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"eluded" poems
Peoples’ lives are dying in consistency; Greed in their pedestal has corrupted this world’s societies. A fruitful opportunity, a gold rush was encountered! Underlying the main ambition of many unfortunate ambitious desires.    Persistently seeking an object of materiality, Children have become contracted to labor endlessly till mortality. The corporate pose has overshadowed humanity, Predetermining existence through living in a vision of obscurity.    Freedom has evolved in many attaining their dreams, Yet, failing to realize their limits in overstepping boundaries. Morality has been compromised to new opportunities. Ultimately, corrupting one’s essence in living spiritually.    We have eluded to perceive the subtle communication they have established you see. Projecting honesty while planting a seed, they enrich themselves invulnerably. Enabled through the loophole of ignorance attracted by social mediocrity, Revealing a battle between each other secretly disguised as insecurity.    Asking how do I seek success, freedom, and happiness endlessly. Indubitably, the answer relies inside, secreting awareness internally. Discovering that the war begins within may end the violence indeed. Extinguishing eternal destruction of the world through peace and harmony.    By: Michael M. De La Fuente
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May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 7:47 PM UTC
Greed
Lasting love has eluded me Loneliness still consumes No matter what I do or the difference that I make The hole inside me grows bigger with time Why can’t I shake it Why can’t I be fine What’s the matter that I can’t just love only myself and embrace my time alone I can’t explain it I’ve tried so very hard to chart a new path Extrovert, fun, life of the party they say If only they knew the bleakness inside I hurt from the trauma, the heartbreak and loss I’ve endured I’ve never felt good enough for this world I inhabit Maybe the next one will be more my jam This lone life is just not for me I hang on for others So that they won’t be sad But in time I will be ready To do what I feel is in my grand plan
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Aug 27, 2023
Aug 27, 2023 at 11:48 PM UTC
Grand Plan
Sometimes is seems as though it's easy for us to just walk by Nonexistent are the pictures of them Moving, living, breathing Them, societies refuse Thrown away and discarded by life We are no longer our brother’s keeper Human beings rendered worthless; useless We move amongst them as a breeze blowing by Uncaring for all in its path Rushing to its destination Our selfish needs to hold on to the little we have And keep it from those who have none Not even our "little" Quickly it has become forgotten At any moment any of us can be overtaken by hunger Sweeping over us as garbage in the street Leaving us bare, empty, hungry We too can be eluded by shelter With no one to care No hands reaching out to help We too can become a fracture in humanity I see them peering at me from behind broken spectacles Shoeless feet in the winter Suffering in the bitter cold, nowhere to go Sound the alarm Our fellow humans are dying! Not perishing to wounds in battle Senseless crimes, illness & disease They're dying of hunger Exposure to extreme weather Tantrums of Mother Nature Sometimes we're afraid Afraid of the side effects of being homeless Some become as a Gemini having dual personalities The person they once were And the person being homeless Fighting for every breath of air has made them The side effect, the other twin The homeless twin with nowhere to sleep Our underrated simplicity of going to bed Let us keep our brothers In keeping our brothers, it is ourselves that we keep Safe, fed, protected, secured, sheltered The right of every human being
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Aug 2, 2010
Aug 2, 2010 at 12:41 PM UTC
Helping Hands
Sometimes is seems as though it's easy for us to just walk by Nonexistent are the pictures of them Moving, living, breathing Them, societies refuse Thrown away and discarded by life We are no longer our brother’s keeper Human beings rendered worthless; useless We move amongst them as a breeze blowing by Uncaring for all in its path Rushing to its destination Our selfish needs to hold on to the little we have And keep it from those who have none Not even our "little" Quickly it has become forgotten At any moment any of us can be overtaken by hunger Sweeping over us as garbage in the street Leaving us bare, empty, hungry We too can be eluded by shelter With no one to care No hands reaching out to help We too can become a fracture in humanity I see them peering at me from behind broken spectacles Shoeless feet in the winter Suffering in the bitter cold, nowhere to go Sound the alarm Our fellow humans are dying! Not perishing to wounds in battle Senseless crimes, illness & disease They're dying of hunger Exposure to extreme weather Tantrums of Mother Nature Sometimes we're afraid Afraid of the side effects of being homeless Some become as a Gemini having dual personalities The person they once were And the person being homeless Fighting for every breath of air has made them The side effect, the other twin The homeless twin with nowhere to sleep Our underrated simplicity of going to bed Let us keep our brothers In keeping our brothers, it is ourselves that we keep Safe, fed, protected, secured, sheltered The right of every human being
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44
On a new conquest, I embark Travel light I found the temple in the dark Wet, yet warm Beautiful stems Curl around my arm Deeper I go The water does flow I feel it in the walls I hear all of your calls Carrying on, through the dark damp walls I found the spot, The spot that has eluded all A trophy in the form of a waterfall Cascades over me.
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Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 12:17 AM UTC
Conquest
The Sounding Foam of Primal Things *(The title and the poem, taken from and inspired by Carl Sandburg's "Who Am I?") wind and rain pound the surf. snow falls on the beach, on the shore. man-observer cannot tell: has the earth gone mad, all wet? do the seas rise, whipped up, filling the heavens, or does the white rain replenishes the very body, from whence it came, and now returns? this matters greatly, yet nothing answers this, his question. the furious soundings, the green foam churn, the silence of no response inebriates, drunk on the tempest's hard wet liquor, weighed down, sodden with the despair, solitude, silence, absent answers, his natural walking companions! No Stopping signs on almost every corner, Do Not Pass, Do Not Enter, One Way, Two Way, No Thru Passage, but the one sign he seeks, "Stay On The Path" absent. Eluded, dispassionate endings, the essential quietude among furious surround-sounds of creative destruction he ceases to ask, for unanswered, undirected. Concluded, either their is no one listening, or, there is no one caring, or, Deluded, illusion is truth, he is an illusion. ------------------
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Feb 14, 2014
Feb 14, 2014 at 10:57 PM UTC
The Sounding Foam of Primal Things
Finally it is done. For months I have been collecting ingredients for the magical elixir - home grown ginger and rosemary, fresh organic garlic, onions and lemon, finely chopped jalapeno pepper, powdered turmeric, Ceylon cinnamon, tulsi, kelp and black pepper. What eluded me was the pungent, fresh horseradish, unexpectedly absent in our stores and farmers markets, until a birthday trip to New York, when we found the massive roots in a Russian market. And, once properly chopped and shredded and zested, all is covered and bathed in organic apple cider vinegar, a superfood in itself, where it will draw out the healing constituents of each vital ingredient, creating a powerhouse of wellness. And now we wait. Four to eight weeks of shaking the jars every day before we drain the lot, run the pulp through a juice extractor and add the final touch ... local honey, raw and unfiltered, adding sweetness and its own preserving power, along with a strong boost to health. A long time to wait for this Nectar of the Gods, but so very worth it: a shot of this each day and colds and flu stand no chance - bacteria and virus alike overwhelmed - say goodbye to illness. Let us now give thanks to our grandmothers and all the lay herbalists of generations long past, for through their efforts, our own knowledge is greatly enriched. We stand on the shoulders of giants. 5July2015
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Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 9:19 PM UTC
Fire Cider
As a ginger, I'm inclined to say fox. I've always had an affinity for those cunning, red canines. But if it's just for a day then perhaps something a bit more adventurous. I suppose I would choose to be a cheetah. Fastest land animal in the world, agile, and speckled. Nobody messes with a cheetah. Not because they’re so hulking or intimidating— just more fascinating than terrifying. We travelled to South Africa once, my family and I. As a tribe we chased wild creatures down with cameras in jeeps in a raucous yet hushed thrill.   The cheetah was one of the few animals that eluded us. Perhaps having never seen one up close is partially what draws me to them.   Mysterious, as well as evasive, with an "I don't give a **** attitude. They only eat every so often because catching food is such a feat. When they do hunt however, it's one of the most spectacular things in the natural world. It's why places that sell tv's show footage of cheetahs running in slow motion over and over on a dizzying loop; demonstrating how clear the pixels are in the plasmas. It's mesmerizing. Their feet move too fast and fly over the dirt, honed in on whatever poor gazelle or kudu they're after. If you're a cheetah that is your body, your thin bones, your rapid heart and beating paws that make you move in such a blur. To be a cheetah for a day is feeling and knowing the difference between machine and muscle. Humans have found ways to fly, and people regularly move faster than a top speed of 75mph. But how sublime it would be! To be solely and purely responsible for that unparalleled speed just for one day.
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Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 6:18 PM UTC
To Be an Animal for a Day
As a ginger, I'm inclined to say fox. I've always had an affinity for those cunning, red canines. But if it's just for a day then perhaps something a bit more adventurous. I suppose I would choose to be a cheetah. Fastest land animal in the world, agile, and speckled. Nobody messes with a cheetah. Not because they’re so hulking or intimidating— just more fascinating than terrifying. We travelled to South Africa once, my family and I. As a tribe we chased wild creatures down with cameras in jeeps in a raucous yet hushed thrill.   The cheetah was one of the few animals that eluded us. Perhaps having never seen one up close is partially what draws me to them.   Mysterious, as well as evasive, with an "I don't give a **** attitude. They only eat every so often because catching food is such a feat. When they do hunt however, it's one of the most spectacular things in the natural world. It's why places that sell tv's show footage of cheetahs running in slow motion over and over on a dizzying loop; demonstrating how clear the pixels are in the plasmas. It's mesmerizing. Their feet move too fast and fly over the dirt, honed in on whatever poor gazelle or kudu they're after. If you're a cheetah that is your body, your thin bones, your rapid heart and beating paws that make you move in such a blur. To be a cheetah for a day is feeling and knowing the difference between machine and muscle. Humans have found ways to fly, and people regularly move faster than a top speed of 75mph. But how sublime it would be! To be solely and purely responsible for that unparalleled speed just for one day.
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13
Tell me there's a chance; That elation hasn't eluded us That love in its purest form Dwells united in our soul Tell me we are what we seem More than any other We are Stardust and the semblance of time For it ceases to exist in our reality Tell me the joy in our hearts Is fated through eternity That we are who we have always been Forever, we will share one heart
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Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 1:25 AM UTC
Eternal Stardust
The clouds separated the Sun from my life for too long I wondered if it even existed And if it existed Would it know I existed? It's warm companionship eluded me I was frozen in the wastelands I donned my armor of ice And embraced all that is frigid and bleak My feet turned into rockets as flowers bloomed all around me I rode headfirst into the sky on a jet of pure nature I cut through the friction in the air And exploded through the clouds The Sun's disorienting light loved me Without vision I flew to it's warmth When I reached the Sun I kissed it on the mouth and we danced around the galaxy And the Sun radiated our love to every living creature in the universe But the Sun abandoned me out in space The Sun returned to giving life to all And I am but one I just thought that maybe I could help it give life Because at one point I was a star Now I'm just dust Is it so selfish to want it's power for myself? I've been floating in darkness for a while And I feel very Alien: Isolation right now But this is no game And Sigourney Weaver couldn't fight my monsters Game over, man
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May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 4:44 PM UTC
Isolation
Screeeeeeeechhh! Thud! Silence! Hearts stopped Faces turned Jaws dropped Prayers began He left his assembled bricks and wood and furniture and ran ran towards the sunset with nothing but his silhouette following him even years later it felt like yesterday possessed he ran as fast as he could Prayers began blurry shapes hoarded around the car his eyes refused to close against the horror of what lay beside his high crushed into water his delusion failed him his brain froze He ran as fast as he could to the beach wanting to walk into the water wanting to stop breathing seeking unfathomable peace that final peace His brain froze get out of the car people shouted was a life lost he didn’t dare to find out he just wanted a few seconds back just a few seconds back please That final peace eluded him waves silenced by his cornucopia of emotions his eyes now refused to open the saltiness of the beach was overcome by tears that flowed in secrecy inflaming everything within reach embracing his cheeks toying with his lips Please callanambulance sheisbleeding somebody tieyourshirtaroundherbleedinghead isittoolate is it too late Toying with his lips tears turning into questions could I ever forgive myself his sobbing heart didn't acknowledge the question it just faded he lived with himself he died within Is it too late his wife asked holding his hands breathing heavily her eyes averred every moment that they shared their feuds their make ups their teasing their loving her eyes were done speaking and now they rested He died within wailing like a baby he slept there with parched eyes reminiscing her parting words etched in his heart etched so deep that it bled internally bled and ached to release a shriek through muteness muteness, deafening deafening his emotions making them oblivious to his existence his fists clenching the vacuum of solitude the moon and waves began their tango and the water rose higher and higher embracing him within maimed to be saved releasing a gushing hymn for she was now deemed forever with him.
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Jul 28, 2012
Jul 28, 2012 at 11:38 AM UTC
Accident
Screeeeeeeechhh! Thud! Silence! Hearts stopped Faces turned Jaws dropped Prayers began He left his assembled bricks and wood and furniture and ran ran towards the sunset with nothing but his silhouette following him even years later it felt like yesterday possessed he ran as fast as he could Prayers began blurry shapes hoarded around the car his eyes refused to close against the horror of what lay beside his high crushed into water his delusion failed him his brain froze He ran as fast as he could to the beach wanting to walk into the water wanting to stop breathing seeking unfathomable peace that final peace His brain froze get out of the car people shouted was a life lost he didn’t dare to find out he just wanted a few seconds back just a few seconds back please That final peace eluded him waves silenced by his cornucopia of emotions his eyes now refused to open the saltiness of the beach was overcome by tears that flowed in secrecy inflaming everything within reach embracing his cheeks toying with his lips Please callanambulance sheisbleeding somebody tieyourshirtaroundherbleedinghead isittoolate is it too late Toying with his lips tears turning into questions could I ever forgive myself his sobbing heart didn't acknowledge the question it just faded he lived with himself he died within Is it too late his wife asked holding his hands breathing heavily her eyes averred every moment that they shared their feuds their make ups their teasing their loving her eyes were done speaking and now they rested He died within wailing like a baby he slept there with parched eyes reminiscing her parting words etched in his heart etched so deep that it bled internally bled and ached to release a shriek through muteness muteness, deafening deafening his emotions making them oblivious to his existence his fists clenching the vacuum of solitude the moon and waves began their tango and the water rose higher and higher embracing him within maimed to be saved releasing a gushing hymn for she was now deemed forever with him.
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105
Family: a group of individuals living under one roof and usually under one head. I need to know the meaning of the word family. The true meaning. For years it has eluded me. But not today. The family, your family, my family, our families. What the world perceives and what I perceive as family, Are the same in words but not in thought. My wish is for everything to be as one. No separation of any kind. When you hear the word family, what comes to mind? Love and affection? Support and acceptance? Haha, I'll tell you about my family. I've learned that it's immoral to be who you are, To question how you grew up. It's wrong to have an opinion.. In my family. It's wrong to stand for justice, To turn away from hypocrisy. To live your life as you intended it to be. In my family. You do your best to please, But then you end up on your knees. Begging to be accepted.. But forever being rejected. Does this define family for you? Yes? No? Most definitely not for me. But here's my definition too. Family: the people who love & accept you for all that you are. I hear the word family and I think of the people who support me in everything that I do.. They pick me up, not kick me, when I fall. They understand, they're always there when I call. They believe when no one else does. A saying goes, 'You don't choose your family. They are God's gift to you, as you are to them.' This means nothing to me. Blood makes you related, but loyalty makes you family. So in the eyes of my blood, I failed to do right and chose to do wrong. I chose love & unity Over pain & anxiety. The cycle ended. My wounds are mended. I am happy. Because I now know, The true meaning of Family. [r.r.r.w]
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Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 2:49 PM UTC
family.
Family: a group of individuals living under one roof and usually under one head. I need to know the meaning of the word family. The true meaning. For years it has eluded me. But not today. The family, your family, my family, our families. What the world perceives and what I perceive as family, Are the same in words but not in thought. My wish is for everything to be as one. No separation of any kind. When you hear the word family, what comes to mind? Love and affection? Support and acceptance? Haha, I'll tell you about my family. I've learned that it's immoral to be who you are, To question how you grew up. It's wrong to have an opinion.. In my family. It's wrong to stand for justice, To turn away from hypocrisy. To live your life as you intended it to be. In my family. You do your best to please, But then you end up on your knees. Begging to be accepted.. But forever being rejected. Does this define family for you? Yes? No? Most definitely not for me. But here's my definition too. Family: the people who love & accept you for all that you are. I hear the word family and I think of the people who support me in everything that I do.. They pick me up, not kick me, when I fall. They understand, they're always there when I call. They believe when no one else does. A saying goes, 'You don't choose your family. They are God's gift to you, as you are to them.' This means nothing to me. Blood makes you related, but loyalty makes you family. So in the eyes of my blood, I failed to do right and chose to do wrong. I chose love & unity Over pain & anxiety. The cycle ended. My wounds are mended. I am happy. Because I now know, The true meaning of Family. [r.r.r.w]
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53
~ My entire life, days I didn’t even know I existed, hours I sat in the window staring out Moments spent walking along empty highways exhaustedly scanning the horizons Gazing into the night sky, dreaming beyond the moon Pacing a weakened floor, counting the creaks Peering behind shadow coated tree lines, reaching for that which has eluded me spent looking for you, not even sure who you were Just knowing that you were out there you…it has always been you Sitting on a curb, head in my hands, lost within the thoughts of my fate, dreaming of the darkness which seems to follow me, I feel a warmth, the cold wind changes Soft hands upon my shoulders rest and I look between crossed fingers, seeing that smile, those eyes, realizing I have not found you…you have found me You lift me, I feel light, weightless, as your lips meet mine, and I see you…it has always been you Suddenly it all makes sense, while feeling time was wasted, remembering footprints mounting the many faded trails, sunlight opens a new chapter proving I was not wrong   Love has found me and it is you…it has always been you
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Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 8:03 AM UTC
You...it has always been you
She was no saint, no wonder woman and yet my mom possessed some of those qualities. A strong sweet person, with a loving heart. My father was no fool, but with mom's quite strength and guidance he was a better, smarter man and family leader. This fact never more obvious than after she died at 54 and he had to cope on his own without her. A grieving man reduced to a child for a time. He never fully recovered. Rational decisions eluded him. No matter how well it's constructed, Every ship needs a good compass and strong rudder and my mother was ours. My brother and I though grown and aging men, still steer the course she charted.
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Jul 27, 2017
Jul 27, 2017 at 4:10 PM UTC
Of ships and families
Outside, the sun shines brightly The sky is blue and life moves on. Inside, my world is dark, my outlook grim, No hope, no spark. I am so tired of this dreadful pall This darkness which takes over my mind. “Cheer up, smile, It will get better.” Empty, well meant words fall on my last nerve. The pain that is physical causes pain that is mental, It does not get better than this. Of course there are good days and then days like the dark ones Days just like this one today. I only want sleep, I don’t want to be. Just hide under covers so no one can see, The pain that is squeezing my mind. Compressing it, depressing it, Making tears for no reason. Making me ache for relief from the phantoms that be. Dark, dreadful days like the one I’m caught in, Searching for the light in the darkness, Looking for relief, Eluded.
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Oct 5, 2010
Oct 5, 2010 at 9:14 AM UTC
Dark Day
Failures my friend you all never leave me alone.___ You'all ever surround me, you'all are my very own.___ Always success betrays me and goes very high; ___ But you all console me when I grieve, when I sigh.___ One day I will accumulate all my failures together; ___ And out of it I'll make a big and strong ladder.___ So what if success has eluded me like some ghost.___ I will seize success the day it will matter the most.___
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Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 4:56 AM UTC
Failures my friend
My wife agreed to marriage counseling before the great divorce, and of course, she picked the counselor. This is it; one session, one shot at redemption. I waited with bated breath for the day to arrive. It did. We met at his office, where hope was dashed to shreds like a ship on a coral reef, like dreams of domestic bliss made of glass and shattered on the kitchen floor with no broom to sweep them up. We shouldn't get lawyers and go to court. We should have a funeral and sing, Rock of Ages, because divorce is the death of a family. The room is nice and cold as ice, and he's friendly, boisterous, and bold, but here's the clincher, he wore an eye patch. Maybe he had surgery or some type of injury, but everything he said was drowned out by the voice in my head that screamed, "He looks like a pirate, and no ******* pirate is going to tell me how I should have been a better husband." I quickly scanned the room for a cage where he kept his parrot, which usually sat on his shoulder and sang old songs of the sea. I glanced at his right hand, but conveniently it was hidden by the desk. Now I was sure. It wasn't a hand at all, but a hook, that he used to scratch his *** or to spear the shreds of broken lives left over from a long day's work. His hand was probably a casualty, lost on a voyage to a shark he tried to advise. I leaned over and whispered in my wife's ear, "Where did you find this ******* nut. Long John Silvers?" The humor eluded her like the sunken treasure did the old sea dog that sat across from me. I swore if he said, "Aye aye matey." I would smack him, and jack his ship, and maybe my wife and I would sail south to the Caribbean, not to the ride at Disneyland, Pirates of the Caribbean, but to the islands, where we would lie **** on the sandy beaches and drink Pina Coladas, or some other fruit-filled umbrella drink, until we were so drunk we couldn't see straight, and all our problems would sink like the setting sun into a brand new horizon. But the old scalawag had no pirate lingo, so the hour came and went, our money was poorly spent, and it was lunchtime, and I was bent on seafood.
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Jul 24, 2024
Jul 24, 2024 at 11:31 PM UTC
The Pirate
My wife agreed to marriage counseling before the great divorce, and of course, she picked the counselor. This is it; one session, one shot at redemption. I waited with bated breath for the day to arrive. It did. We met at his office, where hope was dashed to shreds like a ship on a coral reef, like dreams of domestic bliss made of glass and shattered on the kitchen floor with no broom to sweep them up. We shouldn't get lawyers and go to court. We should have a funeral and sing, Rock of Ages, because divorce is the death of a family. The room is nice and cold as ice, and he's friendly, boisterous, and bold, but here's the clincher, he wore an eye patch. Maybe he had surgery or some type of injury, but everything he said was drowned out by the voice in my head that screamed, "He looks like a pirate, and no ******* pirate is going to tell me how I should have been a better husband." I quickly scanned the room for a cage where he kept his parrot, which usually sat on his shoulder and sang old songs of the sea. I glanced at his right hand, but conveniently it was hidden by the desk. Now I was sure. It wasn't a hand at all, but a hook, that he used to scratch his *** or to spear the shreds of broken lives left over from a long day's work. His hand was probably a casualty, lost on a voyage to a shark he tried to advise. I leaned over and whispered in my wife's ear, "Where did you find this ******* nut. Long John Silvers?" The humor eluded her like the sunken treasure did the old sea dog that sat across from me. I swore if he said, "Aye aye matey." I would smack him, and jack his ship, and maybe my wife and I would sail south to the Caribbean, not to the ride at Disneyland, Pirates of the Caribbean, but to the islands, where we would lie **** on the sandy beaches and drink Pina Coladas, or some other fruit-filled umbrella drink, until we were so drunk we couldn't see straight, and all our problems would sink like the setting sun into a brand new horizon. But the old scalawag had no pirate lingo, so the hour came and went, our money was poorly spent, and it was lunchtime, and I was bent on seafood.
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7
There are crickets in my room Somewhere not reached by my broom They keep chirping To alert me Of what hurts me They’ve made a mess In my nest But I can’t find it To confine it Like I’m blinded Mistakes were made Hurting my name Bringing me shame So I live in a grave Where crickets lay They can’t be slain So their noise remains The crickets are beckoning Bringing my reckoning With a sound that’s threatening Because it’s so deafening The crickets infest my home So I’m never really alone They live in my basement and attic Chirping until I’ve finally had it I jump out my window like a rabbit To avoid their noise so emphatic But out here the crickets sing prouder With a chorus that’s even louder The crickets buzz like an alarm Reminding me of my harm They’ll sing for me to disarm Until I change or wither So I’m a plagued sinner Who’ll never be a winner Wrestling with damage inner I eluded their noise So nukes were deployed And my nation destroyed By a sound that annoyed Me until I couldn’t avoid Not being conscience devoid I ask for forgiveness All I hear are crickets And cops giving tickets In this concrete thicket That I need to picket
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Jun 10, 2019
Jun 10, 2019 at 9:55 PM UTC
Crickets
The clock struck a peculiar time Reverberating on the window pains When I looked up from the old wooden desk To the stark white face of that piece My eyes were caught in a haze The hands of the clock eluded me The chair scratched against the floor As I moved backwards and rubbed my eyes My ears popped ever so slightly Light headedness came on to me I found it and remained conscious Aware of what would occur should I fall, Succumbing to that mechanism I mustered myself to remove the clock Lifting it from a single nail in the wall I placed in in the top drawer of the desk It's ticking was no longer audible Yet I still felt the reverberation It bounced and rattled within my bones A pulsing echo within my mind Never louder yet with each throb It grew more and more distinct Then it stopped altogether And the shadows grew long in the room I paned out the old attic space For the breifest moment Before the shadows evaporated Blending and mixing with the darkness
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Oct 6, 2021
Oct 6, 2021 at 10:10 PM UTC
Time Piece
he still doesn't realize that beauty has a price he plucks roses and wonders why they wither when he's never learnt to check their roots. with thorns between his lips, he speaks softly about the way love has eluded him over the years. his palms like written verse, scarred and coarse, petals falling delicately out of time from his fingertips. he sees beauty but he does not see underneath he has always been one to see the flames but never feel the heat.
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Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 12:11 PM UTC
black rose
There is a creature rarer than you dare to dream. If once it flourished within your lungs, savor the eternity, it left on your tongue. I have been evaded by that space between the stars. It's existence has eluded me, it's true. But it thrives in side your mouth in your cuticles, it blooms traced 'cross your eyelid wandering from me to you. Now I grasp the phantom creature, I feel it's warmth between my thumbs, taste the word within me, because this is us and this is love.
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Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 2:18 PM UTC
the roots
“Don't you miss being in love?”, she asks. I simmer, gathering myself and my thoughts. No, I don't, because I have not been in love; Not in the manner I imagine it. I have loved - beautifully, might I add - But never have I been in love. How can I have? At my best, all I knew was to compel, persuasively, someone into loving me - the best possible way I knew how. I revealed just enough of myself, the beautiful of myself, the parts of me that drew butterflies. Hidden were the broken parts of me, those which keep me awake, sleepless - 'til the moon kisses me goodnight, in the last hours before dawn. I am not, by any means, denying ever loving. I have loved, blindly and beautifully. All I have ever been good at was loving - loving someone into loving me, the best way possible. But, all of their love was inadequate. A love which always fell short of loving me, the best way possible. Love; inadequate: Unable to express loving me, unable to express themselves of loving me. In turn, I was slapped with sloppy efforts of loving me - Vague inadequacies of love. It was never enough, not remotely close, to what I had imaged loving me would be. It was short of ever arousing me internally, short of wits to spiral me into being in love. And so, how can I miss being in love, when it has always been a feeling that eluded me? How can I miss being in love, when in love - I concealed the broken parts of me? How can I have been in love when I was lonely, in love? *How can I have been in love, when all I knew of being in love was to love myself - by loving whomever loved the aesthetic parts of me?* Loving me has always been an infatuation - an infatuation of the broken pieces of me, coming together to create an illusion of a love - an unsatisfactory love for loving me. How can I have ever been in love when no one has known, expressed, conjured the best possible way of loving me. All of me. Once more, up at the last hours before dawn - awaiting the moon to kiss me goodnight, I tell her.
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May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 8:00 PM UTC
Conversations with her, the moon.
“Don't you miss being in love?”, she asks. I simmer, gathering myself and my thoughts. No, I don't, because I have not been in love; Not in the manner I imagine it. I have loved - beautifully, might I add - But never have I been in love. How can I have? At my best, all I knew was to compel, persuasively, someone into loving me - the best possible way I knew how. I revealed just enough of myself, the beautiful of myself, the parts of me that drew butterflies. Hidden were the broken parts of me, those which keep me awake, sleepless - 'til the moon kisses me goodnight, in the last hours before dawn. I am not, by any means, denying ever loving. I have loved, blindly and beautifully. All I have ever been good at was loving - loving someone into loving me, the best way possible. But, all of their love was inadequate. A love which always fell short of loving me, the best way possible. Love; inadequate: Unable to express loving me, unable to express themselves of loving me. In turn, I was slapped with sloppy efforts of loving me - Vague inadequacies of love. It was never enough, not remotely close, to what I had imaged loving me would be. It was short of ever arousing me internally, short of wits to spiral me into being in love. And so, how can I miss being in love, when it has always been a feeling that eluded me? How can I miss being in love, when in love - I concealed the broken parts of me? How can I have been in love when I was lonely, in love? *How can I have been in love, when all I knew of being in love was to love myself - by loving whomever loved the aesthetic parts of me?* Loving me has always been an infatuation - an infatuation of the broken pieces of me, coming together to create an illusion of a love - an unsatisfactory love for loving me. How can I have ever been in love when no one has known, expressed, conjured the best possible way of loving me. All of me. Once more, up at the last hours before dawn - awaiting the moon to kiss me goodnight, I tell her.
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52
focus eluded transient thought here there where breaking heart soaring soul cry scream rise breathe pause focus
0
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 3:51 PM UTC
focus
Never finding expectation to exist beyond the last known blip of the past, projected through my back, in tackled grounds, bound, in the banter of spectators, speculating the specifications of specialised weaponry, silencing the empathy, and seducing my enemies in the isolated idolatry of their stupidity that i sculpted from the scrutiny, that was wished to have eluded me but soothed my playful solidarity to my sickly game called reap and sow instead. We are all dead, all dead inside, residing in thriving wounds. Left unsaid in rhymes etched in tombs. In the lies of old bafoons I shall not fight, myself, as they do, nor shall i defy whats right just to eat tonight. I will fight until I am mine and sleep. Cradled in my shrine of thoughts amiss, in the frost of loss vs reward. I am torn, between torture and a vultures wait of the prize to pedal the pestilent pettiness to the edges of my testaments, in the truth of youth-less suicide, slicing social structures into cylinders to swing in circles around the room. Swooning, in my looming threat of self immolation to warm the heart with shopping carts of satire, killing the sad away. Delaying the the decay of hope. A stay of patience in my irrelevance,never hesitant in my clever projections of nothing. I feed you nothing But emptiness Shuttering in the sultry shade of my suffering and loving every moment of it. Saying nothing too much in things of such insignificance. Spilling the mizpellings and settling for wordlessness after a good ***** of belligerent arrogance. Im tempted to quit but my wick is lit and to submit now, would just put the fire out and i want to watch the burn.
0
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 11:41 PM UTC
Fuel burn
Never finding expectation to exist beyond the last known blip of the past, projected through my back, in tackled grounds, bound, in the banter of spectators, speculating the specifications of specialised weaponry, silencing the empathy, and seducing my enemies in the isolated idolatry of their stupidity that i sculpted from the scrutiny, that was wished to have eluded me but soothed my playful solidarity to my sickly game called reap and sow instead. We are all dead, all dead inside, residing in thriving wounds. Left unsaid in rhymes etched in tombs. In the lies of old bafoons I shall not fight, myself, as they do, nor shall i defy whats right just to eat tonight. I will fight until I am mine and sleep. Cradled in my shrine of thoughts amiss, in the frost of loss vs reward. I am torn, between torture and a vultures wait of the prize to pedal the pestilent pettiness to the edges of my testaments, in the truth of youth-less suicide, slicing social structures into cylinders to swing in circles around the room. Swooning, in my looming threat of self immolation to warm the heart with shopping carts of satire, killing the sad away. Delaying the the decay of hope. A stay of patience in my irrelevance,never hesitant in my clever projections of nothing. I feed you nothing But emptiness Shuttering in the sultry shade of my suffering and loving every moment of it. Saying nothing too much in things of such insignificance. Spilling the mizpellings and settling for wordlessness after a good ***** of belligerent arrogance. Im tempted to quit but my wick is lit and to submit now, would just put the fire out and i want to watch the burn.
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17
A functioning body Sealing a hollow soul Apathy created Emotions she stole Time to reveal That memories gone lost Bygone passion Eluded at all cost Lack of space Aggrieving the heart The condition demands A solution apart
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May 7, 2017
May 7, 2017 at 7:22 PM UTC
Broken Love