"enthusiastically" poems
1
What my brother-in-law said to me:
*Hey, bro…glad to talk to you…
I’m flying in all the way from Canada
in 30 days’ time…yeah, whole family
Wife and the 3 kids
Hey, you ought to get leave for a week –
we’ll stay in your place,
and you can drive us about Victoria…
it’s really my sis and you we want to see…
Yeah, get back to me after you speak
to the people at your workplace*
2
What I told my brother-in-law:
*I asked my boss,
and he said leave’s not possible…
He needs me to be at work
says he can’t manage without me*
What my brother-in-law said back to me:
*Oh, we’ll try my wife’s side then
You know, the ones who live in Mauritius
We’d really like to see them…*
3
What actually happened
Well, to be honest,
I asked my boss for the week off
and he said:
*You’ve let so much work hang for so long
you’d need a whole year to finish
Let me make it plain, you shirker:
This year, you get NO days off*
And I shook his hands enthusiastically,
and I said to him:
Thanks, boss – I knew I could always count on you
...and now I've got my bro-in-law languishing in Canada - and my boss, my colleagues tell me, feeling perplexed in his office...
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 3:14 AM UTC
Stepping into the pristine, gentle atmosphere; truth hanging from the intricate crystal chandelier full of endless glow and luster - mischievously placed structure conspicuously elevating wonder
Full of flashing, coruscating shimmer enthusiastically engaging the convivial space; evoking a spontaneous internal unfolding mirroring the perpetual suffering connected to the chosen impeding of spirit’s copious interweaving.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 11:23 AM UTC
My body quivers,
the tips of my fingers
pulsating wildly,
beads of sweat collecting
on my furrowed brow,
teeth sinking into
my bottom lip,
breathing in sharp
heaves of breath,
echoing the fast-paced
pulse of my enthusiastically
beating heart,
limbs tingling,
lower extremities losing feeling
as my body becomes absorbed
in the ecstasy
to which it succumbs
as, in one last swift, graceful movement
you make me explode,
my mind orgasming in the
crazy sensation we have
created in the simple
exchange of our
encapsulating dialogue,
reawakening my addiction,
my yearning,
my craving
for another round
of conversation,
rapture unlike
any other I've felt,
in tangibly feeling nothing but your soul
and your words.
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 9:46 AM UTC
Do, re, tiring me.
Fa, So, Latte sounds good.
A sale on tea?
Do ti la "So, how are your scales going?"
My teacher calls; he wants to know.
"FAr from REady." I admit.
I tried to practice steady,
but store had a sale today, so I quit.
"You'll never make the grade like that;
Devote every hour" He says with a glower.
"Go practice your bow. Coffee can wait."
He's right of course, but I still take the bait.
How's a someone like me
expected to practice enthusiastically?
What's a musician without caffeine to keep his lights turned to "go"?
When the coffee shop conspires to take all my hard earned DOugh?
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 9:11 PM UTC
OOO!
He is worried!
Again!
the Mr. Perfectionist.
It’s almost Carnival but
He hasn't yet got a mask
with specifics
outlining
his ballads
and jests
he
surly lists his bests
in two principle steps
of CAPS :
1)
* Feeds the Bats and
* Tempts the Charms
2)
* Cheap N Handy
* Quixotic but Scary
* Not too Trendy
and he cries
Yuck!
EW!
Husky!
What's worse than
a self-adoring pathetic bat
in my whereabouts!
I can't get the stink and shrill so I help him fast
'Yo what's the worry!'
-I say friendly -
'you need not hurry
cause I think you already are ready!'
-I continue enthusiastically-
'Here! Try this one
My top design
Custom fit chemistry
A truly NO Risk Recipe
and of course
Specially designed for you! '
'for you for youuu
to echolocate
such is an eye-gaze
for the half-blind
such is sound
a vibration that propagates
in ears and brains of pretty gulls
and of course
only for youuu'
- I sing loud a common bat ad just to stimulate
my client and continue- merrily explaining my serviceable recipe
*for 2)
Wear your white shirt just
...as always
the one I know
you know?
the webbed one
weaving grace
and don't forget to
iron it well this time.
*
*for 1)
Put on your true face!
I reckon then
and can guarantee
...as always
no one will ever recognize you .
*
In a flight he disappears glad and I hope he won't show up till next year
What can you do I say to myself and quote a encyclopedic fact about my client.
All things have a place, you don't really need to like them but these ones pollinate flowers and disperse fruit seeds and they are economically important as they consume insect pests reducing need for pesticides.
I say while I ventilate my head with an OM mantra and an incense stick
Bah what a stink what a stink...
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 5:34 PM UTC
One day, a decade ago, I came home from school,
And instead of starting my homework,
I showed my grandmother the picture I drew,
And my grandmother Edna said to me,
"Bran, you have one big imagination."
I grinned and shrugged, replying
"Sorry Grandma, I can't help it"
*She knows who she is....
And I think everyone knows where I'm coming from...*
Like all naive lovers, I imagined a happily ever after,
But Aphrodite discovered that i'm a functional disaster
Sort of like what happened when Wendy met Casper?
Silly, I know,
Well at least I tried to capture a little laughter.
I imagine her name as the name of a virtuoso band.
I listen enthusiastically to the band play,
"Eat your heart out, eat your heart out."
Yes, she's a band-aid.
I've imagined attending the salmon church with her,
Even though I don't believe.
Still I would do that for my Desdemona,
"I will deny thee nothing."
I imagined us getting married at an altar,
The honeymoon would be on the moon weeping honey.
Three years later, we have Harmony, our daughter.
My imagination is wild,
Maybe it's too far out there,
Where the wild things are.
Isn't it true that before you make something happen
You have to imagine it happening first?
Something like a self-fulfilled prophecy,
In time we'll see.
One day I came home from Mount Olympus,
And instead of professing agape,
I showed Cupid this poem I wrote,
And Cupid said to me, "You have one wild imagination."
I shrugged, replying, " I can't help it."
Cupid smiled and said, "You have a romantic one also."
Originally written 5/17/11
Revised 10/24/14
(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 6:40 PM UTC
Vanilla yogurt and strawberry cream
Hint at the beginning of a very dull dream
Eating breakfast, how exciting
The end of my nails, I’m enthusiastically biting
Let me dream of something exhilarating
Not sitting at my table waiting
I’d rather dream that I could fly
Or travel the world in the blink of an eye
Swim underwater without ever breathing
Win in Vegas without ever cheating
Box in a ring for the world title
Become a judge on American Idol
Fly to Paris and date Johnny Depp
Dance on Broadway and not miss a step
But here I lay and begin to dream
Of vanilla yogurt and strawberry cream.
Jul 5, 2012
Jul 5, 2012 at 6:44 PM UTC
Sometimes I feel like I'm in a
little
glass box with words on the outside
that read:
"In Case of Emergency, Break Glass"
That vision of beauty will come
weeping
and break the glass; temporary freeing
me; Enthusiastically
I calm the sadness built in her heart
But alas, after the winds have calmed,
Serenity
My dear will place me back into my little
Glass Box;
And there I will patiently await her return.
Sep 4, 2010
Sep 4, 2010 at 8:11 PM UTC
Duly noted
and
show boated
A cross of
what you need
And what made
your belly bloated
Secretly promoted
Enthusiastically gloated
All for a piece of metal
Cold and gold coated
Humbly devoted
Bold Italics posted
Only to line the ranks
Heavy and revolted
Pepsi
and
Pop rocks
Shoved
in a mouth
Just to end up
Exploded
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 11:55 PM UTC
So what?.
It is what is so.
So I acknowledge my Master equally with my Mistress?.
So what?.
It is what is so.
So I adore him for his naked beauty?.
So what?.
It is what is so.
So I licked his shaved ***** enthusiastically?.
So what?.
It is what is so.
So I licked the full length of the shaft of his stiff ****
So what?.
It is what is so.
So I took the uncovered head of his stiff **** in my mouth,
my tongue seeking out that ***** under the head of his stiff ****
So what?.
It is what is so.
So I knealt in naked submission to by Master and begged and pleaded with him to whip me?.
So what?.
It is what is so.
So I ****** the full length of the shaft of his stiff and beautiful uncut ****
So what?.
It is what is so.
So I stood naked and submissive gladly saying "thank you Master" after each stroke of the whip on my willing, nay, enthusiastic body?.
So what?.
It is what is so.
So I rode the full length of the shaft of his stiff **** thrusting in and out of my arse--balls pushing against my buttocks with each stroke?.
So what?.
It is what is so.
So I gasped and shuddered to feel him empty his *** filled ***** into my body?.
So what?.
It is what is so.
We three live in joint permanent ******
Sadomasochistic *** takes us into the ****** space that the "religious"minded and the political minded cannot enter--ever.
We three share the space that is otherwise called by the ignorant and sexually repressed priests and followers of Buddism/Hindooism/.
Vedism/ ------buddafield/enlightenment/gnosis!!.
*** takes us into the space of ****** denied to the followers of "gods" and "goddesses"--as gods and godesses cannot have *** ever.
We three share the space that the ignorant and sexually repressed priests of Christianity/Islam/Judaism have no word for except words of hate and envy and jealousy and ignorant condemnation
*** takes us into that space where we share reality with CREATION itself.
Beyond any "god".
Beyond any "goddess".
Beyond any human conceived boundaries of Time and Existence.
So what?.
It is what is so.
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC
Self-studying is the dichotomy of enthusiastically knowing more and insignificantly knowing nothing, along with the roots and branches of motivation
Apr 25, 2021
Apr 25, 2021 at 9:47 PM UTC
I'm walking down the cafeteria hallway
holding a laptop that took twenty minutes to fix.
I spot her packing up her possessions from the table,
everything too spread out for her not to have eaten alone,
but she's smiling as usual
and it spreads to my lips.
I hear my name and I stop
not because someone was talking to me
but because they were talking about me
something that never happens
or never used to
until they started to see who I really was
and fall in love with that-
Clapping me on the shoulders,
sending me emails,
adding me on Facebook
congratulating me publicly
giving me hugs
stopping me in the hall
turning history into a discussion about me
being a superhero for those in need of help.
all because I have developed the guts to say something
or rather, write something
nobody else admits to being able to say.
My name comes from that table on the left
up against the lockers
first seat on the far end after the bar
my old seat, for two years.
It's those memories that have allowed me to say what I've said-
those memories of losing everything
of rebuilding, from scratch
of having my lips bleed because they are so unused they crack
of finding the darkest emotions
and recovering.
I walk five more feet and turn right.
She looks up as I approach.
I hand her her laptop and charger, smiling
as she is.
always is, always has been.
"It's done, it works"
I say, enthusiastically.
Her eyes widen in surprise
"really?"
I nod
"it only took a few minutes, it should be better"
she scoops up her stuff
and we walk away from that place together
as we always used to, freshman year
when our round table sat in that exact spot.
But three years have changed a lot:
she's smiling in my presence
and we split, heading opposite directions.
her to her locker
me to the library.
I hear the faint words
"merci beaucoup"
as I pass the 3rd post
And for a second, I want to turn back.
To walk with her like I used to her
but actually talk to her.
I continue walking.
"Four years change a person"
I think as I climb every stair
as I have, for four years.
I stop for a second,
three quarters of the way up
and watch the way the sunlight drifts in from the door window.
A beauty I never would have seen then.
I would have been too entranced in her
and now I walk alone.
I would have been far too depressed by my own problems
to say what I have.
I may be a stronger person
a better person
than sitting there at that round table
but I always someone then.
Now I stand in stairwells alone
Mar 30, 2013
Mar 30, 2013 at 4:16 AM UTC
There once was a TV network
That made me want to exult
But now I am sad and despondent
And it’s mostly Steven Moffat’s fault
I enthusiastically started Doctor Who
Who’s chronology is twisted and bizarre
It seemed like such fun to travel through time and space with a man
Who used a blue box as his car
But soon the companions’ aspirations
To travel to planets and stars
Were crushed by the Void, lost love, and gargoyles
And the Doctor is lonely and scarred.
Not yet wise, I began watching Sherlock
His deduction left me amazed and bamboozled
He and John drank some tea, and solved crimes with glee
Although each case took quite some perusal.
They lived happily with their cool flat decorum
Mrs. Hudson made biscuits below
Then along came the menacing, mean Moriarty
There was nothing that he didn’t know.
Because of the fallacy that Sherlock’s a fake
He’s dead and John’s in the doldrums
The only thing done to commemorate him
Are John’s “I do believe in Sherlock Holmes”
Hoping for a show that was boisterous and happy
Instead of the peaceful, yet sad
I turned to the medieval Merlin
who was quite a cheery lad
He worked for the king’s son, Arthur
who eclectically chose his knights
There were sirs Lancelot, Gwaine, and Leon
The bravest people in sight.
Merlin used his job as camouflage,
His secret he did not divulge
for if they all knew he was a powerful wizard
In his execution King Uther would indulge.
Since Merlin’s destiny was to keep the prince safe
He faced many scary things
He would cower in fear, but when Arthur was near
He felt brave enough to sing
Merlin’s feelings for Arthur were obvious
But does Arthur feel the same way?
When Arthur deigns to exchange dialogue with him
It instantly brightens his day.
But Lancelot died doing Merlin’s job
And Arthur is in love with Gwen
Morgana, a wizard who was once Merlin’s friend
Is evil and wants Camelot dead.
So the Doctor is lonely and growing old
Sherlock left John all alone
And Merlin feels guilty and outcast
They’ve lost all the good they’ve ever known.
And I am left crying and angry.
How could the writers do this to me?
But still, they’re the best shows I’ve ever watched
And I’ll always love the BBC.
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 11:36 PM UTC
To perpetually please the vanity of a has-been
They’ve invented the ministry of leftover ideas
With leftover civil servants
Writing leftover policies
Based on leftover ideas
Ideals from the past
Become today’s secondhand *******
Presented as pillars
Of a bright and better future
When what we really get
Is the obsolete creating the obnoxious
A shady cabinet
With the allure of a shadow cabinet
With invisible MP’s
Serving an irritating Prime Minister
A tax-avoiding ****
Who enthusiastically supports
The ideas of last century
Bombarding every ministry
Into the ministry of leftover ideas
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 9:23 AM UTC
I try not to heed news that yells at me that everything is going to ****
I do, however, read lots of news that leads me to the same conclusion.
Though I do care
how current events impact my fellow Humans,
I wish to form my own genuine opinions
based upon objective information;
Is that really too much to ask?
Seems like it.
Objectivity in Journalism is a dying breed.
Media doesn't like Objectivity anymore;
not since the inhuman atrocities of the Vietnam war
were so enthusiastically televised.
Now it's all sensationalism and demagoguery
and who **** X is ******* this week
and that's how they want it;
for, you see,
we, the People of Earth,
are far too dangerous
with accurate information
and a bit of vested interest
in what happens upon this,
our sole World
our soul World
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 2:16 PM UTC
Proclaimed the paper-cutout placard on the table:
Clothless gray plastic-surfaced round.
In this immense faux-stone (concrete?)
Faux-English country house
We escape to the top of the stairs:
The no admittance sign is no deterrent.
The iridescence of your skirt is captivating
But all I can remember is living in a castle like this one
When I was a little blonde nothing
And feeling the way I do now,
As if there's been no transformation, no progress.
Maybe there has,
And this band must be pretty great
To keep this many old white people dancing so enthusiastically
For such a long time:
An ancient one with a Christmas-themed vest
Foxtrots with a once-lady in a polyester pants suit
Thin hair dyed roofing-tar black, suede kitten heels clacking.
The world's a **** strange place.
Even if we feel like we aren't quite awake,
We'll adjust our stockings and fill our plates
With that mystery-shrouded gelatinous citrus dessert
And our plastic cups with apple cider, light beer, 7-Up.
Endure a few more minutes on this rented dancefloor with me
Because they're playing love shack
And who doesn't smile at the mere notion of the B-52s?
Dec 5, 2010
Dec 5, 2010 at 3:10 PM UTC
Yes! It's another Barry Hodges "Memories" poem!"
I shall never forget our first date together,
How we wandered through the streets of Soho,
Gazing into the **** shop windows,
Laughing at the giant vibrators on display...
And later, a romantic meal in a French bistro,
Where the rules of hygiene were not
As strictly observed as might have been hoped for,
Promising a regurgitatory treat in store...
You ignored the startled eyes of our fellow diners
And brutally shoved your tongue in my mouth;
O how fiercely I slurped on it enthusiastically
Caressing it with my own mouth sausage...
I ****** and ****** and ****** and ******
And (oh joy!) I could taste the garlicky bits
'Twixt your gorgeous unwashed choppers;
How my underwear damply stretched out of shape...
I withdrew my probing tongue and kissed your cheek
Affectionately, yet trembling with rampant desire;
And I boldly licked a firm yellow-topped spot
With its previously observed black centre...
My huge uncontrollable lust conquered
The demands of demodé bourgeois good manners
And I sunk my incisors into that zitty beauty
Relishing the hard core waiting just for me therein...
The waiting staff were deeply impressed as I chewed
In rapturous sensual joyous contemplation
And you spluttered bloodily in loving agony
Your own mighty ****** fast approaching...
Oh what a foretaste of what was to come
When we repaired to my convenient bedsit
For an immensely gratifying triple bonk
Prior to a staggering mutual diarrhoea session...
And now I lie back in sweet recollection
Of the many nights we spent in copulation
But how sad I am as, looking at the deserted bed,
I can still make out the stains of your dying turds.
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 6:45 AM UTC
Entangled in the silken ribbons, haphazard in the tinkling bells
Smiling as I twirl around the ceiling
Enthusiastically chasing, all of my wildest endeavors
To obliterate the slightest chance of feeling
A satin sash of gold winding round all of my emotions
Tickling my fancy and my toes
Swirling in my twirling, laughing as I go round
Forgetting all my troubles as I go
I am erratic in my movements, sporadic in my spins
Engagingly so charming in my play
Transported over places full of wide empty spaces
Filling them with everything, I may
My ribbons are spinning faster than I can come untangled
My tinkling bells are crashing in my head
All this enthusiastic chasing and filling empty places
Did not obliterate a single thing you said
Jul 11, 2010
Jul 11, 2010 at 12:00 PM UTC
i.
***** blond hair and braces,
beanie and a sweatshirt,
you were the secondary third wheel
along with myself.
you put on all four hats and
nearly choked on your soda
at someone’s ***** joke.
ii.
hair parted sideways,
black-ringed blue eyes,
we vaguely remembered each other
and talked a bit before going back
to the ones who had originally brought us.
the blue was pretty and you had a bubbly laugh
and were dressed nicer than before.
we finally memorized each other’s names
and when it was time to go,
we hugged and I told you to
drop by again soon.
iii.
braces off and longer hair,
your board had a new paintjob.
we enthusiastically greeted each other
with a hug and an exchange of names
and we ended up sitting at the computer
for most of the afternoon and evening.
we talked without restraint and
had definitely become easy friends.
iv.
hair shaved off on the sides,
the rest slicked back like a new-age greaser,
you smelled slightly of stale cigarettes
when I tucked my face against your neck
for our routine hug.
I squeezed you tight and brushed my thumbs
across the leather of your jacket.
you were angry and stressed but didn’t really show it
and I wasn’t sure what to do with my still-new
feelings for you.
I held your hands outside that night
and asked you to quit again,
because people come and go and life’s too short
to make it even shorter
by ******* on a stick of chemicals and tobacco.
you said you’d quit soon and thanked me for being there.
v.
you stayed over
and we spent most of our time
swapping songs and playing video games
and snacking on poptarts and arizona.
I woke up the next morning to find that
you hadn’t slept
and wondered what you must have been thinking about
that could keep you up all those hours.
vi.
we saw a bad movie together tonight.
our heads bumped multiple times
and we both had to pull up our legs
since our heels barely touch the floor comfortably.
your forehead would wrinkle when you were looking up
and it gave you an air of maturity
that I didn’t know you could pull off.
I wanted to kiss you
but didn’t know what you thought of me
so I didn’t.
Feb 14, 2013
Feb 14, 2013 at 4:33 AM UTC
A smile and a wink, create an incredible magic, one gets floored
that's her, but not a day passes without a complaint-
about her uncomplaining nature, that seems to rub everyone
in a way wrong; without any prompt, interpretations start to pour
she definitely lacks seriousness, frivolous or an unfeeling brute?
By nature, she can't care about anything, may be the effect of the past,
tongues waged, observers increased, each one took notes,
voluntarily held conferences, and reached a conclusion, behind her back:
"Far too removed from reality, lives in cloud cuckoo land"
Strong judgments came one after the other, every one enthusiastically joined,
in demolishing, what they thought 'The myth of equanimous mind'
(irrespective of dealing with a string of troubles and continuing bad weather)
The one, only one, who kept silence, when this buzz was going on far too long,
just smiled at the end, the playful wink that followed ruffled all feathers,
now the gang has an added burden, the power of one more to deal with.
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 1:42 AM UTC
I don't usually wear my seatbelt
because if I die driving,
I want to go enthusiastically, smiling.
I only want to die
if in a gore-ific scene of carelessness,
I want to exit with a bang, part of a mess.
And I don’t find this morbid
Because if I die cruising down 33,
I will die my mind at peace with the rest of me.
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 10:38 PM UTC
People always say that ballet is graceful. They speak for hours after watching a performance, marveling at the dancers’ grace and elegance. They applaud enthusiastically while gazing at the stage in awe. They see a title page, a disguise, a mask. Underneath the surface of bright lights and happy endings, there is nothing but a dark stage occupied by a girl naked, shivering, and alone. Her face is engulfed by quivering hands covered with dry, cracked skin and fingernails blue from the cold. Her hands slowly reach out to comb through brown, lifeless hair. When she draws her hands away to rest against protruding ribs, brittle hair floats delicately to the ground like a feather cruelly cast away from its owner. Tears barrel their way down her cheeks like a train unable to stop for the oblivious children playing on its tracks. Her body is nothing more than an abandoned painting, fixed and perfected beyond recognition. Her ankles quiver beneath satin chains of beauty and grace. Her fingers tremble as they graciously bow to rows and rows of awestruck admirers. Her legs falter as they are barely contained within the confines of the tutu so painstakingly stitched just for her. Her head spins, dizzy under the pressure of the tiara: crowned queen of the mentally ill.
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 7:12 PM UTC
Enthusiastically drawing an electrifying first breath of air as the emotionally significant cut of the umbilical cord welcomes an angel onboard
Capturing the delicate beauty of invisible, energetic strings eternally connecting two highly raptured, earthly beings; breaking free of the chrysalis, a monarch joyously spreads its invigorating wings and zings through the air with entrancingly colored wings.
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 4:06 PM UTC
*A wave’s born on the
Vast waters and it’s gone torn
From water’s surface
An entranced lone bee
Enthusiastically
Serenades flower.
Wind in deference
To the sun whistles softly
Paying staid homage
A trifle many
Things happen beneath our nose
That escapes notice.*
Apr 13, 2017
Apr 13, 2017 at 5:14 AM UTC
Let this be spark to collective action!
The exercise of natural freedoms and equality.
Sever attachments, break from your safety,
from the shores of who you think you are.
Set sail with faith,
placing ideologies in abeyance.
Set sail with soul songs,
join with saints and strangers
harmoniously singing.
Be ALL as One
in open repartee.
Brothers and sisters, all of a wild nature–
none left uninvited.
Friends at heart all, all welcome!
Who shall be chief navigator?
Trace sensitive fingers on contour maps the Universe makes.
As we navigate, we invent.
With tiniest of maps (the same is the largest
with infinite pathways) we are destined exactly
to found and inhabit New Earth.
Who brings gifts of intuitive sensing?
Everyone?
Shall we draw straws?
Any can buddy up with the experts
at the rational sextant.
Every single she and he of us
is a guiding star.
Accordingly, let’s begin
convergent conversations of stars.
Of the humans who choose to stay behind, let us love them.
Let us love them and let’s be on our way!
It is enough now that many have had good intentions,
have spoken authentically, enthusiastically.
Yet they do not wish to enter in.
Each in his or her own time.
Others have voiced opposition,
demonstrated resistance.
Some others — stuck in apathy,
in numbness, powerlessness.
Is fear of ****** death
the ultimate stopping?
What is living if living itself
is death?
Are you one who has ears
to hear?
Are you that very passenger
ready to disavow, to disembark?
Have you awakened
to your own alluring whisper?
Let us begin.
Jul 8, 2017
Jul 8, 2017 at 10:44 AM UTC