer of it's heart
has passed,
drunk long away
in quiet pubs
there is only this poem
poorly written -
my heart bleeding
on my sleeve
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 9:44 PM UTC
The clock ticks away
the silence pounds you
it's not the peaceful quiet of life
one would wish for
it's the hostile silence
that makes your heart hammer
one that pushes you to speak
but holds back your voice in your throat.
It makes you wallow in memories
memories of things gone wrong
memories of having been wronged
it compells you to reminisce
all your regrets in life.
It instills fear in you
fear of people, of being cheated
fear of being different, of not being accepted
the fear of becoming a castaway.
It teaches you
teaches you not to trust people
teaches you
to keep your secrets locked away
in a distant, dark chamber of your heart
teaches you
to keep your feelings bottled up inside you.
Before you know it
it turns you into a paranoid misanthrope
it's cruel, it knows no love
it knows no friendship
it eats you from within
it destroys you.
This does not dawn upon you
soon enough
by the time you have realised it
it has already done its job
hardly have you got any time left
to set things right
you want to say
you need to say
things you should have said long ago
all the love not spoken of
yearns to be expressed now
you cling onto each moment
time does not pity you
it pays no heed to your pleas
each second slips by
like water in cupped hands
like the sand in an hourglass.
The silence still keeps pounding you
the clock still keeps ticking away.
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 5:53 PM UTC
<•>
For A:
The Pleasure of Infection
10:53 pm
our all about
is to be the whittler of our personage,
to both hold the knife with care,
but with risky, reckless artistry,
as we shape of what raw materials we are possessed,
into our own reshaped, reformed
most prized bejeweled possession
never mind the shavings and cutaways fallen,
they are fast away, castaway choices made and cannot be retrieved,
for when we whittle, whether our shape desired
which may be prior envisioned or a vision
from the discovery of performing,
they matter no more,
let them go, in their absence too,
they are part and a whit of you,
but not of you, no longer
our commonality in this: everything,
in everything else, so little
but your honesty and crafted, almost dishonesty both ring true,
and infect us with pleasure of recalling
when we
being cut designed and preparing our statue for
an unveiling, but with no date yet set,
and the loveliness of our mistakes,
were precious do-over opportunities
seek out the infection, the infection of discovery,
the risk of pleasure exposed and
your poetry may be either
the antibiotics
when the result is red and unpleasant,
or a celebration,
an invitation to us to be a
semi-silent beholder of your artistry
infections heal after pain and discoloration
but new skin always forms,
but at a different pace for each of us
I see the faces in my carpet nodding agreement,
"always new skin"
oh boy. time to go to bed
go seek out the pleasure of infection,
sadly, happily, it is the only way
good night
from an old man who dreams and schemes of
new skin nightly
but never mind me,
my piece long ago writ
and in need of just a tweak here and there,
call it one too many close shavings,
his poem's treasure trove,
a list
of life's minor irritations
and major lifts
<•>
11:16pm
Jul 17, 2017
Jul 17, 2017 at 11:36 PM UTC
ONE day,
a log
said to the bog,
"you're all mud
and you ever survive,
i am all wood
but i always die."
the bog spoke,
after a long sigh,
"it is transformation,
which you deny.
I turn into nothing but soil,
when it is too hard to toil.
the sun smokes up all water,
i become a happy crater.
then comes by, the rain,
fills my bowl once again.
i see wild weeds,
some dormant seeds.
water lilies, papyrus, mangroves,
are all that come to me and grow.
i laugh with them, they sing with me,
castaway afar, but glad are we.
together we live and fear not fate,
that is how i live ahead!"
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 2:39 AM UTC
How could he know this new dawn's light
Would change his life forever?
Set sail to sea but pulled off course
By the light of golden treasure
Was he the one causing pain
With his careless dreaming?
Been afraid, always afraid
Of the things he's feeling
He could just be gone
He would just sail on!
He would just sail on
How can I be lost?
If I've got nowhere to go?
Searched the seas of gold
How come it's got so cold?
How can I be lost?
In remembrance I relive
And how can I blame you
When it's me I can't forgive?
These days drift on inside a fog
It's thick and suffocating
This seeking life, outside it's hell
Inside intoxicating
He's run aground like his life
Water much too shallow
Slipping fast, down with the ship
Fading in the shadows
Now a castaway
Blame all gone away!
Blame gone away
How can I be lost
If I've got nowhere to go?
Search for seas of gold
How come it's got so cold?
How can I be lost?
In remembrance I relive
And how can I blame you
When it's me I can't forgive?
Forgive me
Forgive me not
Forgive me
Forgive me not
Forgive me
Forgive me not
Forgive me
Forgive me, why can't I forgive me?!
Set sail to sea but pulled off course
By the light of golden treasure
How could he know this new dawn's light
Would change his life forever?
How can I be lost
If I've got nowhere to go?
Search for seas of gold
How come it's got so cold?
How can I be lost?
In remembrance I relive
So how can I blame you
When it's me I can't forgive?
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 11:10 PM UTC
Obscurest night involv'd the sky,
Th' Atlantic billows roar'd,
When such a destin'd wretch as I,
Wash'd headlong from on board,
Of friends, of hope, of all bereft,
His floating home for ever left.
No braver chief could Albion boast
Than he with whom he went,
Nor ever ship left Albion's coast,
With warmer wishes sent.
He lov'd them both, but both in vain,
Nor him beheld, nor her again.
Not long beneath the whelming brine,
Expert to swim, he lay;
Nor soon he felt his strength decline,
Or courage die away;
But wag'd with death a lasting strife,
Supported by despair of life.
He shouted: nor his friends had fail'd
To check the vessel's course,
But so the furious blast prevail'd,
That, pitiless perforce,
They left their outcast mate behind,
And scudded still before the wind.
Some succour yet they could afford;
And, such as storms allow,
The cask, the coop, the floated cord,
Delay'd not to bestow.
But he (they knew) nor ship, nor shore,
Whate'er they gave, should visit more.
Nor, cruel as it seem'd, could he
Their haste himself condemn,
Aware that flight, in such a sea,
Alone could rescue them;
Yet bitter felt it still to die
Deserted, and his friends so nigh.
He long survives, who lives an hour
In ocean, self-upheld;
And so long he, with unspent pow'r,
His destiny repell'd;
And ever, as the minutes flew,
Entreated help, or cried--Adieu!
At length, his transient respite past,
His comrades, who before
Had heard his voice in ev'ry blast,
Could catch the sound no more.
For then, by toil subdued, he drank
The stifling wave, and then he sank.
No poet wept him: but the page
Of narrative sincere;
Is wet with Anson's tear.
And tears by bards or heroes shed
Alike immortalize the dead.
I therefore purpose not, or dream,
Descanting on his fate,
To give the melancholy theme
A more enduring date:
But misery still delights to trace
No voice divine the storm allay'd,
No light propitious shone;
When, snatch'd from all effectual aid,
We perish'd, each alone:
But I beneath a rougher sea,
And whelm'd in deeper gulfs than he.
2.1k
Beyond the massif peaks of Europa,
Above the ancient pillars of Heracles
Where rain and ocean are weaving,
Lays a fabled kingdom born of waves
And noble strands, my beaten hearts
Haunting, the lost, lush sylvan lands
Of Galicia.
Where Incomparable, dark
Haired women, mythic, of Amazonian
Fairness, side the valleys and moors
Of soon forgotten dreams and secretive
Wolves slide amongst warmed runnings
Of the ram and moans of ewe, where
Way bountiful seas are over spilling,
In octopus and pearly gemmed shells,
The scalloped pilgrimages unfolding,
Where incense burns with under stars
Encased, the lost Atlantean temples
Of Egyptian sands and storied Gaels,
The clad forests of wandering Titans,
Where snow white beaches end forever
Unmapped in told footsteps, castaway,
As was the magi gift of treasured yards,
Enlightenments, of old and golden isles
Pearling the coasts, sailing the sweet airs
Crossing Iberian gates, to Elysian, eternal,
Galicia.
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 4:08 PM UTC
Amidst my self-sinkin' a'droppin' down
into involuntary shunts you note:
*"Pensive, pensive–
He is always so pensive.
He smokes another cigarette
and takes another bath."*
Amidst crossin' o'clawfeet
in clawfoot tubs you repeat:
*"Check the water for them words
you were park-wanderin' a'lookin' for
while I was out all last night
a'lookin' only for you."*
And as I look,
I do only, for you.
*"Sometimes – sometimes I am so in love with you, it's surrealism.
My heart's breaking from the weight, from my romanticism,
a castaway'd castawayer a'makin' memoirs in the morning.
I'm a beach-combing romantic; I'll fall out of love by the morning."*
Ponderin' a'wanderin' takes me back to the Fall with leaves, fallen too;
to our breaking point, pointing skywards in the off-season kite flying season.
I kiss the wind washing over my face and curse all the dumb, **** reasons
that I never did kiss you; I never meant to kiss you. I do only, for you.
*"Pensive, dear pensive,
you do this for me:
Go ponderin' for months–
O' sonderin' on o'er me."*
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 7:59 PM UTC
Tired, I awoke upon a lonely island beach
And gazed on a Goddess above the shore,
With sea foam hair, coral skin, what dream,
My salt eyes, blinded, open, wanting more,
Conspiring with rays of summer she shone
So bright, this daughter of the sun, we stood
I and my castaway crew, to that siren prone
As she led us to her mansion in the woods.
Her potions tamed the forest wolf and lion,
Spellbinding warrior poets to liven feasts.
Why then must she turn ***** men to swine,
By what she most desired contented least?
Desert falcon, my moly held Pharaohs' breeze
And what nil escape above the wine dark seas.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 1:20 PM UTC
He
Sat by the riverbank
He
Laughed like cold water
He
Brought to me, the ocean
He...
Where the current runs
behind, beneath
The undertow
Of his eyes
drowning Me
He
Left the scent of good-
Bye Before he’d
leave
As the scent of autumn
Promises winter
And barren, silent trees
My oars
set to the waves
To the phantom of
My sea
The wreck was me
Picking up every shell
Listening
for the sound
Of your feet
the waves
in your eyes
Returning for me
I wait with the moon
For your tides
Green is the color
Of the setting
Of my dreams
As they drifted away
In your
castaway-eyes
And I
Knew better
And you
Spoke plainly
And I
Heard nothing
Of the truth
That you
Gave me
But your voice-
It’s remaining
And your eyes
Are engraving
Their colors
on my canvas heart
like your initials
in my ****** bark
That leaves a wound
to die or scar
beneath its message
Nov 1, 2017
Nov 1, 2017 at 9:23 PM UTC
**I tread to keep my head
Just above the water;
But find myself floating away ~
While others were sinking
or swimming
down yonder, I ponder,
though my thoughts betray
The reality that I perceive
Which may, or may not be as limiting
Of that which you can conceive,
Or can see much stronger
I no longer bother;
It’s deceiving so I castaway,
And leave myself astray in the fray /
Blottering•
To alter my relief of mindscape
and believe, there’ll better days,
beyond what I face
Cremate my remains in the ashtray someday
Energy never ceases to exist
It perpetually permeates the cosmic collective consciousness
Wherever my soul will occupy
the confines in space
Of the vibrations that happen
to solidify my base
And give me just the slightest trace,
that I’m phasing amidst
these in-between places
I feel as though I am an imposter -
Egregiously living a grievous dream,
of which I have conjured;
That I am lost,
and therefore cannot prosper
Because I harbor improper resentment,
that I will foster until my departure
This fractal picture of the macrocosm
only grows larger,
but from farther away;
As it becomes harder to map the realms
of territories unchartered in my escape
I try to attain, but only falter in vain
To discover what the universe
truly contains
And convey that in words
to paint mental frames/
Maybe it’s strange
but one must think
outside the constraints
It may sound absurd but please
keep up the pace
Spiritual enlightenment for real
is the surreal end-game
in which we all play chase replacing
Incarcerated rocks to be polished,
in this giant machine
Perpetually incarnating
A shining spirit until
that’s all that remains
Once every imperfection
Is completely erased
When the correct particles
have been finally arranged
& Nirvana has since become fully sustained
Can I truly be One with my Self-
And not just a product of fate**
Sep 4, 2019
Sep 4, 2019 at 6:01 AM UTC
I feel you slipping away my love
when the night is cold and still.
When the years rush in and stand quietly by my bedroom door,
quiet and mute with sorrowful eyes with shoulders drooped in resignation.
I feel you slipping away my love as I sit here.
As the reality glimmers through and shines upon this page,
the silent rage now unspoken for want of reason or assignment.
Broken and wasted like a crystal vase with roses strewn across the floor.
I feel you slipping away my love as I grasp feebly at the strings of the beautiful bouquet
that rises just beyond comprehension and wafts gently on the summer night
to lite tattered and unwilling in far places unseen by our desires.
Embers softly glowing and now knowing the end has now begun.
Years upon years of clawing at our fears that this was not to be.
A blazing fire dowsed with strife and ire ,no air to stoke the flame.
No time to play the game. All work and no play makes Jill a dull girl.
I cry quietly in the glow of poor reason. I feel you slipping away my love.
I feel us slipping away now and forever. The shell does just as well to crumble.
A castaway sits on the sandy shore knowing full well that rescue will find
his molding husk frozen in time and empty in the continuum. His bones bleached past.
The grinning mask of irony and frozen regret.
My love our reach exceeded our grasp but youthful willfulness and hope was the rope.
The rope that we clung to and weathered the battering breezes as we closed our eyes
to reason after all love will find a way ?.Even love was not enough, but we knew deep down.
I feel you slipping now with eyes wide open.
We watch as the chasm widens and shrug our shoulders.
Calloused hands tired of trying now. Weary eyes dry from crying now.
willfully stuck and denying now. I feel you pull away.
I will wonder the desert parched with regret of this I have no doubt.
But deep down I knew this. Hoping against hope. still.
There will be no other to take your place. Who could?.
We gave hope it's chance.
Once we did dance.
Life became duty.
We fought off the wolves.
We turned. We forgot.
We grew apart while joined at the hip.
How funny.
How sad.
Duty bound as love unwound.
No us time.
I feel you slipping, slipping.
Goodbye.
My.
Love.
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 8:45 AM UTC