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Shane Leigh Jun 2017
I have never been one for the rays of the sun and their fulfilling warmth – not I. I have only ever loved the cadence of the raindrops; the clashing symbols that are lightning; and the reverberating basses and baritones that are thunder. Such sounds that embrace my limbs and wrap me wholeheartedly in solitude that I find it comforting – a haunting and beautiful orchestra of but three instruments. My love for rain is nothing but earnest, if only because it reminds me of the comforts of my home. Lavish hills of green that gently fade into the languid sands of the seashores on strips of the southern coast, and abrupt drops over sheer cliffs to the sea-worn rocks towards the northern coast in the west; and, ah, the copious forest land, with towering trees warped in crackling bark and hanging vines, swaying with the winds in the east.

What great beauty to be seen when the rain hits the fields of my beloved country. Nothing but fervid innocence the rolling hills of my home have to offer, and nothing short of inviting to the unknowing gent or madam. What storms may come will nourish the lands that bare the stock of freshly grown grains and fruits of laborious peoples. Sentiments of these vast lands of olden times and simple living give birth to hordes of thanks and prosperous wishes. I give onto thee the love of my country and the joys of my home: all its supposed misgivings and wonders alike.

Even so, these feats of nature here are indifferent to you and will view you as nothing more than an animal that grazes in its fields, trimming its blades. It is uncaring of your positions and labels, and less forgiving of your ignorance of it. We people are quite the same. Your being of importance do not matter here, for you are the same as any of us – indeed, you are. You walk the same paths and keep the same company. Be reminded to keep cautious and do not labor carelessly on roads of tar and soot. I, along with many others of my kinsmen, walk my feet and lead my horse along paths of rocks and stones that have lain chiseled in the grounds for many centuries before me, before us. They follow the sharp curvatures of the land and are not subtle in their intentions – to lessen the burdens of enduring journeys, and to simply lead you to your destination. There are no roads here that call for magnificent emblems of achievements and hard work, for our emblems lay within our gardens and family matters. Such monuments to the likes of us are not unwelcome, but they are, however, intrusive – and unnecessary.

We do not overvalue such symbols and triumphs. No, we are humbled by much smaller virtues. We value most the unmistakable bonds of company, and more so the bonds forged in comforts of the rain. The rains last many a days here in Cheshire; the appreciated rays of the sun are easily overlooked – forgotten – for the comforts of wood burning furnaces and fireplaces. Perched atop their mantles and shelves, the crests’ of family after family – generation upon generation of knowledge of the former. What better wont be there than to blanket my worries and misfortunes by a roaring ember with an earthy brew kept warm by the hob at the hearthside? While the rain taps forcefully against the contours of my country home, I will be in greater comfort – lauding and chuckling by a hearth of warmth, surrounded by those who have known many a nights like these.

These lands and their myths and legends of kings and queens, stone fortresses and kingdoms, noble knights that defended them, and the ordinary folk that enjoyed the simplicities of life have bored a fondness in my very being that I shall treasure throughout my lifetime. I shall share these elementary things with my children, and they shall share them with their children, and them unto theirs. It will become lucid our heritage and what land gave birth to gents and madams such as us. I will know nothing grander than the simple pleasures that are allotted with just a bit of knowledge, imagination, and the comforts of rain.
© Shane Leigh
For those that would rather read it all at once (:
I hope you enjoy!
Elemenohp Feb 2016
Crumpled sheets
from an empty night
of restless comforts.

Contently lying, confined
yet camouflaged, in the ripples
lay every word unsaid,
through years of
  restless comforts...

Sleeping in positions
comfortable or not,
still gets us rest.

As to define a good nights sleep;
     I couldn't tell you.
    I've slept soundly on floors, and in cars,
   But these nights I toss and turn
  Leaving nothing in wake
But these
Crumpled sheets
from an empty night
of restless comforts.
Oliver Philip Jan 2019
I appreciate the comforts God grants me daily
                         An Acrostic.
I appreciate the comforts God grants me daily.

And I ask with a willing heart ; May I contribute
Perhaps if I list at least five without obligation
Poetry is the first gift that I today can attribute
Rhyming line after line in our poetry Legation .
Easy when you’re under the spell of your Muse
Clever to add value n share gifts to the World
I appreciate the comforts God grants me daily.
Another gift that I see is the love everlasting
Today and everyday so unconditionally
Earth Angels guide me always keep romancing

Treat others as you would be treated.Tenderly.
Home’s where a heart is n your jig for dancing
Eternal everlasting friends best to practice on.

Can you appreciate all the comforts you have.
Only me for one, I do yes I do . For God I’m one
Memory is the next comfort that I cherish of all
For it serves me well and as far as I recall
On occasions ,I talk remembering to pause
Reacting to the other persons conversations
The secret is not to talk at one ,be mutual.
So tell me can you really appreciate your gifts

God needs you not to attend church to praise
Oh these days Gods spirit is environmental
Dedicated to you by his will and your intention

God you carry with you and that is inspiring
Remember to thank him for your gift of rhyme
And know it really doesn’t matter at all t’rhyme
Now do you appreciate the gifts of comfort
The command of the English language a plus
See the words that you accumulate daily.

Making three words fit where you should one
Especially on a poem with a syllable count

Dear poets ,that is a true gift of God’s spirit
And let no man (or woman ) tell you otherwise
I appreciate the comforts God grants me daily.
Let me say the number is beyond limitless.  
You can read my words n challenge if you will.

Written by Philip.
I always appreciate the comforts God grants me daily
Oliver Philip Nov 2018
I appreciate the comforts God grants me daily
                         An Acrostic.
I appreciate the comforts God grants me daily.

And I ask with a willing heart ; May I contribute
Perhaps if I list at least five without obligation
Poetry is the first gift that I today can attribute
Rhyming line after line in our poetry Legation .
Easy when you’re under the spell of your Muse
Clever to add value n share gifts to the World
I appreciate the comforts God grants me daily.
Another gift that I see is the love everlasting
Today and everyday so unconditionally
Earth Angels guide me always keep romancing

Treat others as you would be treated.Tenderly.
Home’s where a heart is n your jig for dancing
Eternal everlasting friends best to practice on.

Can you appreciate all the comforts you have.
Only me for one, I do yes I do . For God I’m one
Memory is the next comfort that I cherish of all
For it serves me well and as far as I recall
On occasions ,I talk remembering to pause
Reacting to the other persons conversations
The secret is not to talk at one ,be mutual.
So tell me can you really appreciate your gifts

God needs you not to attend church to praise
Oh these days Gods spirit is environmental
Dedicated to you by his will and your intention

God you carry with you and that is inspiring
Remember to thank him for your gift of rhyme
And know it really doesn’t matter at all t’rhyme
Now do you appreciate the gifts of comfort
The command of the English language a plus
See the words that you accumulate daily.

Making three words fit where you should one
Especially on a poem with a syllable count

Dear poets ,that is a true gift of God’s spirit
And let no man (or woman ) tell you otherwise
I appreciate the comforts God grants me daily.
Let me say the number is beyond limitless.  
You can read my words n challenge if you will.

Written by Philip.
November 17th 2018.
I appreciate the comforts God grants me daily
ok okay Jul 2018
The lull of a restless night relieves my senses
It's monotone silence maintains my breath
The cold night breeze enters through an open window
It whispers soft tunes and attempts to put me to sleep
The humming of an exhausted laptop helps me decompress
It distracts me from overthinking and blocks out my stress
As the night goes on it starts to rain
It comforts my senses and cleanses my pain
This time-worn house cracks and creaks
It talks of troubled times and how it came to be
This place I call home proves i’m never alone
And it's always there to support me
3rd poem. Enjoy :)
Mitchell Duran Sep 2013
We met on the stairs
Of a 15th century cathedral in Rome.
I was wearing my
Light gray suit that she later told me reminded
Her of the color of fresh volcano ash.

She - cut in half by the moonlight -
Wore red flats,
A ******* linen dress that
Effortlessly pronounced her *******,
While her oaken red and auburn hair
Lunged down both of her shoulders like
A waterfall or an avalanche,
Just touching the top of her belly button.

I, looking up toward the marble spires
Spinning into the scattered stillness of the nights
Opaque and cream colored stars,
Did not know she was hovering behind me watching me,
Until she had decided to speak;

If I had known, I would have ran inside.

"The cathedral is very nice, isn't it?"
I heard her ask to my back.
At the sound of her voice, I was not
Filled with that melodramatic cliché dripping
With soap opera fused emotions.

No, I
Was dipped into a large cauldron of ice-water.

There was a tremor
Inside of me and a heat
Ricocheting in her.

"Yes," I replied,"It is
Very nice and very old and I wonder why it is still here."

I did not know what I meant, but
From the pause and inhalation I heard immediately after, I
Believed she must have thought what was said profound.
Was I profound? Why would she believe that if it was only from
The spontaneous question that held no real physical weight? Or
From me jumping so quickly into this little


No question's asked?

"These buildings still stand because they
Are a physical memory of what we have achieved
And what we must continue to achieve
In the future
." She had come up beside me now.
Vanilla lavender lotion and mint
Toothpaste were the first smells that came to mind.  

"The future..."I said, trailing off, "The future."

"Yes, the future is very important."

"It is all we have."

"Well, all we truly have is the present, don't you agree?" I asked,
Slightly turning my head to look at her.

She was still looking up at the cathedral. She was focused on the large church bell
That hung there like the moon in the night sky. I continued
To stare at her, my question hovering vulnerable in
The air as a butterfly with its wings damaged would. Then, a
Couple passed by us in a hurry. Their hands were clasped tightly together, the man
In front and the woman looking to be dragged by him. I saw
Neither of their faces, but I imagined them both to be calm and red.

"They look to be in a hurry," she said, "Where do
You think they're going?

"Somewhere very important I'd imagine."

"And where is very important for you, sir?"

She turned
To meet
My gaze a

As if challenging it.

Her lips were full and painted with red lipstick. Where I thought her eyes would prove to be light colored or forest green, they were actually colorless and black. I inhaled at the sight of her, then immediately blushed. Again, our questions back and forth to each other were more of an interrogation of one's hearts and minds than flirtation. As she stared at me, I sensed that we had met before. There was something in her face that brought the feeling of an old friend or an acquaintance, like the feeling one gets when they see a past school teacher or love interest back in grade school. There was a warmth and giddy tension between us that made me feel eight years old again. I had felt so old recently. There was a sudden wink in her eyes and I then remembered the question I had asked her before.

"You haven't answered my first question," I stated seriously.

"I agree," she answered quickly, "The present is the only thing we have truly and
Do not have, all at the same time."

"What do you mean?"

"Being present 24 hours a day, seven days a week, is a very exhausting,
Trying thing,
Isn't it?

"Yes, I would agree with that."

"And being present for whatever reason, be it socially, romantically,
Professionally, etc., is really all for the future. One's own's private future goals.
Something one desires in the moment and wishes to have for oneself in the future. Our
Motivations are our desires. Our wishes. The lives we wish to own in the future."

"At times, yes, I do believe
One is present for those reasons, but
Sometimes, and I speak for myself,
I wish to lay back and let the sun burn my skin and
The clouds to blanket me, chilling me, so to remind myself
Of my placement on this planet and the miniscule and
Tremendous affect I have on my surroundings. For example...

"You are very talkative," she said cutting me off, "I could
Tell from the way you looked up at this cathedral all by yourself,
Lost in thought or lack thereof, that you were a talker."

She smiled and I forced a tight-lipped smirk.

"Well, I am
So talkative because you have made
Me so.

"So be it."

"It is so."

"Are you mad? she asked.

"Not the least bit," I returned, unsure whether I was lying to
Her because I didn't want to offend her and scare her off or because
She was so extremely beautiful.

"Well, I am glad that I can do that to you." She looked back
Up at the church bell, trying to hide her satisfied smirk.

"I have said too much. Let us both watch
The cathedral stand on her own for a bit in silence, ok?"

"That sounds good."

She took a step down from the step she had been on with me. Two steps.
There she let her head and hair fall back, taking everything in she possibly could.
I needed a drink and she needed the sky, the cathedral, the city, but I
Could only give her my company, unsure whether she truly needed it or not.
I shifted my glance from the bell tower to what was behind me. There, I saw
A wooden trolley up against the far wall near a trickling fountain
With puppets hanging from their thin clear strings. The light from the oiled lamp posts
Was a dark orange and cast an array of ****** shadows along the walls that
Encircled the square which me and the woman and many others were standing around. Night
Had set on the square, but no one had decided to go anywhere.
The square was perfect for them; anywhere else would have seemed uncomfortable.

She looked at me from two steps back and asked,
"We are being present for a better future, yes?"

"What we hope will be a better future," I said, turning
My head away from the bottom of the square back to the
Cathedral. I emphasized the word hope.

"Yes, men and women must have
Hope for something better."

"Life does not guarantee anything, does it?"

"No, I guess it doesn't. It gives you chance and we give
One another choice."

"Or," I hesitated to say what I wanted to say, "Or God does."

"God," she laughed, "What's He got to do with anything?"

"Everything and nothing, I hear."

"Don't be so vague," she grinned, turning her body completely around to me
So I could see her full figure. Her dress outlined a woman's body,
But I knew, inside, there was so much more precious things then flesh. "Hear
From who and where?"

"You choose what you wish to believe
And no one can tell you otherwise. What
You need and
What others may need can be different and should be.
This does not mean that we cannot get along.

Is there a way to be wrong in what one believes in?
She looked to want an honest answer, so I gave her one.


"That's it?" she asked, wanting more.

"That can't be it?"

"Yes is a decent enough answer,
But because you looked to be so talkative before,
I assumed you would have more to say on the matter."

"Assuming something
Is a very dangerous, childish thing.

"Yes," she agreed, "It is."

"If one believes in something and tries to share
Those beliefs in an unaggressive, listen-if-you-will,
Dangerously friendly, perhaps even musical way, then
The listener has their choice in the matter. They can

Walk away

No questions asked or feelings hurt.

"That," she said, "Sounds good for the listener,
But perhaps not so great for the speaker.

Why?"* I asked, surprised.

"Because then the speaker may turn into something
They originally did not want to be. A prophet or voice for something
They may honestly have no interest or passion for.

"I see."

But, please, go on."

On the other side, someone may believe in something fully, to their bitter core, but there needs to be a validation from another to prove their conviction. This is a weakness in their faith. They secretly doubt themselves and are trying to prove, by the obedience and following of others, that
Their belief, system, God, what have you, is a truth, a fact like the sky is blue or that fishes swim in the sea. These people with their thoughts and beliefs are the one's that are wrong. The one's that push their way onto other's without any room for being challenged or accused of falsity."

There are some that do not want follower's, but as soon
As they turn around, there they are.

"Yes," I nodded, "I can think of a few thinker's
That I've read or heard of that happening."

God, though," she laughed again lightly, "It
Funny that you bring Him up."

I didn't have anything to say, so I said nothing.

Are you a religious man...?" she asked.

My name is Robert Commento and no, I am not religious man."

I gave
Her my name
Out of my uncomfortable stance on religion and
To change the subject to less formal and conversational matters.

She put out her hand and I slipped my palm under hers. I was
Never taught to shake a woman's hand - for it is too delicate -
but to let their hand rest atop mine.

I bowed and gently kissed her hand.
Her skin smelled of fresh milk and uncut grass and
What morning dew feels like across raw fingertips.
I tried to force myself not to trip too quickly into love,
But there are some things
Men are absolutely unable to do.

Luria Rose," she said, bowing her head, "Very ncie to meet you
Robert Commento."

And very nice to meet you."

You are from here?" she asked.

Yes,"* I said, "Well, not exactly."
"From a city over where the tail of the river ends."

"I know this place, but I cannot recall the name." I could see
She was embarrassed by not knowing the location, telling me she
Was obviously from Rome and proud of it.

"Cuore Tagliente," I told her with zest,"That is where
I am from and where I was raised. My family still lives there to

Manage their small farm of olive trees.

"Do they make very much money?" At this question, I turned
On my heel and stared at her. By her look, she seemed to be
Unsure whether I meant this in seriousness or in jest. So not to scare her
Off again I forced a smiled, left my eyes upon her as if viewing a painting or a statue, and
Answered as truthfully as I could without insulting the name of my family
In truth, I lied a little.

"They were very
Well off when they bought the
Olive farm and they are still very well off
Due to savings and the like, but, because of the business they sold
And the expenses of starting from scratch in the scorching fields of where olives are grown,
They took quite a beating financially. We are quite fine now, very, very fine now,
But not as fine as if we had stayed with the old company. In a way, we were
Asked very professionally and cordially to step down. Of course, my mother, bless
Her body and soul, was very destroyed by this matter and that is why I find it hard to continue.

Luria, staring at me blankly, but with a slight hint of fascination,
Walked up the two steps she had just stepped down and
Two more past where she had been beside me.
She swiveled around on her flats and faced me. Her
Eyes were now impossible to see in the night, though I knew she was
Looking directly at me. Curious why she decided to say nothing in return
To my story, I said something in her place.

"I say so much about myself...well, then, what about you?"

Instantly, she pounced on the question,
"I am
An orphan of Roma
And grew up on the streets stealing and
Running amok quite happily, though
Sometimes I regret what I stole. Every single one was a

Necessary action."

This took me back, for she looked tanned, healthy, and
Well fed, instantly making me think she must be a very skilled
Thief. Eyeing her up and down, I wondered if this was why
She was even talking to me presently. I checked my wallet. It was there,
Though this fact made me feel only slightly better. I watched her
Blow a thick, crescent moon shaped strand of dark brown hair from her eye,
Seeing if the story had settled. Was she lying? Was she telling me the truth?

Why would she tell me anything at all?

"Let us get dinner someplace," I offered, "You can
Take me to your favorite, local restaurant in the city and I
Will pay. No favors thought to receive or anything. All I'd like
Is to have a conversation through the night with whom I have in front of me."

She nodded, said nothing with a smile, and stood still.

"You must lead the way for
I have no idea where you would like to take me. I, of
Course can take you to any of the many restaurants
I know of in my Rome, but I want to go to the one the thieves knows of.

Suddenly, her face contorted into a shape like
A razor had been dragged down the length of her face.

She shouted,"Do not call me a thief, Robert!
Your a poor son of olive farmer's! What do you know about
Anything of the street? So much so that you can ridicule and
Mock whoever's from it? You know nothing!

I immediately tried to tell her I was teasing, but she ran past me, down the stairs, and across the square. I stood stunned, embarrassed to see if anyone had noticed this outburst. No one
Had. Groups of people were still sitting around the fountain, throwing
Coin into the water as some children played and dipped their toes into the
Clear, tranquil water. The puppets waved back and forth in a light, chilled wind,
And the lamp posts still burned casting a curing light over the square. There,
I saw Luria cast in the dark orange light for just a moment. She turned around to look at
Me in the light and there, I saw her eyes were not black, but sky blue, like
The fresh melted ice I had once seen on my travels to Antarctica. Then she was gone.

Pausing, letting myself be hugged by the cathedral behind me,
Half of me wanting to stay in her embrace and the other wanting me to be in hers.
I could not hug stone forever," I told myself, "Man needs to hug a woman
Into eternity, not the church. Maybe later in life, but now, man needs the physical,
Not the metaphysical. There, I see her as she goes through the alley behind the fountain on the
Path toward my favorite bakery, Grano Gorato. I will follow her and find her.

I ran down the stairs carefully for they had become wet and slick from the light
Fog that sometimes rolls into Rome when it is night. There, I moved through the crowd
Which looked to have double in size with people. Where had they all come from?
The alleys, no doubt. They all felt the warmth and comfort of this secret square with Her
Majesty looking down on them from above, the church bell and moon like two great eyes,
The tinted cathedral windows depicting ancient actions Her heart, and the hard square
Slabs of concrete and smoothed stone Her skin. But, Luria did not care for such comforts, She
Believed in no comforts other then the one's another could give. Did she want that from me?

Once through the alley and passing Grano Gorato, I swiveled my head three-hundred-and
Sixty degrees hoping to spot the white dress with the long brown hair. There were many
Women about, but none that were Luria. I sat on the edge of another fountain in a smaller
Square which I had found myself in. Inside the café in front of me, I observed an old man order
A glass of red wine and a mini-short bread crust filled with cream with bright, light green
Kiwi on top. It is was brightly lit inside and everyone was smiling, even the servers. Looking up
At the sign for the restaurant, I saw its name was Mondi. I made a note to go there with
Luria when I found her.

"Luria! I shouted. The name echoed about the numerous walls that
Surrounded me. A few tourists dressed in sandals with socks and cameras
Wrapped around their shoulders and "*****-packs" around their waists

(Terrible Things)

Gave me a concerned glance, but I continued to
Shout, "Luria!

"Yes, Robert?" I heard Lu
serpentinium Jul 2018
pompeii runs through our veins,
hot with the taste of ash & decay.

some of us are fortunate enough to
become ruins; others are ruinous,
sepulchers of epidemics, air-born, contagious.
a disease that could make London a cemetery.

we dress ourselves up like relics, clothed
in silk and gold and gossamer,
as if they could one day be armor.
as if they could bring us safety.
as if we deserve such things when everything we touch rusts.

it takes only twenty-two years for the
average person to realize they are a weapon.
that words are knives and actions are razor blades,
as if to remind the living that we
came into the world screaming—
and we have never been silent since.

we are the Morrigans, the cursed women,
those whose destiny is entwined with death.
we court death, invite her to our dinner table every night,
let her sleep in the guest room, leave the doors and
windows unlocked for her.

death, we realize as women forced to bear
the weight of the dead on our shoulders,
never comes as a thief.
she comes as a lover, smelling of lilac, a grin
too white and too large to be human.

still, we invite her in,
because even death, regardless of form,
makes for better company than the empty dark.
inspired by the line: we are naught but rot and ruin.
Ilunga Mutombo Aug 2018
Steve - Hey

Steve - Hey

Steve - Hey how are you doing?

Steve - Hey I’m just trying to get to know you.

Steve - Wow so it’s like that?

Steve - You won’t even give me a chance?

Steve - I know you see the Facebook messages.
Anna - Hey sorry I don’t feel like talking. You are not worth my time or attention.

Steve - I’m good now.

Steve - I found me another lover.

Steve - All I wanted was your time and your attention, but you placed my heart in an emotional detention.

Steve - To me now you just another potential lover I could of loved and cared for. But you loved your ego more.

Anna - I’m sorry.

Anna - At the time you wanted me I was busy.

Anna - I want you now though, even though you have another lover, I envy her. Your persistence showed me you were worth my time. But my ignorance encouraged me to ignore my heart and feed my ego.

Anna -  Now it’s sad to watch you go.                                                  

Anna - I wish I knew better and did better. Now loneliness comforts my ugly mess.

Steve - I guess this is goodbye, because with persistence I also come with, love, patients and loyalty. I am glad I never gave you the best of me.

Steve - My lover truly deserves all of me. My time and my energy, my flaws and insecurities. Thank you for letting me find the best of me.

Steve - You were the light that had to shine in me for me to find the best of me. Your rejection brought out a better version of me.

Steve - Love stings like a blind bee it can kiss anyone and make them feel it slowly. For those it never kisses their hearts forever remain lonely.
mark john junor Feb 2014
an empathy face
comes into focus out of the grey rain
with her own set of capitulations to the greater good
with her own price paid for the comforts cold and thin
an empathy face alabaster finely carved
with tears in stark contrast to the brightness in her eye
comes into slow resolution out of the grey grainy surface of the rain
with its harsh aspects felt like nails slowly driven
her thin red lips and blue shadow
her divine voice as she talks to some side person
her eyes never leaving yours
she is drinking you
with a deserts worth of thirsts

graceful she flows across the tiled floor
like she was born to such places
like she was born to glide where all others had crawled
but when she reaches you puts her hand to your arm
her fingers trembling her breaths short and swift her face flush
she pauses and lifts her head and plunges her soul into your eyes
with breathtaking abandon like an ******
her black sweater with a golden bird stitched into
her bracelet silver and bejewelled
her perfections catalogue in your mind in that momentary glimpse of heavens unattained
that she breaths in deep
drawing breath and strength
before she opens her song
before she cries out in such sweet tongue
at the bitter night

an empathy face
with her own set of capitulations to the greater good
with her own price paid for the comforts cold and thin
and i cry with and for her
as she cries with and for me
an empathy face
in the grey rain

Their Height in Heaven comforts not—
Their Glory—nought to me—
’Twas best imperfect—as it was—
I’m finite—I can’t see—

The House of Supposition—
The Glimmering Frontier that
Skirts the Acres of Perhaps—
To Me—shows insecure—

The Wealth I had—contented me—
If ’twas a meaner size—
Then I had counted it until
It pleased my narrow Eyes—

Better than larger values—
That show however true—
This timid life of Evidence
Keeps pleading—”I don’t know.”
Jonny Angel Mar 2014
We saw six stars melt
& counted every constellation,
three signs of the zodiac,
kept ourselves warm
holding sticky fingers
& kissing each other's

The taste of marshmallows
lingered in our mouths,
as our tongues
played serpentine-games
with tightly-shut eyes
lying fireside.

I wanted to stay
with you like that,
love you infinitely,
but we both knew
nothing so nice
ever lasts.

Now, when I think
about the past
& melt marshmallows,
I see your pretty face,
remember your sweet-kisses,
feel your tender touch.
Only the Lord knows
how much I miss you.

So you should know darling,
I've saved your loving-memory
deep in my heart
forever & it comforts me
when I'm alone & cold.
Alex Jul 2011
She told me she loved me,
that I've no need to fear.
I believed all the lies
that she breathed in my ear.

I pulled her in close,
closer than anyone before.
I tried not to cry
or she wouldn't love me anymore.

I couldn't hold back,
forever stalked by self-pity-
I wept, and she left.
Translucent comforts pierced through me.

She hates me now,
a bit more every day.
I've not given up yet-
I want her to stay.

Perhaps she will wish,
once I'm hanging lifeless from a tree,
that she'd loved me forever,
as I begged for it to be.
Alexis BreAnne Dec 2012
Tonight I cannot sleep
So come to me
Fill my head with dreams
Of love-making and risk-taking
Of your sweet hellos and tender goodbyes
Or better yet love
Be my dream
And never again will I need
The quiet comforts of sleep
Thomas Davies Nov 2015
I'm explaining to the people of the world
What Fate of Ten stands for
And my persistent craving for books
Bur does it look as if they understand?
They don't
And that's the problem
Of the dark world I'm finding myself in
And that's the problem
Of a world full of people that doesn't read
Something I thought would've
When the things named 'e-books' arrived
Because everyone was crazy
That our world turned 'technological advanced'
And everyone turned a blind eye
From the comforts of the past
There was always this people
That said
'Technology will make your life so much better'
But now I've come to believe that
We act as if we're worshiping it
And cherishing the fact that
'Our life's made easier'
But rather
We are blinded
By the
Of the
P.S. I'm not expressing my hate towards technology...I just hate it that so few people read. Don't they understand that books are the best thing that ever happened to us??
Faith Flowers Apr 2014
What comforts you
at 3 am on a Wednesday night
when the darkness traps you in your bed,
straps you down by your wrists and ankles,
whispers words of loneliness down your neck?

What comforts you
when you're out of options
and thoughts of forever consume your soul
burning and destroying every ounce of will you have left
until fizzling out leaving smoldering ashes in its wake?

What comforts you?
Is it a pet?
A song?
A person?
A dream?

He comforts me
at 3 am on a Wednesday night
when the darkness traps me in my bed
straps me down by my wrists and ankles
whispering words of loneliness down my neck.

He comforts me
when I'm out of options
and thoughts of forever consume my soul
burning and destroying every ounce of will I have left
until fizzling out leaving smoldering ashes in its wake.

He is there to comfort me
on the darkest nights
patiently rekindling the flame of hope
hidden in the darkest corners of my soul.
Providing light,
giving warmth,
pushing down walls,
all so he can comfort me.
RAJ NANDY Jul 2018
Dear Readers, concept of Time has bewildered our ancient sages, philosophers, poets, artists,  including our famous scientists and physicists even to this day. It has no doubt also impacted my    
mind in several ways! Therefore, this series about the ‘Enigma of Time In Verse’ is now being composed and posted to share my thoughts with my Poet friends on this Site. If you like it kindly re-post this poem. Thanking You, - Raj Nandy from New Delhi.

                           BY RAJ NANDY

                 A  SHORT  INTRODUCTION

During my childhood days, time appeared to be joyful and endless.
Though my parents had observed the clock all the while,
Telling me when to rise, when to eat, play, do my homework, -
till it was my bed time.
Alas, my childhood days as cherished memories are now left behind.
With rest of the world  I am now chasing that winged arrow of Time!

Those Management Gurus say, that our twenty four hours day,
Is time enough for those who can manage time from day to day.
Yet I do find, that I am generally chasing time, not to be left behind!
Hoping that a full time job will provide, some quality time, with the desired comforts of life.
Therefore, I abide my time, hoping to have the time of my life one day, with some quality time coming my way.
But in this mad race against time, while chasing that butterfly of happiness,
I must learn to cool down and breathe, before time decides to elude me!
For with patience and perseverance, that butterfly of happiness, will alight gently on my shoulder in good time, and perhaps at
the right time!
While time is universally regarded as the fourth dimension by our physicists,
It is said to flow at different rates for different individuals as mentioned by Shakespeare the English dramatist.


In ‘As You Like It’ Act 3, Shakespeare refers to ‘the swift steps’ and the ‘lazy foot’of time  in a relativistic way.
Time ‘trots’ for a young woman between her engagement and marriage when a week feels like seven years for her every day!
Time ‘ambles’ for a priest who doesn’t know Latin and a rich man without gout;
Since the priest is spared the burden of exhausting study, and the rich man is spared the burden of exhausting poverty - no doubt.
But time ‘gallops’ for a thief walking to the gallows, for even if he walks slowly, he happens to gets there too soon!
While time ‘stands still’ for lawyers on vacation, since he sleeps his holidays away!

Now moving forward to Einstein who once described his ‘Theory of Relativity’ very humorously in the following way; -
“When you sit with a nice girl for two hours you think it’s only a minute, but when you sit on a hot stove for a minute, you think it’s two hours,” he had said with a chuckle!

Getting back to Shakespeare’s ‘Macbeth’ Act One on that blasted heath,
Macbeth asks the three witches, “If you can look into the seeds of Time,
And say which grain will grow and which will not,
Speak then to me, who neither beg nor fear…”
And finally that brilliant piece of soliloquy about Time by Macbeth in Act 5:
“To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
  Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
  To the last syllable of recorded time,
  And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
  The way to dusty death….”

John Milton’s poem ‘On Time’ composed in 1930 ends with his optimistic lines:
“Fly envious Time, till thou run out thy race,
  Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours,
  Whose speed is but the heavy Plummets pace …..
  When once our heavenly-guided soul shall clime,
  Then all this Earthly grossness quit,
  Attired with Stars, we shall forever sit
  Triumphing over Death and Chance, and thee O Time.”

Alexander Pope in his ‘Imitations of Horace’ (1738) writes:
“Years following years steal something every day,
  At last they steal us from ourselves away.”
Romantic poets have dealt with the transience of time, which got popularised by the Latin phrase ‘Carpe diem’ which tells us to ‘seize the day’;
This Latin phrase has been borrowed from the Roman lyrical poet Horace of ancient days.

Charles Dickens’ novel ‘Hard Times’ is an autobiography describing his difficult childhood days.
While the famous opening lines of his historical novel ‘A Tale of Two Cites’ take us back to 18th century London and Paris under times sway.
I quote Dickens’ memorable opening lines:
"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us ......”

We have the Nobel Laureate Tagore’s well known poetic lines on the subject of Time:
“The butterfly counts not months but moments, and has time enough.”
“Let your life lightly dance on the edges of Time like dew on the tip of leaf.”
He described the Taj Mahal as “a tear drop on the cheek of Time,” in his unique poetic style!

TS Eliot’s ‘Four Quarters’ of 1935,  include extended rumination on the nature of Time:
“Time present and time past,
  Are both perhaps present in time future.
  And time future contained in time past.
  If all time is eternally present,
  All time is unredeemable.
  What might have been is an abstraction
  Remaining a perpetual possibility,
  Only in a world of speculation….”
(Notes: This concept will become clearer in my Part Two, presently under construction.)

Next I have a quote from WH Auden’s poem ‘As I Walked Out One Evening’composed in 1937:
“But all the clocks in the city
  Began to whirr and chime:
  O let not Time deceive you.
  You cannot conquer Time.”

Subject of Time forms an important part of science fiction even to this day.
HG Well’s ‘The Time Machine’ (1895) interests both the layman and the Scientific community even today!
Finally, I would like to conclude my Part One on ‘The Enigma of Time in Verse’ with my favourite poem composed by the British poet Ralph Hodgson:
TIME, you old gipsy man,
  Will you not stay,
Put up your caravan
  Just for one day?
All things I'll give you
Will you be my guest,
Bells for your jennet
Of silver the best,
Goldsmiths shall beat you
A great golden ring,
Peacocks shall bow to you,
Little boys sing,
Oh, and sweet girls will
Festoon you with may.
Time, you old gipsy,
Why hasten away?
Last week in Babylon,
Last night in Rome,
Morning, and in the crush
Under Paul's dome;
Under Paul's dial
You tighten your rein—
Only a moment,
And off once again;
Off to some city
Now blind in the womb,
Off to another
Ere that's in the tomb.
Time, you old gipsy man,
  Will you not stay,
Put up your caravan
  Just for one day.

In Part Two I shall cover the Concepts of Time along with its Philosophical speculations.
Before moving on to Einstein’s concept of Time, and its present Scientific interpretations.
Thanks for reading patiently, from Raj Nandy of New Delhi.
Naidu Chandra Nov 2016
A garden of roses

Without you
Sun will not stop shining
Without you
wind will not stop blowing
People will not stop believing in love
Even if I spend my whole life
Waiting for you
Without you ......

When material comforts
No longer comforts you
And all you want is serenity
Then Just know that
I will wait for you
In the place
Where we have grown
A garden of roses

When he says those
words to hurt you
When he don't reply your emails
Then do read  those that
I wrote for you
If you feel lonely
Even though is right beside you
Then wait for me
Where we have grown
A garden of roses .

When material comforts
No longer comforts you
And all you want is serenity
Then Just know that
I will wait for you
In the place
Where we have grown
A garden of roses .....
Alysia Marie Aug 2018
I can’t prevent the rain from falling,
Oh no, I can’t prevent the storm-
But I’ll be here for you when you’re frightened,
And craving shelter from it all.

Even through a drizzle,
Or a mighty hurricane-
I’ll brace the weather whole heartedly,
If it means that you are safe.

For if the beast that’s brewing,
Is tearing down your forests limb by limb-
And the travesties he’s causing,
Are forcing you to walk with him-
I’ll take your hand so quickly,
And run with you so far away-
So this being can’t get hold of you,
And has to seek out other prey.

See darling your soul is mighty and pure,
Filled with comforts so serene-
And your mind is made up of fortresses,
Stronger than any part of me-
I’ll never give up if it means bringing you home,
To the comforts you once knew-
The safety of your own body and mind,
Every beautiful part of you.

                          Alysia Marie 2018 ©
And if he is to read this, I hope he never doubts all of the ways my soul loves him. Just as I always have, since we were children.
Jack Apr 2018
Drink pressed against his sweating palm,
Cigarette cradled between two extended fingers,
Artic monkeys blasting out of a tiny speaker,
In his mind echoed screams of guilt,

Creature comforts from a world that doesn’t care if he’s sad,
A world that would rather he died just to make a profit,
Just a social security number on a screen,
Killing him slowly but he loves the peace,
His creature comforts.
Sally A Bayan Apr 2015
(haiku x 4)

Sun hides...dips lower
Moon and stars deck the dark sky
Dusk is upon us

Lights.....softly glowing
Drawn curtains are a pale screen
Casting drooping forms...

Voices fill the air
Night, patiently hears the moans
Shame fades at dusk...for,

Dark unites shadows
Cicadas join the whimpers
Wind...comforts the soul...


Copyright February 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Omar Kawash Jul 2014
Like flipped coin midair
Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle
Two ends of a spectrum, Möbius strip

In a room together,
Maxwell’s demon, revolving door
Cancer and chemo
Like life and death
Only one can be
The next is inevitable

Like an election
Only one figurehead may speak for a governing body
Like the seasons
Change is expected

Like a cat left to its own devices
Guaranteed to scare itself after a given time
Man tries to conquer for comforts sake
Mercurial reactions
Like elements under catalyst
Electron orbitals
Exchange positive core
Theory of relativity
A choice of determining
Accuracy of position or velocity

Hermes, deity of mine
Masculine and feminine
Ruler of I
Relieve the war of the immortal twins
Battling my heart and mind
It’s February, 2015, a Saturday and here I ‘yam.
Back in sunny California again:
The sun shining brightly again
On My Old Hemetucky Home,
Another mutant Stephen Foster tune.
Hemet: Riverside County,
Southern California,
The so-called Inland Empire,
According to the hyperbolic parlance,
Of sharkskin-suited land speculators,
Truly, the last of the
Patent medicine, liniments &
Snake oil hucksters.
Hemet: little oversight & lax policing
Yield a thriving, local
Medical-marijuana industry.
You are comfortably tucked . . .  
TUCKS® Medicated Pads | TUCKS®‎ Witch Hazel soothes and protects irritated areas. Medicated Cooling Pads are...

You are safely tucked behind the impenetrable
Wackenhut G4S Security-
Policed & Patrolled walls,
Of your typical over-55 gated lunatic asylum.
“For Active Adults,” reads the sign,
Whatever that means.
I’ve been thinking about the adventurous young.
What is it these bright,
Wander-lusting whippersnappers
Fixate and obsess about.
Like dropping out & coasting for a while.
Dropping out & coasting:
Not as easy to pull off for 20-somethings these days,
As it was in the late sixties/early seventies,
Flush times for Guns & Butter.
Where is it cheap to live?
Where on . . .
“This blessed plot, this earth,
This realm, this England . . .”
Where on this ozone-depleted,
Global fondue fungus ***,
Can I go to just sit still?
To think:  to make sense of it all?
It’s leisure, Kemosabe.
Leisure cultivates philosophy.
The very stuff of curiosity and
As in: “One’s grasp should exceed one’s reach”—
Idleness leads us,
Gifts us with understanding &
You are 21 again, and restless.
You are unwilling to just settle in.
So, where do you go?
Where can you live on savings?
To not work,
But not go hungry?
To just sit still,
Contemplating the state of the wicket,
Be it wicked or sticky.
Today it’s Prague and Berlin—
Or, for the truly decadent: Bangkok.
For us it was Florence or Paris—
Or, for the truly frugal,
Driving our cars to Mecca: Montreal,
"La Métropole du Québec"
Sanctified are the places we’ve chilled.
Shrines & vortexes; each holy latitude,
As Han Solo drolly reminds us:
“It’s not the years; it’s the miles.”
The amount of ground covered,
A blessing devoutly to be wished in Old Age:
But I digress.
Just the thought of hanging out
Some place really cool,
Yet relatively inexpensive--
In a parlance acquired
Over the years and the miles,
Tactfulness learned,
Manipulating the language
For fun & profit.
Common sense is aged in the barrel
And the bottle, rephrased.
Vernacular Viniculture.
Which proves my point:
If you live long enough &
Read enough of the right stuff,
Eventually you’ll discover
A precise, more exact vocabulary,
Appropriate for Old Age inner monolog.
Would Old Age be tedious?
Boring, for those who
Never went anywhere?
Both physically & spiritually speaking.
Are memories our only revenge on Old Age?
And for those hiding behind the barriers,
Safe. Ignorant. Jolly. Dull.
A fast track toward senility &
Does Alzheimer’s seek out & destroy the
Most cloistered among us?
While those bold & beautiful,
Experienced, still spinning,
Still weaving a tapestry in 3-D Technicolor.
Remembrances of things past . . .
(Get back in your hole, Marcel . . .)
And as the AARP crowd knows so well:
We Baby Boomers really had it pretty soft.
Boom economics,
Conspicuous consumption,
Coonskin hats, Betsy Wetsies & Hula Hoops!
By and large:
No Great Depression,
No chocolate rationing.
A jungle war pretty much optional,
For most of us of the
American bourgeoisie.
We’ve got a lot to remember.
We’ve much to be grateful for.
Electronic media changed everything for us.
Television and movie theaters gave us
Alternative dimensions,
Parallel lives,
Multiple identities.
Experience so real that
To see it on the screen
Was to live it, oneself.
Perhaps those video downloads
Might prove useful one day.
Comforts out on Golden Pond.
Will you still need me?
Will you still feed me?
When I'm sixty-four?
Grazie, Sir Paulie.
Mr E Aug 2014
Rain is such a beautiful thing
The way the drops splash
Drenching all in a liquid sheet
All encompassing it rains for miles
Swallowing the world in a dreary state

I love the rain
Rain means no smiles
No sunny days
A world with rain
Where the people feel my sorrow
Where my darkness becomes reality
And no matter how much they despise it
They cannot escape

Rain is cruel
Trapping you
Holding you
Rain is misery
Rain is my reality
That I gladly give to you
Melody W Nov 2012
Troubled waters met with broken land tug
Heartstrings that tremulously threaten to unravel;
Existence on this dwindling planet is but a mere whisper that
Rustles these complex restraints,
Ever silent in their longings

In the end, what will we have to grasp
Save for these elusive phantom wills?

Aventurine stones are cast into the sea
Lovers still sing of devastating intersections of torment and desire
While children, their quiet eyes unwavering
Ache for the comforts of home and sturdy perennials that
Yield more than the first fruits of
Sorrow and catastrophe

Hold tightly to one another, while murmurs of
Obsidian lullabies and faraway dreams become
Perpetual fragments carried away by the wind; this
Ending is not truly the end.
©MW, acrostics
O God, whose favorable eye,
The sin-sick soul revives,
Holy and heavenly is the joy
Thy shining presence gives.

Not such as hypocrites suppose,
Who with a graceless heart
Taste not of Thee, but drink a dose,
Prepared by Satan's art.

Intoxicating joys are theirs,
Who while they boast their light,
And seem to soar above the stars,
Are plunging into night.

Lull'd in a soft and fatal sleep,
They sin and yet rejoice;
Were they indeed the Saviour's sheep,
Would they not hear His voice?

Be mine the comforts that reclaim
The soul from Satan's power;
That make me blush for what I am,
And hate my sin the more.

'Tis joy enough, my All in All,
At Thy dear feet to lie;
Thou wilt not let me lower fall,
And none can higher fly.
Life's a Beach Jan 2015
His heat spent on books
He lies beside, forsaken of need,
a greed for knowledge
Has robbed of his want
His body, a shell,
His mind, a stone which refuses to shed
against intuition.
No Fruition
No Justice
No Peace

Just a piece of his mind roving
No Release left to give

The ***** is
just in case
Her mind a jewel
Her body a vessel
Her purpose Calm and

Yet one is seemed sinner and
the other has 'wisdom'

Nnaemeka Mokeme Aug 2018
Heaven is surely here,
hidden within the
heart of man as love.
This is heaven
that I feel within.
Pure bliss
it is definitely.
My whole being
resonates to it.
I am grateful
for this moment
in time.
Filled with
unimaginable love,
A love that sheds
a joyous tears.
Sacred and pure,
it is here to
keep and hallow me.
A love that
forgives and forgets,
a love that
remember nothing
but just to please
and love deeply.
A love that
counts no errors,
but enfolds and
comforts you.
No guilt or deceit
can ever penetrate it.
Though sometimes painful,
it heals without a scar.
Weighed on a scale of
divine purity,
it binds the heart
with joyful tenderness
and sets it free.
This love
doesn't criticize,
it admonish
with compassion,
not confusion.
That life you
wanted so much,
is in your heart,
it will sprout to bring
glory to your soul.
Never minding what
you see or feel.
If it finds you worthy
will rest and abide
in you forever.
Cherish this
moment always
for you may never
have it back ever.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
The sky is ever so sweet.
The air is ever so pleasant.
The stars are relaxing and
comforts your judgements.
The people are ever so nice
and yet they are hurting
deep deep inside.
Search your feelings
and express your love,
to the person you think
is or would be the love of your life.
Love the world
and the world
will bless you.
I was feeling awesome today and for some reason, I love the world and the people in it. Hope you like it:)<3
Kris Fireheart Mar 2018
Full moon on a
Friday night,
sipping whiskey and
watching sky,

Howl, howl,
at the light,
The wind is pure,
Conditions right.

Southern Comforts I
hold dear,
Seasons won't
affect us.

Peace and harmony,
right here,
In the heart of

Light my smoke,
unleash my dog,
A friend is cooking
his dad's wild hog.

Sipping whiskey,  and
making fog,
Full moon on a
Friday night.

A little more ice,
A little less beer.
A little more light,
A little less fear.

These Southern Comforts
I have here,
These friends who sway,
Around me.

The whiskey flows,
The fire glows,
These guys start talking
about old "hoes,"

And everyone knows,
how that **** goes,
Full moon on a
Friday night...
This is tonight, plain and simple.  Tuning out my "frat boy" friends and just enjoying my buzz again...
CK Baker Dec 2017
trip up the island to see all the folk
monopoly, pong => pig 'n a poke
crystalline glass with dark bitter ale
Santa is looking a little bit pale

cherry red cheeks from a chilled chardonnay
one sailing wait for the talk of the day
drum sticks and dressing are the pick of the bird
chestnuts and brandy for gravy being stirred

brussels and taters are pulled from the bake
pears in the salad bring memories of Jake
sparks from the fire with rich amber glow
grey hair and wrinkles will come...don't you know?

gingerbread man with a white icing smile
candy cane schnapps (with its seasonal style!)
pine cones and tinsel that cover the tree
carols are humming from churches and streets

cold winter nights are the best of the year
chocolate and eggnog await with good cheer
a heavy thick fog approaches the sound
the comforts of Christmas, with joy all around!
Heavy Hearted Feb 2017
1, for the slumber that tumbles us round,
2, for the remedy, the musics bold sound.
3, for the tree that became your canoe
& 4 for the rain, it's ambiguous blue.

5, to escape, to a world we contrive,
6 for the tricks that I played to survive.
7, because heaven, is supposedly on earth,
& 8 for my mother, and her unknown worth.
9 for the failures, the faults & mistakes,
10 for the fears that keep us awake.

11, for my father, consoles me each night, whispers advice crystal clear, filled with insight- words on courage & kindness, love & delight.
12- when you wake but it's already night.
13 forever, with strength glory and might,
14 with wisdom, discretion, insight-
both numbers together sizing up every fight.

15, for my little sister, and all her turmoil,
15, for her spirit, the last one to spoil,
she and the world but water and oil,
15 for her soul, and like the mighty cobra it's coil,
deadly & graceful defends its home soil.

16 for the evil- the wicked & cruel, the endless hate they spin into fuel.
17, for reason, justice & art,
and all the other virtues life etched on my heart,
18, to redeem, to admit your mistake, to truly move on then perhaps to retake.
19 for that shame, always the same, so familiar it almost comforts my brain. 19, for the suffering, agony & betrayal.
19 true stories retold as mere tales- how they surpass logic and induce other's fails.

20. For my years. For the moment, for now. For to the past I salute, and to the future I bow; All with the hope that next year I'll know how

to do what everyone else can.
Daniel C. Jones Feb 2012
My solitude comforts
Doubt, like a lover's lie.
His fickled fingered
Digits chokes my heart.

Second guessings elevated
to thirds, fifths, and sevenths.
Crippling and seducing
what ego and self reliance
I have, away.

My solitude that comforts
Doubt.  Betrays me.
I have no solemnness
nor reassurance.
I can not banish Him
I never welcome Him
But yet He stays.
Sienna Nov 2012
I think it worries me more that I might be finding faith,
Than spending the rest of my life without does.
I think I'd be more likely to shun,
A believer of the lord- than a ****** with a gun.

But it's not something I'm proud of anymore,
It's not something I want to admit to.
I don't want to have to hide my comforts from myself,
I don't want to find my comforts in this spell.

Deception is too much of a safety net,
I want to work and then achieve.
I want to be independent without -
I want to not have to believe.
Q Carson Feb 2014
It’s the place we live
A place of treachery
A place of trembling hope
And sorrow

A place where centuries of salty tears
Have cried the oceans high
Where the pines, the redwoods, and the oaks
Have fled high to the skies—learning from their earthly mistakes

I want to know it all
But I know I never will
And I want to feel strong
But a feeble human existence can never fulfill

And when the thorn ******
That’s when I’ll feel pain
But to the pain I feel when I lose you
Every few months-it is nothing

You were here on the first day
And we know-- and He knows
You wont be here for the last
But I hope you will be, for the talks in between

We don’t really talk about it
Instead we talk to talk intelligently
And I like that
And you like that

And that is why we’re the same
I wonder when I’ll have faith
Perhaps, when you have faith
Have faith in me and have trust in my words

Sorrys spread themselves wide—too wide
With every rise of the sun and turn of the tide
Despite the try, despite a determination of independence
They are taken

I worry I lack some sympathy
For I did not cry the day I heard
But you do not cry on the days you die
And you die for quite a few of them

Do you know who knows?
Or do you not care
Does it matter?
For me, it does, and you know, and he knows, and she knows

I scoffed the day I heard you believed
I laughed that I figured you a man of reason
You said you could be both
I still scoff

When I shall count the stars
When I shall breathe evenly
When I shall free the butterflies from the pits of me
That’s when I shall—when I shall free you of the blame

I know you deny it
And you may right not deserve it
But when I’ve read of all the little live things
We too, will be alive

Do you count your lucky stars
Or do you rest assured
I call the arrogance a bluff
I call it today—for tomorrow

The blanket of grey
Which comforts me so nicely
Will always remain a compliment
A compliment, remembered, and not deserved

It’s a humbling experience to realize
Not one idea you will think
Will ever be

And it’s a disappointment to realize
Some ideas
Ideas of others
You will never even think

In that I call injustice
But no one will make it just
And I will rest aside
Quiet… less than robust

My existence is frightening
So is yours
So is his, so is hers
Though arrogance makes for a fantastic façade

And we’re all incredibly concerned
That today will be lost before we have achieved something--anything
Yet too distracted by tomorrow
We fulfill the prophecy, and yes, we lose today

Pride is a thing to tussle with
I want to be proud, but more so, I want you to be proud
Of me
We’ve been told to not be so proud

To be humble and oh so very honest
Though those before me have proved, time, time again
That to be anyone and to get anywhere,
Humility just won’t do

And that’s the juxtaposition I live
The contradiction I’ll never escape
How to make it all of worth
While upholding a worth of self

Your mood changes with the moon
And I try not to mind
For I know that mine
Is as steady as the tides—not very

— The End —