"decrepit" poems
Being transgender is like this:
Everyday of your life, you have always wanted a dog.
For as long as you can remember--
even if you don't know to what extent--
you have wanted one.
You asked your parents, Santa, the easter bunny,
even the tooth fairy.
Then one day you get a dead cat for your birthday.
You say "This isn't a dog,"
But "You get what you get and don't get upset"
So you carry around and care for the dead carcass.
All sorts of people look at you,
unable to understand what you are doing.
So then one day you decide to try to make it look a bit nicer.
You wash it a bit, comb what little fur it has left,
cover the decrepit limbs.
But then you realize the futility in doing this all the time,
because you are still carrying around a dead animal.
So you continue to carry it around because you have to,
no matter how horrible it may be.
Although you are carrying around a dead and rotting cat,
you aren't a ******* cat owner;
You still want a ******* dog.
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 6:53 PM UTC
The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Faces without name, faces without purpose
Faces that are just like my own.
I watch the decrepit, old man
Standing, waiting for a train to nowhere
Wandering through the rest of his days
Like every second
Is his
Last.
The children playing there don’t know it yet.
Soon they will -- their weary mothers do.
Every day, growing older.
Every day, growing colder.
Every day, realizing our fate.
The tracks are wet from the cold,
Unfeeling rain.
The rain, which pours from the
Infinite sky,
[Of which we will all soon belong]
Floods the streets and earth
[Of which we will all soon belong]
The drops dismantle the delicate flowers surrounding us...
Petals
Drop
To
The
Ground
helpless.
Our days dwindle as such.
One day
We will all be these
Petals on a wet, black bough.
Nov 11, 2012
Nov 11, 2012 at 3:02 AM UTC
Lost Love
He remembers that day
many sad years ago
it was sunny out,
but soon a storm raged.
He returned home early
from work,
eager
to rest and nurse a cold.
Eager
to see his gorgeous wife
fix him a delicious soup
and give loving care,
a remedy not.
He caught a surprise.
Was it then a hallucination?
To see her ex's car
in front of their house,
fanning the flames in his heart?
Or to imagine the house shaking,
or to hear love noises howling
from the rafters of contempt,
as her fireplace warmed tempest.
He sure hoped then... it had been a misfire
it wasn't.
He slowly opened the front door,
walking decrepit and sad,
like he was in hospice care.
He could see the final script
playing out,
more so the tragic ending
the trail of clothes,
her ex-boyfriend's scent,
calamity,
and approaching closer
the devil speaking louder.
He opened the bedroom door
to their parts caught in honey jars
and scarlet red on his tainted wife
over bed sheets of shame.
Their eyes catch,
both flush, and tearful,
as breathing stopped,
his melancholy eyes asking why?
Why?
What about the future lily pods,
our family, house, kids
... and you sell out.
What about being fresh
out of college with our dreams,
passion and honor...us.
What about the bonds,
pinky swears, pricking of blood
marital vows.
Her eyes had no answers.
She cried, loudest
as her ex-boyfriend bolted
not before passing the mill.
He closed her door for good
that mournful day,
dismissing darkness,
opening his wrath for her
in his mind, yet
what words or light can be exchanged?
Uprooted and lost, he walked
scarred over and over
by her promise and lost love.
That was thirty years ago
and he still walks with her
ghosts, and it still pains.
LR-5/4/17
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 11:31 PM UTC
born in illusory chains
gnarled metal
encrusted in my broken skin
the copper colored dust
of rusted steel
infectiously envelopes
shaving off antiquated layers
of fundamentalist religion
encrusted for generations
unpeeled until raw
an unsophisticated method
unveiling
ancient lodged glass shards
colored with deceit
brought before their court
interrogated
unfathomably skewered
an eerie salem witch trial
in modern times
barbarically they shun me
banished
i wander aimlessly
smelling the rotten decay of deceased community
as splinters pierce my feet
from the crooked wooden plank
i walk alone now
an unfathomable inner ache
kindled a residue within
igniting a wildfire from the darkest shadows
uncontainably erupting
i dance savagely
naked in the orange moonlight
and in every shaded edge
lit my soul ablaze
i am a nomad sheep
‘tho not one of their color
no pasture to contain me
no shepherd i can follow
theological safety nets
no longer there to catch me
bohemian-like
i plunge
free falling
plummeting
stripped wide open
magically
fearlessness
reverses gravitation
floating
untethered
i soar amongst
apricot tinged clouds
my skin still wet from rebirth
and rise with the flaming coral sun
you cannot destroy me
i twisted in your decrepit pencil sharpener
and with fresh mettle
cut through the chains that bound
you can have my ego
but you cannot have my soul
dismantling domestication
transcending limitation
wildly untamed
i fly
©2016janetaylor
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 6:40 AM UTC
*Let me be captured by the night.
Engrossed in the conversation
between the stars.
Syncopated twinkling like...
thousands of fireflies
trapped within sealed jars.
Let me be enslaved by the moon.
As I drink her glow in
greedy insatiable gulps.
Crestfallen...
Her beam with an agenda...
As the landscape she sculpts.
Let me be ensnared by my solitude.
But I hear crickets...
Chirping and chipping away at my
bastion of dreamstate.
Persistent calls
I try to shun
that never abates.
Let me be trapped in my thoughts.
So I could harness...
And immortalise them in
indelible careless scribbles.
Erecting and...
Rebuilding them from the
rubble of conflicting squabbles.
**Let me be overwhelmed
by the mess of my being...**
Let me wallow
Then emerge strong from this
decrepit state of mind.
Let me breathe heavy from my
punctured lungs.
So I could heal in time before
true solace
in this dark,
I would find.*
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 12:05 PM UTC
to exonerate the clippings
they took the back road to oswega
the tudor house rabbits
had long lost their heads
(presumably to the *****
and what remained
of the landscape
was dead
and dry
and orange
that happy home
on the brink
of cattle loop
was now gull grey
the needles
and stragglers
from shady bay
remained (in growing numbers)
on the outskirts
of the driven back park
the once fabled town
of horse drawn tours
and dignitaries
was stone washed ~
on the back of it's
government docks
sat decrepit toppers
set against the high tide
beside the lighthouse
and its measured song
flutes and fiddlers
and acoustic sitars
ride the accompaniment
nose rings
and signage
in the hands of
staged protesters
the sickly spit strewn
with tidal run
and ocean bags
hedgerows trimmed
along the sea side
rolling hills fade
adjacent the chuck
mint juleps
and flop hats
peak on the parade
clydesdales
and royals
blinded in the back
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 2:41 PM UTC
Within creased paper lie binded souls
Firmly held within my clutch ,
Ideology hemorrhaging as non-opposables only bend so much.
Thirsty i reached for a swig of your cup
Open palmed
This vessel mishandled
the contents soaked through bedrock
Its remains a drink for the decrepit.
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 9:16 AM UTC
Hello Chicago
Flat carpet-town of corn meal
steel spears at the northern junction
of Cahokia and some unknown dream
No lillies grow here sir,
no tulip fields
though there are many Dutch
a little up north
Wisconsin, dontcha' know?
Family blood rains through the Chicago river
named of the blood of a slain tribal wonder
wanders
with the roaming buffalo
I sat at the top of Sears
(Willis)
Tower and peered into the foggy distance
and made out the shores of Michigan
through Indiana
the leftover rains of a continental freeze
churned the earth to butter and carved the arteries
and bowels
of today's earthly body
And when we drove in from O'Hare
in the late hours on incessant stoplight highways
counting down the streets
thinking maybe they'll go all the way to
Mississippi
just a long row of
Concrete
I saw the brick tower
of a decrepit Frito-lay plant
where they cooked their corn and potato
into succulent
can't eat just one
little snacks
for the whole of america
to enjoy in backyard barbecues
and convenience stores
and grocery outlets
All across the planet
Now with the trucks they come and go
up to and whizzing past Chicago
on to greener states with greater relief
with hills and lakes and winding streams
Different sections of the sculpture
Cities eroding into the pleasant coasts
quaking and breaking into tiny stones
a monumental David
cracked in the gallery
bird **** corroding the silicates
unpolished and immortal
words
Chicago!
oh you mighty city you
built from sod and sweat and dew
of new morning
I see your towers
you dreamer, you
But your towers are in Dubai,
and Shanghai
now
The world moved on
and forgot everything about
that magnificent mile
burned to make you earn
new toys and fancy things
from far beyond your winding river streams
But you didn't die
amazing, how much they tried
to rust you out
to bleed you dry
no,
Chicago,
you keep your ***** rivers flowing
all the way to the Mississippi
flanked by modern Roman concrete
all the way to the great green sea
out into the puddle that surronds
the Amerigo
Chicago
don't you give up that river dream
Jun 14, 2018
Jun 14, 2018 at 3:26 PM UTC
You make me feel wistful
With your tight bellies, limpid eyes and endless manes of hair,
You make me feel afraid.
Dainty Angels,
I can't...Quite...Remember...
You make me feel jealous
With your waiflike allure, sad vulnerability, delicate beauty,
You make me feel inadequate.
Fairy Foundlings,
I won't...ever...be....
You make me feel ancient
Outside, dated and decrepit.
How do you feel? What do you need?
Why are you all so sad?
My dreams are your nightmares.
I tasted raindrops once, too
I almost have it, almost understand.
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 3:05 AM UTC
A young girl is walking on a sinuous and rough trail.
Wounds and scratches have found its place in her body, so frail.
As she reached the end of the pathway, she began to feel decrepit and impuissant that she wanted to discreetly skreigh.
On a cloudy dark night, a boy appeared in the fog.
He said
Everthing will be okay..
Don't worry..
Just take my hand..
He took her to a place
that is very bright,
dazzling that it hurts
her heavy eyes.
They both sitted on an evergreen
well-groomed grass.
She noticed the beautiful scenery that appeared.
It calmed her mind,
her heart,
her whole being.
The sun shines,
the water by the river is crystal blue,
the breeze of the wind blows her hair.
She have seen the skies,
the birds and the flowers
surrounded by tall trees.
This place is filled with love, joy and happiness.
This is the place that she can choose to be with
or she can be in another world..
- Ella Salvador
Jun 4, 2018
Jun 4, 2018 at 5:18 AM UTC
Decrepit creature, in the cellar you dwell,
to be at the side of the "angel" that fell.
The door was cast open, my words - yours to slur,
the glimpse of your face, forever a blur.
Consumed in smoke, to linger at demand,
you were given to me, you're mine to command.
A desolate figure, with the number of six,
you are all combinations insanity could mix.
As a nothingness to live, to be as a whole,
to exist like a human, but to feed from a soul.
You are every hate but love I can acquire,
the sadistics of fantasy, the perversions of desire.
The purity of innocence, all knowledge to contain,
The hatred to breed, the ****** to refrain.
The being to devour, the being to let be,
to know, to dare, to will, to remain silent is to see.
Fear not he is there, fear so that he is,
to feed from the source you've convinced him is his.
He knows not what you are, but he knows it too well,
to exist in your life, he knows not where you dwell.
You know who you are, but he feels of himself not,
you are all that he craves, he is all that you sought.
He is the sanity to forever keep you mundane,
he is the power to forever keep you insane.
He is the understanding, the logic to be told,
the agony to breathe, the death you hold.
He is yours for the taking, but so are you,
The connection to what you can't have,
but the connection to what you do.
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 6:08 PM UTC
Banished before thon barren plains,
Where treacherous tears abstain
Fare. Fair is the waste,
The impurity of deep, decrepit weeds.
And dage brings fruit then touched
Only by their ravens of rot.
May they paint thine tainted stave
In golden garth and lull the lark;
“Mine, Sweet babe,
Robbed of cradle
Readied for ritual.
Mine, Sweet babe,
Gore masked black
Within the crimson bath.”
Lacen their throats, the gullets that gloat!
Lest langes of thorns, wrap the bairn sworn.
Death breeds glore o’er luid nights
Beldam rise belles in wicked repel.
Round the funeral pyre.
Jul 19, 2021
Jul 19, 2021 at 1:38 PM UTC
Lays of Mystery,
Imagination, and Humor
Number 1
I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls,
And each damp thing that creeps and crawls
Went wobble-wobble on the walls.
Faint odours of departed cheese,
Blown on the dank, unwholesome breeze,
Awoke the never ending sneeze.
Strange pictures decked the arras drear,
Strange characters of woe and fear,
The humbugs of the social sphere.
One showed a vain and noisy ****
That shouted empty words and big
At him that nodded in a wig.
And one, a dotard grim and gray,
Who wasteth childhood's happy day
In work more profitless than play.
Whose icy breast no pity warms,
Whose little victims sit in swarms,
And slowly sob on lower forms.
And one, a green thyme-honoured Bank,
Where flowers are growing wild and rank,
Like weeds that fringe a poisoned tank.
All birds of evil omen there
Flood with rich Notes the tainted air,
The witless wanderer to snare.
The fatal Notes neglected fall,
No creature heeds the treacherous call,
For all those goodly Strawn Baits Pall.
The wandering phantom broke and fled,
Straightway I saw within my head
A vision of a ghostly bed,
Where lay two worn decrepit men,
The fictions of a lawyer's pen,
Who never more might breathe again.
The serving-man of Richard Roe
Wept, inarticulate with woe:
She wept, that waiting on John Doe.
"Oh rouse", I urged, "the waning sense
With tales of tangled evidence,
Of suit, demurrer, and defence."
"Vain", she replied, "such mockeries:
For morbid fancies, such as these,
No suits can suit, no plea can please."
And bending o'er that man of straw,
She cried in grief and sudden awe,
Not inappropriately, "Law!"
The well-remembered voice he knew,
He smiled, he faintly muttered "Sue!"
(Her very name was legal too.)
The night was fled, the dawn was nigh:
A hurricane went raving by,
And swept the Vision from mine eye.
Vanished that dim and ghostly bed,
(The hangings, tape; the tape was red happy
'Tis o'er, and Doe and Roe are dead!
Oh, yet my spirit inly crawls,
What time it shudderingly recalls
That horrid dream of marble halls!
5.5k
MONKEY IN A RED FEZ DANCING TO ABBA
I watch the children play
on a sunny Sunday in Rotterdam
like a stereotypical alien
studying humans.
Their cries rise and fall
like seagulls as they swing
sea-sawing or blurring into one
on a brightly coloured turnstile.
A man looking
like a badly drawn cartoon
turns the handle slowly of
a broken down barrel *****
A monkey in a red fez
dances on the end of a chain.
The barrel ***** spews out
everything from Abba to Franz Lehar.
The decrepit old man
and even more decrepit monkey
appear as if they have
stepped out of another century.
I am far from home.
The day is dying.
I read from my battered book
Hamsun's HUNGER.
It's lurid cover torn
half hanging on/off.
The park deserted now
as night steals its colours.
The last words of
of this the final chapter
are lost to me
swallowed by the dark.
The barrel ***** peersists
the soundtrack to some forgotten film
The monkey red fez
fallen at its feet.
The monkey blissfully
asleep.
The music caught
entangled in branches and leaves.
I watch the yellow lights
blossom one by one
a silhouette of houses
like a stage set.
Houses like cut-out silhouettes
a stage set.
The last lines revealed
under a passing lamp
"...where the windows shone so
brightly in every home..."
I laugh at such
a coincidence.
Leave the book on the bench
for some other me
to discover
when the sun comes up.
And return
to my space ship.
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 5:17 PM UTC
Dazed.
The stars never seemed so far away
Lying with hopelessness sleeping next to my pillow
In the arms of seclusion, still I lay
After a long night we formed a *********
No strength to pray
Withing my carapace
I inquire a reason
Of why I'm so numb
Where is my lighter?
Concealing my pain
Where is my grinder?
When life is like a sudden rush of fresh air to
A raging set of flames
Savagely searching for an euphoria
But it's the impossible to maintain
Longing for an escape
Only in sweet serenity
But when 5 fingers deadly hugs your heart
& wrings out your
Innocence, happiness, and tranquility
You are forced to watch them leak
Decrepit
Reaching for a lighter to blaze the leaf
Because in the sober mind
You Are Weak
No that is me.
So I begin to pollute my temple
Taking it all into my bloodstream
With the exhale of a breath
In the mist of a cloud
I release my exhaustion
My emotion and my temper
Enhancing my inner being suddenly,
I know with facts that I am steel
Making it through another dreadful night
My wounds are temporarily healed
But
When there was no soul to console
No arms to hold
No pen to make art
No illumination from the dark
Only the flame that I flick
Which forms so beautifully &
Dances in front of my eyes
Offended that beauty could destroy so ruthlessly
A killer in disguise
Or ruthlessly be destroyed
In this life full of void
Consumed by the misery of all the screams
All the noise
When the Sun's job is done, it hides from the World
Full of hatred and pity
Another night comes
Captive in these four walls
No where to run
Now I'm forced to look at how far I've come
I could have died in insanity
Arson my soul
Plead guilty of ******
A Killer Upfront
If I had not match all those nights with all those blunts
Copy Right 2013
©Patty Ann
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 5:08 PM UTC
Nobody knows the
the darker corners
of my decrepit soul,
a stale and stinky
nasty shrinking
***** of abstraction,
that is less than
a fraction
of nothingness,
a shadowy space
where people cringe
and strangers displace
their rage
till tension and resentment
fill this smelly place.
Nobody knows
that my heart
does not grow
but disposes
of the red roses,
dripping paint
of crimson pain,
beatings
taken in exchange
for struggles
and anguish,
pumping out plump
plumes of poetry
and prose
to express the truth,
that nobody knows.
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 11:48 AM UTC
this game has no rules
wikipedia is full of it
z-list celebrity
remember that nobody cares except you
this statement is a statement
this statement exists
this statement has letters
poets just want to jump in
sighs about the decrepit state of humanity
thanks to those who make it worthwhile
and eternal damnation to those who don't
enjoying my indulgent freedom here
hanging up
pentabarf
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 2:50 PM UTC
There, somewhere, is a place so familiar, that you've forgotten
and you didn't even know.
In this place is a building, decrepit, with walls well worn,
built with the least experienced of hands.
These hands, now gone, showed a tenderness in their craftsmanship,
a love now forlorn as the walls
Walls held up with the determination of creeping moss
that spreads through the corners of the halls.
Halls so sprawling as to confuse those who dare to come in
and seek the treasures within
These treasures hidden, repressed and no longer precious,
a sentinel to those left behind.
And these treasures you found within these halls
bound by these godforsaken walls
built by those who know, knew, and would never have
Reside in a building beyond all paths
That calls to you and all that you believe
To compel you in, so you'll never leave.
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 4:19 AM UTC
too much time to think.
crushing is how i would describe it
like walls falling to the floor
with a more than deafening crash
a single hand suffocating my throat
and along with it; a suppression
of my creativity, and livelihood
i’m not sure who i am without you.
it’s been far too long.
the mediocrity of my attempts
at denial are almost laughable.
if it weren’t so pathetic in it’s origin.
the night proves to be the worst.
stuck; contemplating a lost unity.
a severance of what once was.
the void and i have found solace in each other.
alone, decrepit; trying our best to survive
in whatever way, we can. avoiding the gaze of the time.
this is such a strange place to be alive.
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 4:53 AM UTC
Swooping through the city streets,
the alleys, the corners, every crevice and crack.
Education and language never to be seen, dissipating with the past.
Ingrained in the brain, the common normality, placed on the famous track.
Morality has diminished, human beings are finished.
No curative for this disease,
a disgusting devious deceit
Two dozen selfies left behind,
just you, old and decrepit
all your doing,
your design,
a silly lie.
A ***** disguise.
Alone with a wasted life.
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 11:01 PM UTC
I dream of a society
Where the ideals of beauty
Are less focused on superficial concepts like one's waistline
Or how decrepit their smile lines made them appear
But rather one where the focal point of unanimous adoration is,
As corny as this may sound,
One's morals and where they land on the gradient of human compassion
In this utopia,
The elderly aren't seen as catalysts for repugnance and a wrinkling of noses
But rather as symbols of eruditeness and beauty
The type of beauty that influence or money can't obtain
And it may be conceivable that instead of wasting my days squandering over my physical appearance,
I can just fritter away the days
Strumming my ukulele along to the tune of my American dream
For I have yet to actually awaken from my adolescent slumber
Breifly enough to grasp my dream from the bubble floating above my resting head
And nestle it securely in my pocket
So it doesn't forgo me
In search of someone less complacent with bewilderment about their future
Who dreams of social and economic prosperity
Instead of someone who's apathetic at best about whatever career choice they've chosen for the week
Maybe that's just it
That maybe I don't want the conventional American dream of fame or fortune or recognition
Is it feasible that maybe my American dream isn't to rise from sqaulor into a soulless mansion
Whose corridors boast success
But lack warmth and presence?
I suppose that my American dream encompasses more than just America itself
It lives in the eyes of every human being on the face of the earth
It's nestled in the gaze of a starving child
And the stare of anyone who's ever felt a tongue's razor edge
And all I'd have to do is delve into their eye sockets and plant a seed
A seed of hope and compassion
Or whatever I deem fit
Perhaps I just want to shield myself
From the world's disapproving glances,
Those fleeting moments of eye contact that convey condescending judgement
Maybe I'd just like to make a difference to things sans the media’s snide opinion
But despite my juxtaposition to society's critical assessments,
I know that I can't run away from my fears or problems
So maybe I dream of a society
Where I can remain headstrong even in the face of opposition
Because I'm aware that not everyone's going to love each other
And spout sweet nothings about peace and understanding from their hind quarters
So maybe I'd like to help be a driving force
That wards off the world's shadows
So the sun can continue to shine on my American dream
Aug 14, 2012
Aug 14, 2012 at 11:14 PM UTC
The sky descended its sapphire pearls from its embellished chalice. The pearls decorated my lonesome face, I stared upwards into the grey heavens of solemnity. I was searching for answers.
I felt nothing as the water rolled off my fingertips, those precious jewels crashed the surface of the decrepit earth. This feeling I so longed for, so begged for, so sought.
Empty like a vessel, I stood and soaked the frequency in, seconds that felt like days, time stopped, it stopped for me. Maybe for once in my life I was in control, this was it.
No pain, no sorrow, I was free. In that moment I bathed. Bathed in the past, as my future filled my lungs, I was drowning in truth.
Baptized from suffering, I was rooted, longing for the gods to purify me. I am a mere spec in the vast void, existing, while life just moves on.
I couldn’t fathom moving on, what good could that bring if nothing in life was guaranteed.
And just like that, the fear crept back in again, and I found myself, back in hell.
Oct 11, 2022
Oct 11, 2022 at 8:54 AM UTC
Goodbye
Goodbye
Goodbye
The petals begin to die
Goodbye
Goodbye
Goodbye
The heavens start to cry
Goodbye
Goodbye
Goodbye
Let out a collective sigh
The drudgery of life
The need to avoid strife
Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye
It's all in your mind
A fabrication
Imagination
Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye
In and out
Up and down
They go as they come
They bring gladness as they leave sadness
Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye
Deathly still
As still as death
Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye
I've been told to move on
As young and beautiful
As a newborn fawn
As broken and doubtful
As a mind so torn
Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye
You have left us tonight
You're nowhere in sight
Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye
The moss spreads
The dust collects
Decrepit but not dead
Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye
I've been told I'm wasting my life
I've been told to let go
I know it's all true
It's something I must do
Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye
You left
and now, I'd like to leave too
Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye
No.
A simple word
A simple meaning
All over my mind
Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye
I won't let you go
I refuse to do so
You embody life
A life I wish was mine
Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye
You said goodbye,
not on purpose, of course
But they said goodbye
on purpose.
Who do I believe?
The living or the dead?
Goodbye. Goodbye. Goodbye.
It's the only word in my mind.
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 9:57 AM UTC
Love too much
Hurt too much
Always needing a heart to touch
Limitless sources of abundance so clear
No ability to cause you harm or unnecessary fear
Sometimes momentary blindness, inability to truly hear
Critical lapses of excruciating, intensity from my vivid past
Try, as I might, to make the most healthy relationship last
As days turn into nights, I wish a moment of bliss with you that would last.
Not sure anymore, of anything that is real
Putrid, agonizing, annoyance seems to keep me off keel
Hoping, dreaming and wanting for my positive feelings to be real
Lustful thoughts of our time together feel ****** and surreal
In the midst of the anger and bitterness, I realize I am able to feel.
Seductive, entranced, mesmorized with true love stamped within our hearts, forever sealed.
The dripping of the lukewarm indecision has grown old, decrepit and shames me in despair
Ready now for the realness of a soul mate, never knowing one that cared.
So here it goes, where it ends, know one knows… now that my soul has been given and shared.
In the end, where I have always been
Crushed within the lions den
Here I am, nothing hidden, never knowing the why and when.
My heart is now yours and given of my free will
Never again will I have to trudge up the loneliness hill.
The love that I seek has been found in you
With a light in our eyes, yours sparkling blue.
The things in my past that riddled me with fear
When the darkness replaced the light is no longer here.
I'm trusting you to love me and hope it is true.
This poem was written especially for you.
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 1:21 PM UTC
I will
not
wait
for you
to strip
the last
oxygen molecule
from my decrepit
body.
Aug 13, 2012
Aug 13, 2012 at 9:14 PM UTC