"congruence" poems
I see her there
A dark look in her eye
Smirking at me
Inviting "give it a try"..
My Shadow dares me
Into the ring
Smuggly she grins
Thinks I've nothin to bring..
"You know ur smoked!"
She gleefully taunts
"You wanna spar with me?
I'm fueled by your wants!"
I shuffle my feet
Timidly taking my stance
The first round, a blood bath
That b@tch kicked my A$$
Bruised and beat down
My trainer now pleads
Where is your fight girl?
Ya think I brought you to bleed?!
"But she's mean!" I sob..
As I spit out a tooth
"She breaks every rule!"
"So resentful and uncooth!"
Even still she is
A true part of you
Learn to dance in this ring
Or you, she will rule..
Now I stand with conviction
To face my brutal self
She may take her pound of flesh
But none will leave til its dealt..
We are not so separate
One good, and one bad
We move with congruence
Our conversation now had..
I dodge and I weave
As I feel her wear out
I take a few blows
But I leave her no doubt..
I am in this ring
Til our dealings be done
She may beat me down
But our pieces are one.
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 10:22 PM UTC
**My life is foretold in every crevice of this universe,
in serene seas, and swaying sands,
in scorching degrees and holding hands,
with a lover in my longing arms,
fires raging, and yet i am sheltered from harm.
and throughout my journeys,
it is my deepest desire,
to ignite and set my ambitions on fire,
in the midst of euphoric dreaming,
with my lover on this late summer's evening.
and i shall be at one with the stars,
and my doors in life shall forever remain ajar.**
*Walk into this space it is endless
sublime congruence with the heavens
open is the third eye looking directly at abyss
i feel a divine hint on my skin
as if it were a celestial kiss
there is no need to travel in doubt
it is written across the evening canvas
open the gates of exotic awareness*
**It is writhing, it is gifting, entrusting me, and quaking,
yet I, within mine, remain still.
Fore be it told, and beneath footless form, it's subversive,
yet, I dance a sure tango, uphill.
I must be sure, so sure not to mind lone notches and disparity,
as crevices, you see, they arch to transverse.
Fearing but forging the depths of what is migration, we say,
from this hallowed tangle be my rise, my verse.
I’m floundering, I grant, when I think I hold discovery,
so, I tug at the rein of imprint and plan.
It is here my beloved reliance, my precious doubtless tread
is afforded the fair crossing of Pan.
So, although it contests and chides and outreaches,
I am in love and as love, an apprentice.
A conquest won, no never, but here, a concession, a regard-
I am, with no poet’s journey, amiss.**
Lilting ebulliently in ineffable fields of ecstasy.
Mellifluous waves, in life's voyage,
inure us to pulchritude paths, refined by old age.
Multifarious, nascent jubilant days, swaying in paint,
array the way as we sail away.
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 7:27 AM UTC
You could desperate hear me start weeping
Ruckus started to crying to crack tangerine
holds one still upright auburn
as an immortal's loneliness fogged or condemned
stays a Sahara burnt hot tambourine
a hangover led Arabian
a broken record
some shattered the bathroom bar.
I wonder for my brother's dowry
on beds too kempt to be called beds
and doorframes and lamps set never high enough to hit again,
to stand to kneel to lock to lash to hold to my brother's body
now felt to me like the female sold fragile to the greater cities with
a vote,
he clearly left his Argentina behind no matter
how she paled, ended struck.
No longer a child or sister to pass as
to take guests in alone
to stand our married couple's cries an unmuteable radio
can't go back to playrooms for imparallel dignities' sake
that made all the noise at night worth it to deal with
I, don't want to play the rook
if no horse of yours' beside.
Now once the scarcity of your voice,
if even morbid,
is to be greeted by me alone,
Adam and Eve we have unable to see,
just for the empty halls of your decision just for me to hit,
your turned leaf hidden agenda of relief,
I recognise my faiths of the old of your endless
mornings supposedly killed by snoring and your
vividness to my thoughts a foreign concept,
to note you resurrected out of mind and out of sight
the congruence picks me out and slaps me that
our cocoon and safe designed for you
was nothing short of a coma web in your eyes
to begin with instead.
...
I look out to my brother's dowry
to hold stubborn, fainted in my nook the head of my brother's body
to sit on his old air this house keeps like a sari gem
he will never long for
again.
Dec 14, 2020
Dec 14, 2020 at 10:10 AM UTC
Dream is but a life,
Severed from congruence and chronology.
Did I imagine my memory?
The adolescent blizzard,
The tar pits of first love,
The prepubescent honeycomb,
The shedding of innocent skin,
The infant cobweb spun by genetics.
Death at the leg of my mate,
Birth among a thousand siblings.
Climbing to the ground
From the sky where i was buried,
Resting in rapid eye ether,
Transparent atmospheres solidify
With ruby whips of gravity.
My reflection in your fingernails,
My face askew in distortion,
Your hand's a house of mirrors,
Peeling at my silhouette.
I'm drinking fire,
As we cremate the sea.
Nirvana becomes panoramic,
The air ripples.
The topaz pillar i held becomes my body pillow,
And I wipe the sleep from my eye.
The dream unstitched,
We sew reality back up,
But the thread gets thin
At night.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 4:59 PM UTC
Its nefarious arrogance, that's scaring grandparents, but its in the air and I'm airing it, as we are seeing all the signs, but just staring at them.
Somehow there is safety as an arian, where we are safely alien to Americans made in sapient sanitariums, shooting you first for glaring at em.
So what if i'm Dolling up my delirium for a serum to cure them all.
I am awol, from my call to duty, recreating movies, for serial groupies, suiting up to slither a delivery of a soothing sour piece.
I am stalling to clean the secretions from hostel sheets from the screamers being eaten, by Cretans, with beaten dogs at bay, staring blank at the fanfare from a cage.
Im burning white sage, under pages of poetry anointed by a stoical spleen, tuning out the dreams, of lesser beings, until complete.
A zoo within a zoo within a zoo, i barely know you now
Barely know how, to know you as a model citizen with baller trimmins, fixins, and a life with others wives, in the rough diamonds of the bluff, before the door opens just enough, to look through and confirm what you already knew.
Love is the stuff dreams are made of.
And through you..
Im through.
Pleading, to seed the need for repentance and with reduced sentences, bleeding the demands on stances of chance, in costly cants.
I am convulsing in the congruence, in which I am influenced, by my afflictions of depictions in my head
I might be addicted to the dread of previously said decor, in my adorable horror show afloat, deplorably denoting the nopes of logic, and the slippery slopes of khangi, that spring off me when i'm coughing on my green tea.
You are wrong to stop me in my dislogic, dodging the narcotic mocking of toxic strong arming, in proxy alarms, setting barns ablaze.
I praise the poetry pushed on me, dauntingly haunting me with savant like ambiance, from the have nots, having things as far as the eyes can see.
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 12:51 AM UTC
Laying on the fallen snow
Quiet stillness around me
For I cannot move
Other than wondering glances
A flickering light off to one side
Coming from a crumbled car
Showing me what I can't believe
That there is blood beside me
I do not feel faint
Just very, very still
For I feel no blood leaving me
Though it must be doing so
It's so quiet that it makes me sleepy
I am suddenly so very tired
I am ready to slip away
But then the silence is broken
I open my weary eyes
To see red and blue lights approaching
And hear a siren growing louder
In congruence with the flashing colors
They draw my attention
And then my fear
As I realize why the police are needed
And remember my seeping blood
I try to bring myself fully awake
I know I need to focus
But the desire to sleep is overwhelming
I struggle mightily to remain conscious
My mind slowly gives in
But it's little to my dismay
For I again am failing to realize
The truth behind my situation
The lights stop moving
They are only meters away
Shoes quickly compress the snow
As help now approaches on foot
With every step is a crunch of snow
That's close enough for me to hear
But I don't, not anymore
For I've obeyed slumber's call
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 9:53 PM UTC
Her beauty is that of a million diamonds glittering with perpetual gracefulness; each reflecting its own ray of light making brilliant patterns,
She in herself an integral part; a masterpiece of God’s finest art,
As His giant gentle hands molded her He knew exactly who she would be,
She would be the one whose voice is so calm; calm enough to hear the whispers of angels from the depth of eternity,
Whose smile blaze with sullen magic; enough to penetrate through the sandstones of the hills and mountains,
She will be in her human self a miracle on the face of existence; whose beauty is indescribable in words; a joy to watch when she grazes the floor with her graceful walk,
To see the eyes of men attendant and respectful; and the eyes of women upholding the hypothesis of her dignify honor when she talks,
She will be that lady who moves with such flawless coherence of elegance and perpetual gracefulness that dead heart beat when she pass,
Sending off a wave of unstinted pleasure to their inhumane face in amazement to her indefinable class,
She will be that lady whose voice command respect; so much respect that no bird dares sing in the planet when she talks,
In view of the universe being created around her immaculate gracefulness; the earth would rotate and dance in congruence to the luxuriant wave of her sweet voice,
waxing strong in her ambiance such to believe in her ineffable gift of completeness; for her presence is bliss seasoned with perfection,
She will be a dowager queen who radiates lucid rawness of orchestrated elegance; So much elegance that the angels gasp in the wake of her presence,
same very angels would spread their wings in adoration so she could graze upon them,
those same angels would seek and find solitude in the ambiance of her meticulous tenderness,
wishing that the melody from her luxuriant voice could be turn into songs; they will forever dance to its tune of sublime perfection,
wishing they could bask in the warmth of her smile; they will never forget to mask their face with it,
wishing they could bath with the purity that springs from her immaculate eyes; they will remain forever sacred,
wishing their names could be transcribed into the adoring letters of her name; for they shall forever bear the name HANNAH.
Oct 2, 2016
Oct 2, 2016 at 12:52 AM UTC
what is that college readmissions essay supposed to tell you?
i was depressed, but you don't acknowledge mental health as anything but a lazy made up excuse to not work as hard as the people whose shoulders i stood on did.
"what have you learned, and how will you apply that as a student at our university?"
how do you define growth?
i'm going back to school, and that's what i want to talk about, but i can't help but focus on why i left. i can hear myself and others, battling the war in our heads called "pragmatics vs empathy".
i can't tell who's losing.
i can only tell who's participating in yuppie culture, i can only draft so many letters to my parents, and the congruence of my academic self and every other version of myself.
what does a gap year mean (to my family)? what about two?
i've had this stand alone identity, and it's cost me a lot.
i miss learning.
there are so many barriers, so much omission.
do i only make one-year commitments out of fear for anything longer?
i'm jumping into a lot of different identities, with their own different paths, but we ultimately come back together as one, as me. it's meiosis. only one of them has to eat or sleep. i could keep working and running forever. parts of me are really and only good at that.
how do i fulfill the expectation of living up to what my parents see?
how do i get recognized for "growth" and how do i identify areas for it?
i'm sorry, dad. this was a really long voicemail. i'll talk to you later.
Jun 20, 2017
Jun 20, 2017 at 2:35 AM UTC
If I was to read for you, My queen that glow,
A poem of beauty, as only few words could show.
Like Picasso as a writer, let me paint your body,
A whisper of grace and elegance, without noise of gaudy.
You posses a twin of eyes, an immaculate glitter of beauty,
From which life receives its absolute lenity.
To glow in such light of orchestration, Like a crown on the head of time,
Whence bliss takes its origin and befitting prime.
Your alluring smile, a linger of unstinted comfort,
To the stars in tender darkness of the universe, glumming in discomfort.
Each of which humbles at your engrossing presence,
And glows in congruence to the light of your radiance.
Your arms like shields,protective armoury that gets soul lifted,
Touch of your fingers, ten cradle of breath taking sweetness, heavenly gifted.
Each a perfect blend of liniment and mystic power,such,
To impel dead heart to once last beat at thy touch.
your smooth bottled neck, over your soft shoulders,
Holds a face of coherent beauty, eyed in all beholders.
A beauty indescribable by far, as only few words could tell,
How ethereally lovely it can be ; perpetually graced with the touch of angel.
Your walk of indefinable class, a lucid rawness of orchestrated elegance,
So much elegance that the angels gasp in the wake of your presence.
To dance into ecstasy,from which heaven's purity is formed,
In but of your light of all light, they all are conformed.
Those smooth long legs spread like the wings of a flyer,
Inner thighs speak a truth that would mute a liar.
And drip sweet smelling nectar that excites a man's desires,
Like an addictive drug, that makes him only want to get higher.
Beautiful seasoned lips even angels could not grace,
Like two ***** of icing sugar, leaves me breathless each time our lips come in embrace.
And the pressure they do impart,
Have the power to break the devil's heart.
Your two cupped breast,stretch the stitches of your blouse,
As if swollen with milk and honey, my flame only its water could douse.
The most tender of all cleavage,had touched my palms with finesse,
Which contact makes me frozen; a sweet emblem dancing to impress.
If I was to read for you, My queen that glow,
A poem of beauty, as only few words could show.
Like Picasso as a writer, let me paint your body,
A whisper of grace and elegance, without noise of gaudy.
Dec 29, 2016
Dec 29, 2016 at 3:33 AM UTC
Three seconds left
There’s no timeouts remaining.
The fans are full of resentment
With hope surely waning.
The ball bounces against the floor,
Repetitious with its nature.
Congruence with each ascension,
Life gasps for air with this momentous suspension.
There’s nothing that can be changed or rearranged.
Nothing to help, nothing to hurt,
Unexplainable anxiety as you slowly tear your shirt.
A bounce,
A roll,
A movement,
A fall.
An exorbitant amount of disbelief.
The stopping clock brings a new sound.
A collapsed heart, and a detached soul,
The new demeanor now begins to take its toll.
It’s the end of all of this noise,
And all of this hope.
No longer precariously wavering upon this rope.
It’s snapped, it’s different, no longer the same.
If only this was about a game.
Dec 21, 2011
Dec 21, 2011 at 1:06 PM UTC
I disassociate to my "friends" lives scrolling by,
I don't need any spliff or fungus to reach
Peak apathetic non self congruence.
Watching years pass by in seconds
Is all the psychedelic room temperature
Mental priming for my primate mental
That I could ever hope for
Before being snapped back out
By the cubed carrot reward of
Internet interaction
Which keeps me salivating and searching
For ways to increase the amount of time
I don't have to associate with that guy inhabiting my body
For a while I can see my problems as goners
Being slowly erased from my mind like a magnet over a hard drive
Until a kindly panic attack reminds my of
My lack of lack of control
And the selfless self centered guilt keeps me
Wishing I were working instead of living
Who could be so audacious
As to propose a life out side
Nov 3, 2019
Nov 3, 2019 at 3:27 PM UTC
pants sit half-way down the waste
because pulling myself out of bed is against the laws of gravity
what was it you wanted again?
if anyone could hear over the sound of an exhausted train exhausting clouds with exhaust
they would understand exhaustion, because Gaia speaks in sign-language
and the second you told me to wait a moment
I spent forever waiting
until you were ready yet
ready, set, sundown..
sleep talks to? only if I talk to sleep, conversation over.
dissonance, cognizance, congruence, ****
thank you 5th grade teacher
for teaching me how to never shut up
thank you verbs
for teaching me how to never shut up
thank you
really
thank you
no sarcasm
thank you
it is holy
holy
holy
wow.
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 10:54 PM UTC
Look at her, she is quite the catch,
Prayed up, successful, and educated;
She has radiance that cannot be matched
As she presses on and be celebrated.
That sister is
Fairest Among Ten Thousand…
So humble in life and its complete nuance,
She does not dwell on trials of the past;
An inspiration she has been in congruence
To those whom had various stones to cast.
That sister is
Altogether Lovely…
She is
Adah, the daughter of Jephthah
She is
Electa, the mother of maidens
She is
Martha, the sister of Lazarus
She is
Ruth, the widow of Mahlon
She is
Esther, the wife of Ahasuerus
She is indeed the sister of the Eastern Star.
…fairest among ten thousand altogether lovely.
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 2:37 PM UTC
I am not ferociously aggressive, but there are activities that I will not can not partake in.
I will not be a grammar-phile in poetry, for sometimes, a sentence just begs to end in a preposistion. Of.
I won't be the surrogate to the emotions you wish you had for me;
if you truly felt them, you would proudly show off the pregnancy bump, endure hours of painful labor and breastfeed those feelings until the inappropriate age of 2.
I refuse to lower my standards and waste any amount of any time with any man who can't appreciate:
sure, all men are created equally,
but over time they can warp, change into slight congruence, and then become foreign, rude, selfish.
(Not all, ofcourse, but some, and that sum is one not worth crying or trying for).
I will never lead a boy into thinking he has my thoughts or affection
for such a crime is critically and clinically cruel
and I do not have the scalpel or shears to perform such inhumane procedures and experiments.
I do not believe I will ever have total peace, because I do not think such silliness is worth truly worrying about.
I think I could do almost anything else, like spit poison or turn myself into an inside-out person,
or maybe even solve a math dilemma
but staying stable for too long would make my molecules freeze like zero degrees Kelvin,
and I would turn into paradoxical nothingness.
May 21, 2012
May 21, 2012 at 11:25 PM UTC
Esteem of reflection billowing up whenever one puff fades.
Day in, day out.
Pass in, pass out.
Staring off into space, am I getting better at geometry?
Looking into the line of nowhere.
Physical lines may just happen to converge with this.
Darkness may happen to eclipse it.
A point happens to be on it.
A light happens to shine therein.
Lines may also conflict with it.
Colors may not align with it.
Conglomerations may exist there without any congruence.
People happen upon it.
Muscles and nerve endings traverse it.
Needs cross its consciousness.
Predictions cross over it too.
Some ideas are superseded here.
The esteem of reflection scans all areas: physical, emotional, and mental.
The internal image is destroyed, or ground to dust.
Sounds are implanted upon it.
An imaginary self-concept is manifested on it.
The cycle of new crossings re-circulates.
Like this whole poem only affected my knowledge and not reality.
I sit up.
My body is placed on this line.
Like it is on stage acting for this line.
Cleanliness and neatness cross it.
The esteem of reflection takes on the form of part of my body.
I lay back down.
The self-concept reiterates itself.
As if my body's forms must assert themselves.
Afraid to look at bold symbols.
Afraid to act like I touch the things in this room.
A sense of shared humanity is spit out by my head.
I am the weak and selfish one.
Not esteeming another.
Only esteeming me and my reflection.
Not sharing a room.
Like I'm pulling down and in.
With my head in the sand.
I consider knowledge that isn't directly observed as secondary.
And I don't mean observed in a book.
This self-concept becomes the center which organizes the things that cross the line of nowhere.
It is the best comparison to my physical self, yet a figment of my imagination.
It is shaped more by attention than by materiality.
It's funny how anointing is at once a rising over and a descending.
Yet it cannot fully transform my mind.
For even this blessing crosses the line of nowhere.
And the esteem of reflection rises above it.
But when the line of nowhere becomes the self-concept then the mind is fully transformed.
The esteem of reflection would have equality with the self-concept.
Jan 30, 2021
Jan 30, 2021 at 1:49 AM UTC
Each twilight goes unwitnessed
I haven’t had a meaningful conversation in years
And as the hours pass between waking and dying
I scarcely feel emotion, I scarcely know life
I can’t remember what I did a week ago
But likely it was unremarkable
And the week before that I might have tossed a ball
Although that seems too recent
Things are harder now, despite the congruence
I could be doing those same things
Without knowing it
And each fetch is like an unanswered question
Soothing, in its clumsy forthrightness
The slope of my yard, dramatically subtle
I assume the sky’s above me as I bend
Here is the ball, I’m picking it up
Oct 25, 2010
Oct 25, 2010 at 11:16 PM UTC
There is a resonating rhythm which cultivates a warm embrace from electric boldness.
Congruence is to be found within the fire of an athame, where familiarity can direct energy from each quarter of sacred space.
As nature displays her petals with utmost sincerity, there is certain direction to northerly earth, eastern air, southern fire and westerly water.
Invocations are personal. I now feel the need to consummate our equilibrium. Please do not be offended.
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 11:52 PM UTC
*Lose yourself in the embrace of Love
Realize the pure essence, and Feel
All your senses are in congruence
There is no ‘why’ or how’, but only Love
Love represents purity of heart*
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 8:30 AM UTC
I’m ribbons and lace, polka dots and florals
Naughty and nice, femininity embraced
I’m scars and secrets, broken hearts and hook ups
I’m exhausted
Defeated
A captive of my past, uncertain of my future, longing for wholeness
Congruence
Afraid of who I become in survival mode
Broken.
Praying for relief
Unable to handle this world of political ties and lies
Wanting to remember what air used to feel like before it was stained with despair and regret
Hoping one of these days turns out to be better.
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 6:56 PM UTC
Nothing nears perfection like your smile; it is believed to be the make- up worn by angels,
Your face; ethereally lovely; perpetually graced with the touches of angels.
Your breath- taking beauty walled the template of my thought; enough not to forget how Heaven glows in your radiance,
Life in its erratic form makes perfect sense in the ambiance of your presence.
You are such that the planet is created around your meticulous tenderness,
Waxing strong at your ambiance; such to believe in its ineffable gift of weakness.
When you talk, no bird sings in the planet; every living entity stops to pay attention,
The earth rotates in congruence to the luxuriant wave of your voice; dancing to its sublime perfection.
Your laughter reverberate in such a melodic tune that the angels dance to its rhythm,
Joyfully bonded in congruence with its flow; adoring every tune of its appealing beat like the psalmist hymn.
Your lips deposits sweetness like pollen on stamens and pistils of my lips,
Enough sweetness to inundate my worries and fears at a glimpse.
You look at me with your serene but yet decipherable eyes and mitigates the stillness of loneliness in my opaque heart,
As a lady, you are an ideal sample of perfection; as a human, you are the integral part of Gods finest art.
I just can’t get enough of you; your love blooms with such sweetness like a long fermented wine,
I can drink and drown in its taste of breathtaking sweetness; get tipsy and still feel absolutely fine.
Your allure is offbeat; as indefinable as the coefficient of your inexhaustible beauty,
You are attention calling, extremely attractive to the dense bones of my cardiac cavity.
I love you and every unspoken word that you’ve ever thought of and every inch of flesh that is yours,
Your kiss is life to my cells; no such lips multiply cells in a single touch like yours.
My love for you is as indefinite as the sea; as vast as the galaxy of existence,
My love for you continues to grow just like root of plant grows beneath the soil with sublime resilience.
Like a Heron on fire; like a creeping mountain magma; my love blaze with such realness and sincerity,
And can never seize to end; be conquered by life’s challenges or drown in the depth of eternity.
Am stuck on you forever; forever bonded and inseparable like the Siamese twin for real,
Because baby; my love is forever; always have; and always will be.
Dec 29, 2016
Dec 29, 2016 at 4:01 AM UTC
On a date which is altogether known
In the billfolds of bankers
And the abutting hearts of lovers,
And thoroughly logged in the appropriate
Depositories under appropriate covers,
An event of some moment occurred.
The boroughs stood stock-still that day.
While bureaus of such things raced.
Reports came in the usual state-
Filed with numbers and subsetting letters
And screened through machines
To assure their congruence.
On the import of this the West has agreed
And suits of several cuts conferred-
Their message: “Not bereft of status
Past but graced by status wholly present,
Marked by Trojan Hector's tragic
Fall we come to budding Rome.”
****** the edifice mark'd the change:
Neighbors bowed in novel commune.
Seers took to foment rapture
And obfuscated pictures lent
Their turn to Hells hereafter.
Evoked again King Pyrrhus' loss.
The brazen poet took to this,
Formed a certain sense, a catch
Collecting parallels- change a liquid:
Afloat the wicked buoys of politic.
Ashore the masses- sheep- insipid.
Abroad the falling, downy snow
To rust the marble shrines of old.
But how keen the poet's blade?
Her wit dulls at the thick:
All the rest were just the same.
Homer and Hesiod, through to Hughes
Seek their crises to be the rare
One-off of guilt and bold reform.
But want for change- a timeless sore.
-c. c. Condry
Mar 12, 2011
Mar 12, 2011 at 8:31 PM UTC
To truly listen, you must care.
Be present, and self aware.
Do your contract at the start,
Too ensure, you’ve done your part.
Empathises through their eyes,
Connect the dots and be wise.
Person centred is the key,
To showing true empathy.
Communicate your limitations,
Boundaries and qualifications.
Ethics are what you need,
To value A human being.
Remain honest, and act true,
Be accountable, for all you do.
Act with nonmaleficence,
to show beneficence.
Ask open question, to aid progression.
I must critique we are all unique.
Let’s not forget about respect,
To have candour and protect,
Confidentiality - must be kept.
Be clear and transparent,
Paraphrase the apparent.
Focus on emotion, self governing and devotion.
Have congruence within your self,
Too ensure good mental health.
Apr 5, 2019
Apr 5, 2019 at 7:02 PM UTC
I remember at the airport, I could not wait for you to arrive;
my heart was in congruence with a clock that had stopped in time.
The first day we exchanged glances, it felt like love at first sight;
that further progressed into a passionate path of delight.
For all the time we have spent together;
it had me thinking if this was bound to last forever.
From the illicit responses to the transparent lack of affection;
inevitably, I was lost in translation with this apparent transgression.
It was not until I realized our paths were diverged;
that it was too late as I had deeply fallen in love.
I knew from then on this was too good to be true;
what you had thought it was too quick, too much, too soon.
I gave it all my might to make things right;
sadly, your reaction wasn’t just quite right.
I reminisced in the beginning how we thought without a word of doubt;
I would have never thought it would descend to this darker route.
For now I realize your arguments were not to suddenly fight;
but simply a way of saying we were not quite right.
Until this day, I still feel this true love for you;
but I will never know if you feel the same way too.
For all the conflicts that came into the light;
it was not easy to see what was wrong or what was right.
Even though our journeys have taken different flights;
I have to say, I am glad to have met you that night.
By: Michael M. De La Fuente
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 5:34 PM UTC
There exists no mortal luxury
Which rivals the pure delight
That is quiet companionship.
To fill silence
With notes of congruence
And to look out at landscapes
With bonded visions is to feel
Most poignantly
The righteousness of
Human existence.
I believe in these moments
Of softened connection
And strengthened ties,
In which I may feel that
I am one with you all
and we are meant to be
In combined presence.
There is not much to be sure of rather than beginnings and ends, but in the abstract in between I am grateful for friends.
Mar 16, 2019
Mar 16, 2019 at 10:01 PM UTC