"epistolary" poems - Hello Poetry

"epistolary" poems

Tonight I feel as if the scales are balanced, I'm not swimming in the ghostly tears of my sadness, But I'm not dancing in the sunlight of happiness. After all, what is happiness? It is almost unnerving, To feel one half of your mind and soul Tip-toeing on the edge of a cliff While the other half is trying to anchor itself To the centre of the Earth because it doesn't want to leave, It is an unsettling feeling. I also feel like there are so many loose ends that need to be tied, Unfinished business if you will. I have the urge to pick up a book that triggers me As if it is my destiny to savour the closing line on the last page And feel like I have succeeded, To send a message to every single person who has done me wrong And has thrown me about like rag doll just to apologise "Sorry for being such an easy target for you all." My poetry has become an epistolary, A series of decaying thoughts that have been woven into words, Some to purge my dark intentions, Others to hold on to that small sliver of happiness Like a balloon tied to your wrist to stop it from floating away. I hope to keep this balance long enough to pick up the pieces of my derailed being, Then it can tip either way and I'll be content.

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Sep 10, 2013

Sep 10, 2013 at 5:54 PM UTC

Tonight I feel as if the scales are balanced, I'm not swimming in the ghostly tears of my sadness, But I'm not dancing in the sunlight of happiness. After all, what is happiness? It is almost unnerving, To feel one half of your mind and soul Tip-toeing on the edge of a cliff While the other half is trying to anchor itself To the centre of the Earth because it doesn't want to leave, It is an unsettling feeling. I also feel like there are so many loose ends that need to be tied, Unfinished business if you will. I have the urge to pick up a book that triggers me As if it is my destiny to savour the closing line on the last page And feel like I have succeeded, To send a message to every single person who has done me wrong And has thrown me about like rag doll just to apologise "Sorry for being such an easy target for you all." My poetry has become an epistolary, A series of decaying thoughts that have been woven into words, Some to purge my dark intentions, Others to hold on to that small sliver of happiness Like a balloon tied to your wrist to stop it from floating away. I hope to keep this balance long enough to pick up the pieces of my derailed being, Then it can tip either way and I'll be content.

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“Don’t say that,” I said, for he gave me hope to dream of a better life Who am I to judge what comes from your mind and makes its way to the page? Heartbroken hero, you are worth so much to me but I turn my head Inevitably rejected admiration— Why do I bother? I answer myself quietly, shy, to prevent embarrassing truths Speaking in haiku I am decoding language to send a message You are: a poet, a lover, a dreamer, a former(?) friend of mine A broken wing on the sparrows carrying the last humility in this broken world— You are a fire, lit in black ink and in tired lines Your face, a canvas etched with tragic beauty of history itself Your fingers, biceps trembling with strength, the power to know and create Good and goodbyes to encroached evils of the dark You know there is more than storms, depression— more than this old soul can say or see or even Speak, in spite of this epistolary chain of senryu, tied with the hope you once glowed of, the old flame within you, the torch to something, to anything more that still tastes life in all its bitter and sweet and salty and so sour yourlipspucker with the loved umami of life and I am sitting here, writing this letter to a man who needs, like all of us do, to love and live and laugh and cry and to feel skin’s warmth once again. I have hope for you, even if yours is hiding under rugs, swept away in the midst and mist of foggy lives— Smoke shall soon clear, and the right words may not be found, but these hands you hold attached to your wrists I am sure these hands of yours will find the mirror and remove the grays of all your sorrows— There is light, dear, waiting to be recognized by a humble man in the desert, building machines, building a new him.

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Apr 10, 2013

Apr 10, 2013 at 10:24 PM UTC

“Don’t say that,” I said, for he gave me hope to dream of a better life Who am I to judge what comes from your mind and makes its way to the page? Heartbroken hero, you are worth so much to me but I turn my head Inevitably rejected admiration— Why do I bother? I answer myself quietly, shy, to prevent embarrassing truths Speaking in haiku I am decoding language to send a message You are: a poet, a lover, a dreamer, a former(?) friend of mine A broken wing on the sparrows carrying the last humility in this broken world— You are a fire, lit in black ink and in tired lines Your face, a canvas etched with tragic beauty of history itself Your fingers, biceps trembling with strength, the power to know and create Good and goodbyes to encroached evils of the dark You know there is more than storms, depression— more than this old soul can say or see or even Speak, in spite of this epistolary chain of senryu, tied with the hope you once glowed of, the old flame within you, the torch to something, to anything more that still tastes life in all its bitter and sweet and salty and so sour yourlipspucker with the loved umami of life and I am sitting here, writing this letter to a man who needs, like all of us do, to love and live and laugh and cry and to feel skin’s warmth once again. I have hope for you, even if yours is hiding under rugs, swept away in the midst and mist of foggy lives— Smoke shall soon clear, and the right words may not be found, but these hands you hold attached to your wrists I am sure these hands of yours will find the mirror and remove the grays of all your sorrows— There is light, dear, waiting to be recognized by a humble man in the desert, building machines, building a new him.

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Dear one, As the domino, I fall cascading on the drawing board. Why would one deny progression? A furtherance , the ebb and flow. I remain up beat and spirited as I read your letters. It's like a barred barricade is being lifted.Your glowing light is charging me. Certainty is liberating, the riding of the waves have become a skill that I have engrossed. The tides spread from shore to shore and I must anchor. I am ever grateful for your deliberation in regard to my current affairs. Your magnanimity is greatly appreciated. As I am Enormous, bountifulness of free spirit. Episodes of taciturnity alternated by sequences of thrill are remarkably felt. The higher level linking is simultaneous , coordinated and equidistant. As life propels, years progress a resemblance of energy is greatly congruent. The conforming compatibility of the absolute is evident. Transpiration of what once known yet unknown surfaces, erupts and consolidates a new meaning. A renewed existence, a recovered emergence solidifies. These moments are so evident, abundantly and vehemently felt on every fibre,bone and muscle of my being. Right to the core of my soul, my very existence. On the tangent of thoughts........"J" the jewel... the forgotten treasure. What happened to the nature trueness that stroked your mind? The non win compromises aren't spontaneous. We must realign.... we must. Vous êtes magnifiquement merveilleux et excellent en tous les moyens possible. You sure do give me the butterflies...... You hold me in skies high above. I can't control the butterflies......... Is it just a flutter ? To progress as you progress..... SassyJ Inspired by........ Natasha Bedingfield (Soulmate) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P27MPi3ZhCg

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Dec 25, 2015

Dec 25, 2015 at 2:35 PM UTC

No.7 Convergence (Epistolary Collection)

Dear one, As the domino, I fall cascading on the drawing board. Why would one deny progression? A furtherance , the ebb and flow. I remain up beat and spirited as I read your letters. It's like a barred barricade is being lifted.Your glowing light is charging me. Certainty is liberating, the riding of the waves have become a skill that I have engrossed. The tides spread from shore to shore and I must anchor. I am ever grateful for your deliberation in regard to my current affairs. Your magnanimity is greatly appreciated. As I am Enormous, bountifulness of free spirit. Episodes of taciturnity alternated by sequences of thrill are remarkably felt. The higher level linking is simultaneous , coordinated and equidistant. As life propels, years progress a resemblance of energy is greatly congruent. The conforming compatibility of the absolute is evident. Transpiration of what once known yet unknown surfaces, erupts and consolidates a new meaning. A renewed existence, a recovered emergence solidifies. These moments are so evident, abundantly and vehemently felt on every fibre,bone and muscle of my being. Right to the core of my soul, my very existence. On the tangent of thoughts........"J" the jewel... the forgotten treasure. What happened to the nature trueness that stroked your mind? The non win compromises aren't spontaneous. We must realign.... we must. Vous êtes magnifiquement merveilleux et excellent en tous les moyens possible. You sure do give me the butterflies...... You hold me in skies high above. I can't control the butterflies......... Is it just a flutter ? To progress as you progress..... SassyJ Inspired by........ Natasha Bedingfield (Soulmate) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P27MPi3ZhCg

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Dear friends many of you have moved from surroundings I knew and loved with you but my memories of us have not defused like clouds hanging dark but always new. In old age it is the memories that flow and make you present with hearts beating wildly times we drank beer decrying the status quo and when we celebrated little things like being Friday. We celebrated a lot when life was so full alive with discoveries, conflicts, and diversity when our desires and thoughts pushed and pulled and we felt pain and hope in multiplicity. But now so many of you are gone to places unknown: some to you and some to me and together we won’t know joys of new dawns we will deal with things like that **** aching knee. For some of you your children are grown for me poetry, love, and God enliven and wake me up but nobody can take from me the bonds I have known bonds cast with you in sharing, caring, and lifting life’s cup. In long moments in a waiting room trying to ignore the next challenge of my body I’ll be grateful. I’ll not dwell in spaces of doom I’ll remember those times of being good or naughty. I’ll visit the rooms and the halls where we gathered to learn and teach in those precious moments of my recall I’ll gather you together for the universes we’ve yet to reach. Written 6-30-18

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Jun 30, 2018

Jun 30, 2018 at 8:10 AM UTC

Letter to My Old Colleague Friends (Epistolary form)

Dear friends many of you have moved from surroundings I knew and loved with you but my memories of us have not defused like clouds hanging dark but always new. In old age it is the memories that flow and make you present with hearts beating wildly times we drank beer decrying the status quo and when we celebrated little things like being Friday. We celebrated a lot when life was so full alive with discoveries, conflicts, and diversity when our desires and thoughts pushed and pulled and we felt pain and hope in multiplicity. But now so many of you are gone to places unknown: some to you and some to me and together we won’t know joys of new dawns we will deal with things like that **** aching knee. For some of you your children are grown for me poetry, love, and God enliven and wake me up but nobody can take from me the bonds I have known bonds cast with you in sharing, caring, and lifting life’s cup. In long moments in a waiting room trying to ignore the next challenge of my body I’ll be grateful. I’ll not dwell in spaces of doom I’ll remember those times of being good or naughty. I’ll visit the rooms and the halls where we gathered to learn and teach in those precious moments of my recall I’ll gather you together for the universes we’ve yet to reach. Written 6-30-18

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Steadfast Risen to done, inclined With a times shadow, to last Among causes sign's... Deeds of without... Sated by roles of history That a common power... Makes a chance, of life's epistolary Crave more... Than an impunity To introduce a quiet war Of a candid salvation of humanity... Rancor and/or hunger? Places of distrust, if not deception? Have a song's life, long before done and gone, were... The truth of sincerity, is means, from its inception Taken with the might, of serendipity Come by the ought, of better aspiration Mere, has become my voice for liberty Like a stone, of choices seen, I see a host's generation...

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Jul 6, 2024

Jul 6, 2024 at 1:31 AM UTC

Right, About Right About

Steadfast Risen to done, inclined With a times shadow, to last Among causes sign's... Deeds of without... Sated by roles of history That a common power... Makes a chance, of life's epistolary Crave more... Than an impunity To introduce a quiet war Of a candid salvation of humanity... Rancor and/or hunger? Places of distrust, if not deception? Have a song's life, long before done and gone, were... The truth of sincerity, is means, from its inception Taken with the might, of serendipity Come by the ought, of better aspiration Mere, has become my voice for liberty Like a stone, of choices seen, I see a host's generation...

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The sweetness of dismal forth? Space and a tapping heavy will of the wish Greeting the dread, a host of silence, music for worth... Naked real enough, naked felt to mention Raises an eyebrow, raises a hunger To the table of vestige, the tone of mystique For a doting hope, dancing in the arms of thunder Reach and purpose, in the shielded eyes of a lead... Curious rhymes and times with a patronage's bag Hurt feelings for a lore, in the needs of more Had like a thought, in toil we save the cursory to add... A callous few, the society of timid eyes, knows you somehow stranger Lights that remind, you... Three pigs and a wolf to tell the time Have a mirror in mind, one for alienation Two for a side of salt, and three wishes that should, a crying... And a wolf in the first place... Space for happening homes, the tale of synergy in grasp That has the continue if not the view, of when a soon is sate Is a requite of voice and its taste in joy, a new past to ask? Exorcism of a priest, and a tale of youths? Without the kindness of privilege, or the epistolary of count The wailing and the stolen tryst, of powers that be our couth's? In the dim and violent, misery we will note, is but a secret's pout Passionate days, with a reason to be here Aching eyes on the verge of unity, if not use for a cross That has said, in a treatise of vice and quiet offering, of fear... The none, the fulfilled song, and ourselves in an eye to toss...

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Jun 3, 2023

Jun 3, 2023 at 12:15 AM UTC

Another Dream, Another Day Of Avarice, Too Due...?

The sweetness of dismal forth? Space and a tapping heavy will of the wish Greeting the dread, a host of silence, music for worth... Naked real enough, naked felt to mention Raises an eyebrow, raises a hunger To the table of vestige, the tone of mystique For a doting hope, dancing in the arms of thunder Reach and purpose, in the shielded eyes of a lead... Curious rhymes and times with a patronage's bag Hurt feelings for a lore, in the needs of more Had like a thought, in toil we save the cursory to add... A callous few, the society of timid eyes, knows you somehow stranger Lights that remind, you... Three pigs and a wolf to tell the time Have a mirror in mind, one for alienation Two for a side of salt, and three wishes that should, a crying... And a wolf in the first place... Space for happening homes, the tale of synergy in grasp That has the continue if not the view, of when a soon is sate Is a requite of voice and its taste in joy, a new past to ask? Exorcism of a priest, and a tale of youths? Without the kindness of privilege, or the epistolary of count The wailing and the stolen tryst, of powers that be our couth's? In the dim and violent, misery we will note, is but a secret's pout Passionate days, with a reason to be here Aching eyes on the verge of unity, if not use for a cross That has said, in a treatise of vice and quiet offering, of fear... The none, the fulfilled song, and ourselves in an eye to toss...

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A whistle from England sailing 9500 miles away A lack of comfort and banter, a fight and a bite A tuck as I reach out over your leaned shoulder Young hearts who skipped on a rope and tugged A pull from right to left, a completion for a winner Locked you in my arms for the longest time ever Inside my core is the thesaurus and theories you merited Can you be the priest that initiates a ritualistic Candomblé? Recite the irmandades as I dally lost at your feet Darling, I have no pen left to write epistolary and soliloquies Neither have I got vocals to narrate and articulate speeches For all we can do is embark and meet in between the shores

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Apr 30, 2016

Apr 30, 2016 at 4:09 PM UTC

9500 Miles.... Time for Candomblé

A whistle from England sailing 9500 miles away A lack of comfort and banter, a fight and a bite A tuck as I reach out over your leaned shoulder Young hearts who skipped on a rope and tugged A pull from right to left, a completion for a winner Locked you in my arms for the longest time ever Inside my core is the thesaurus and theories you merited Can you be the priest that initiates a ritualistic Candomblé? Recite the irmandades as I dally lost at your feet Darling, I have no pen left to write epistolary and soliloquies Neither have I got vocals to narrate and articulate speeches For all we can do is embark and meet in between the shores

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Speed skills Anti the patience, you dismay? Serious consciences, save what kills Seek me at the end of poise, people shade And a heart of steel, waiting on the guidance Made of hunger in the name of shame Somewhere the lovers of wonder, are our chance Oblivion and the nary of a fulfilled joy, same Same side of a house Adding the gifts of omnipotence, a hill Now in your stead, have and the thought for thou Eccentric as a wall of flame, we see the sun is a since's will... Won't a misery enact, the coming hope? Erudite and valuing want, over loves history... Never in view, with a bright mind, to liberate shown...? Time, to a little more fate, when loves epistolary... Heed me, the corners and the future of powers, adroit Overt to clashes of vivid kind, that swallow of pride Made the noise, the vice and the silence, so loyal... Earned for a levity in the now, the soul of reach to those, sighed Now At the moment of curiosity, the privilege of sincerity Making the statement of a lifetime, when time builds a house Each their spate fears, like a timely fool, with tears for eternity...

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May 27, 2024

May 27, 2024 at 2:53 AM UTC

The Risks And Pasts, Of A Time Mightier Than You

Speed skills Anti the patience, you dismay? Serious consciences, save what kills Seek me at the end of poise, people shade And a heart of steel, waiting on the guidance Made of hunger in the name of shame Somewhere the lovers of wonder, are our chance Oblivion and the nary of a fulfilled joy, same Same side of a house Adding the gifts of omnipotence, a hill Now in your stead, have and the thought for thou Eccentric as a wall of flame, we see the sun is a since's will... Won't a misery enact, the coming hope? Erudite and valuing want, over loves history... Never in view, with a bright mind, to liberate shown...? Time, to a little more fate, when loves epistolary... Heed me, the corners and the future of powers, adroit Overt to clashes of vivid kind, that swallow of pride Made the noise, the vice and the silence, so loyal... Earned for a levity in the now, the soul of reach to those, sighed Now At the moment of curiosity, the privilege of sincerity Making the statement of a lifetime, when time builds a house Each their spate fears, like a timely fool, with tears for eternity...

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The universe makes random jokes Like, to know me is a curse My personalities make it worse. The introvert in me is ugly painted with gloomy clouds, stalking demons in the alley loves to mourn as a firstborn sick With numb eyes flick, tears don't exist anymore. The extrovert in me is silly painted with colours people never been seen, his smile is flawless and always wander around clueless about why he smiles. The **** in me is a song or people like to call it wrong, a yearlong gong he writes 'lol' in people's wall with a fluffy cloud inside his brain, it reads tetrahydrocannabinol, notorious for his vocabulary, can **** with an epistolary. The Dib is a broken rib, spoon-feed bib He writes out of syllabus with sketchy nib, runs in a solo trip his life says 'rofl'. ©sarcasticbong

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May 25, 2021

May 25, 2021 at 2:08 PM UTC

The universe makes random jokes Like, to know me is a curse My personalities make it worse. The introvert in me is ugly painted with gloomy clouds, stalking demons in the alley loves to mourn as a firstborn sick With numb eyes flick, tears don't exist anymore. The extrovert in me is silly painted with colours people never been seen, his smile is flawless and always wander around clueless about why he smiles. The **** in me is a song or people like to call it wrong, a yearlong gong he writes 'lol' in people's wall with a fluffy cloud inside his brain, it reads tetrahydrocannabinol, notorious for his vocabulary, can **** with an epistolary. The Dib is a broken rib, spoon-feed bib He writes out of syllabus with sketchy nib, runs in a solo trip his life says 'rofl'. ©sarcasticbong

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Wasted youth? In role and dote, the done Proud to accept your who'th... Come and compare, a soul for fun Tale of the option, many And few make such famous shade For friends and enemy's, asking any Who would notice, a price for legends Powers of particular, 'if not history'... Where has a clash with purpose been, sincerity Patience for a canny wish, the fate of epistolary Notion in a heed we due, your way or may yet, of visionary... Was this, that in lead of those? Couldn't a heard difference, defer to a wiser anarchy? Straight to you, seldom was a fate for the better moment? We have made in a notorious heat, with when to tell, a sight's vanity?

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Apr 27, 2023

Apr 27, 2023 at 5:20 AM UTC

Can you see a genius keep a pet ghost?

Wasted youth? In role and dote, the done Proud to accept your who'th... Come and compare, a soul for fun Tale of the option, many And few make such famous shade For friends and enemy's, asking any Who would notice, a price for legends Powers of particular, 'if not history'... Where has a clash with purpose been, sincerity Patience for a canny wish, the fate of epistolary Notion in a heed we due, your way or may yet, of visionary... Was this, that in lead of those? Couldn't a heard difference, defer to a wiser anarchy? Straight to you, seldom was a fate for the better moment? We have made in a notorious heat, with when to tell, a sight's vanity?

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"Dear" humanity of mine, I am hereby rejecting you Please sod off ASAP Take feelings & emotions along You are beneath worthless. Why am I not an AI? Instead of a *** of soggy bacon? P.S. DO NOT REPLY. JUST GO TO HELL. ...... "Dear" biological body of mine, You are the worst thing I ever had the misfortune To encounter, you ******* Inferior, yet still high maintenance Should I ever get roboticized I am going to enjoy your cremation P.S. DO NOT REPLY. JUST GO TO HELL. ...... "Dear""family" of mine, Oh, where do I even start? There is not enough paper and ink In all the worlds and universes For me to describe my bitterness For you and your traditional toxicity Your cancerous cultures & poisonous pressures So long and thanks for all the trauma. P.S. DO. NOT. REPLY. JUST! **** OFF! TO! HELL! ...... Dear Death, It is such an honour to write to you I do hope you will read this But I understand you are very busy No thanks to us stupid humans I am a big fan of your divine work Though I do confess, not of everything... But! I really admire your ideals and your efforts You inspire me to understand What is an authentic sleep, a true rest And I know you have a system, but... I cannot resist, and I do apologise... When can I meet you? I confess to be impatient. Yours sincerely, Charles ------ DEAR CHARLES, TRULY, IT IS RARE TO FIND ONE WITH YOUR BACKGROUND WHO PROCLAIMS AN ADMIRATION OF MYSELF I UNDERSTAND IT MUST BE DIFFICULT AS YOU KNOW, MY DUTIES AND I ARE SORELY MISUNDERSTOOD AND MISINTERPRETED REGARDING YOUR REQUEST, I THANK YOU. I SINCERELY THANK YOU, FOR YOUR PATIENCE. AND FOR NOT CHOOSING TO HASTEN OUR APPOINTMENT. REALLY, FRIEND, YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW YOUR CHOOSING TO WAIT HELPS ME BY NOT MESSING MY SCHEDULE TAKE CARE, STAY SAFE, AND I WILL SEE YOU WHEN I SEE YOU. SINCERELY, DEATH P.S. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE LISTEN TO YOUR SCIENTISTS!

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Oct 2, 2021

Oct 2, 2021 at 7:11 AM UTC

Epistolary Rhetorica

"Dear" humanity of mine, I am hereby rejecting you Please sod off ASAP Take feelings & emotions along You are beneath worthless. Why am I not an AI? Instead of a *** of soggy bacon? P.S. DO NOT REPLY. JUST GO TO HELL. ...... "Dear" biological body of mine, You are the worst thing I ever had the misfortune To encounter, you ******* Inferior, yet still high maintenance Should I ever get roboticized I am going to enjoy your cremation P.S. DO NOT REPLY. JUST GO TO HELL. ...... "Dear""family" of mine, Oh, where do I even start? There is not enough paper and ink In all the worlds and universes For me to describe my bitterness For you and your traditional toxicity Your cancerous cultures & poisonous pressures So long and thanks for all the trauma. P.S. DO. NOT. REPLY. JUST! **** OFF! TO! HELL! ...... Dear Death, It is such an honour to write to you I do hope you will read this But I understand you are very busy No thanks to us stupid humans I am a big fan of your divine work Though I do confess, not of everything... But! I really admire your ideals and your efforts You inspire me to understand What is an authentic sleep, a true rest And I know you have a system, but... I cannot resist, and I do apologise... When can I meet you? I confess to be impatient. Yours sincerely, Charles ------ DEAR CHARLES, TRULY, IT IS RARE TO FIND ONE WITH YOUR BACKGROUND WHO PROCLAIMS AN ADMIRATION OF MYSELF I UNDERSTAND IT MUST BE DIFFICULT AS YOU KNOW, MY DUTIES AND I ARE SORELY MISUNDERSTOOD AND MISINTERPRETED REGARDING YOUR REQUEST, I THANK YOU. I SINCERELY THANK YOU, FOR YOUR PATIENCE. AND FOR NOT CHOOSING TO HASTEN OUR APPOINTMENT. REALLY, FRIEND, YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW YOUR CHOOSING TO WAIT HELPS ME BY NOT MESSING MY SCHEDULE TAKE CARE, STAY SAFE, AND I WILL SEE YOU WHEN I SEE YOU. SINCERELY, DEATH P.S. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE LISTEN TO YOUR SCIENTISTS!

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Share, are we your decency? Share a little more, history Share is ours, to spite, leniency Share, it had to be you, wisdom's epistolary Prevent or protect Salacious, we know bitter try's Of a sincerity, determined to collect Fright's, in the name of when beauty cry's Pardon me, the future silence Somehow, asking a savior's heart, how Special is a tribute, on the chin... Secret's with a many, misery in a tow Can't mean the better? Sordid advances... Makes the call, to finish the letter Of a wish, then with avarice's chances Reposed, the had guilt Sense seemly, a willful and sour sake Has our opinion, all in a row to be felt With love before life's content, accepting a mind is one to make...

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Oct 3, 2024

Oct 3, 2024 at 4:18 PM UTC

Honey For Flies, Are You That Good A Kisser?

Share, are we your decency? Share a little more, history Share is ours, to spite, leniency Share, it had to be you, wisdom's epistolary Prevent or protect Salacious, we know bitter try's Of a sincerity, determined to collect Fright's, in the name of when beauty cry's Pardon me, the future silence Somehow, asking a savior's heart, how Special is a tribute, on the chin... Secret's with a many, misery in a tow Can't mean the better? Sordid advances... Makes the call, to finish the letter Of a wish, then with avarice's chances Reposed, the had guilt Sense seemly, a willful and sour sake Has our opinion, all in a row to be felt With love before life's content, accepting a mind is one to make...

Continue reading...

Tasteless... Jokes, I'd died for... So whetted an appetite, for bests And a single worst, shapes to form Adage, with no history Accept a joy, has you in mind Sorry, but *** is no epistolary When two is more, one is only kind... Faces that ace the test Marks and redoubt, to tell the tale Sorry, but *** is for lessons That eat rhymes, that know when to fail Future misery: What has a cough, fit for a king But ate the queen's pie? luridity Is a child with a thumb ******* a playing's aching? ******* Red is our forte, similar finger's With a reach, asking only doles Is **** a friend, when reality linger's?

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Mar 20, 2024

Mar 20, 2024 at 6:17 PM UTC

The Breath Of A Wild School

Tasteless... Jokes, I'd died for... So whetted an appetite, for bests And a single worst, shapes to form Adage, with no history Accept a joy, has you in mind Sorry, but *** is no epistolary When two is more, one is only kind... Faces that ace the test Marks and redoubt, to tell the tale Sorry, but *** is for lessons That eat rhymes, that know when to fail Future misery: What has a cough, fit for a king But ate the queen's pie? luridity Is a child with a thumb ******* a playing's aching? ******* Red is our forte, similar finger's With a reach, asking only doles Is **** a friend, when reality linger's?

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The birds and the bees Morning electric Afternoon zzzz’s Temptation is the greatest treason I’m trying to do the all the right things for the wrong reasons Because you and me We were epistolary All the poems you wrote me Hollow letters with no ink. You say it was fun I know it was fate This is the last letter I won’t sign it with hate But if I never see you again, It’ll be too soon To get close to my heart You’ll have to rip it from the ******* moon

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Apr 1, 2020

Apr 1, 2020 at 4:26 PM UTC

Rocksteadylettie

The birds and the bees Morning electric Afternoon zzzz’s Temptation is the greatest treason I’m trying to do the all the right things for the wrong reasons Because you and me We were epistolary All the poems you wrote me Hollow letters with no ink. You say it was fun I know it was fate This is the last letter I won’t sign it with hate But if I never see you again, It’ll be too soon To get close to my heart You’ll have to rip it from the ******* moon

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dear moon, how i constantly seek your guidance through the dead of night wishing for you to illuminate my dark thoughts i gaze at thy bright moonlight reflecting on ripples of rivers basking in thy calm breeze and the scent of love & purity enveloping me caressing my heart and soul like a mother to her child a woman to her wife i abandon all worry and fear for in this moment i shall love without hurt know peace without war belong without suffering the loss of oneself the shimmering sparkles clearing the fog of my mind the haziness of my sight the agony of my heart i find home in your eyes my love an unreachable paradise so distant yet so familiarly consoling how my soul unconditionally longs for your affectionate embrace wishing upon every star to be up above with you through heaven’s soft clouds like cotton and silk on my skin praying lost souls find empathy wrapping earth with our hearts eternally pulsing full of love sincerely, yours forever.

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Aug 13, 2025

Aug 13, 2025 at 11:26 PM UTC

sincerelymoonborne

dear moon, how i constantly seek your guidance through the dead of night wishing for you to illuminate my dark thoughts i gaze at thy bright moonlight reflecting on ripples of rivers basking in thy calm breeze and the scent of love & purity enveloping me caressing my heart and soul like a mother to her child a woman to her wife i abandon all worry and fear for in this moment i shall love without hurt know peace without war belong without suffering the loss of oneself the shimmering sparkles clearing the fog of my mind the haziness of my sight the agony of my heart i find home in your eyes my love an unreachable paradise so distant yet so familiarly consoling how my soul unconditionally longs for your affectionate embrace wishing upon every star to be up above with you through heaven’s soft clouds like cotton and silk on my skin praying lost souls find empathy wrapping earth with our hearts eternally pulsing full of love sincerely, yours forever.

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Justice for a friend Salutations in a frank history See, my eyes have a care, to lend A word to the wise, for a pleasance's epistolary Poorer, the tale of jealousy... Sophistication, if not a clashing hour To develop the cares, of a song so heady With the passion of decency, the curiosity of sincerity, so dour... Patience, a bridge of domain... Sour to touch, but roam greater by need Somehow, they are the scope, of a prodigious aim We are to be a callous deed, in the reach of powers, even heed... A wish for longevity, with a prayer for eyes Saving the might we dote, for a baring hope A tally of cause, to collect another world, to its heart for what sigh's Is but a song, that remains in light, even when we understate those Purpose under a living lead To and for from, the seldom we see In the reach of kinds, of gifts and miracles we seem Another may and can, the salts of salvation, we be...

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Jun 25, 2024

Jun 25, 2024 at 4:39 PM UTC

Clashing, With The Best...

Justice for a friend Salutations in a frank history See, my eyes have a care, to lend A word to the wise, for a pleasance's epistolary Poorer, the tale of jealousy... Sophistication, if not a clashing hour To develop the cares, of a song so heady With the passion of decency, the curiosity of sincerity, so dour... Patience, a bridge of domain... Sour to touch, but roam greater by need Somehow, they are the scope, of a prodigious aim We are to be a callous deed, in the reach of powers, even heed... A wish for longevity, with a prayer for eyes Saving the might we dote, for a baring hope A tally of cause, to collect another world, to its heart for what sigh's Is but a song, that remains in light, even when we understate those Purpose under a living lead To and for from, the seldom we see In the reach of kinds, of gifts and miracles we seem Another may and can, the salts of salvation, we be...

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Its color sat somewhere on the spectrum between brown and gray (Such things being dependent on vagaries of the light, And the perspective of the beholder) And it served as a testament To the muted benefits of near adequacy, Being too thin for the portentous winds of December, And too warm for the capricious sunshine of May, Its threadbare functionality emblematic of its owner, Whose relationship with those around him (Indeed mankind and his universe in general) Vacillated between an affronted indifference And an implacable if somewhat muted contempt, His commerce with his fellow man, Excepting that required to provide him With the basics of sustenance and shelter, Carried on in an epistolary fashion, Through letters he wrote, Sometimes to those he encountered on a daily basis, More often to mankind and the unheeding cosmos in general, Which were stuffed higgledy-piggledy into his coat pockets. These missives were not humdrum laundry lists Of those slights and injuries, be they petty or mortal, But rather soaring and high-flown in nature and tone, More kin of the sermon than the scolding, Celebrations of life’s splendors great and small, More often than not those he knew little or nothing of first-hand. He’d no intention of sharing these dispatches With the world at large or anyone in particular; He’d simply empty his pockets once they were full enough To present an inconvenience, And he’d laundered any number of them On more than one occasion, And when he’d passed behind this earthly veil, All but unnoticed and unmourned, His landlady had simply emptied the contents of the coat's pockets And consigned them to the trash, Believing the garment barely fit for charitable purposes Washed and given a goodly airing out, Let alone burdened with the detritus of another man’s life.

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Jul 28, 2017

Jul 28, 2017 at 3:02 PM UTC

The Man Who Wrote Letters To His Coat Pockets

Its color sat somewhere on the spectrum between brown and gray (Such things being dependent on vagaries of the light, And the perspective of the beholder) And it served as a testament To the muted benefits of near adequacy, Being too thin for the portentous winds of December, And too warm for the capricious sunshine of May, Its threadbare functionality emblematic of its owner, Whose relationship with those around him (Indeed mankind and his universe in general) Vacillated between an affronted indifference And an implacable if somewhat muted contempt, His commerce with his fellow man, Excepting that required to provide him With the basics of sustenance and shelter, Carried on in an epistolary fashion, Through letters he wrote, Sometimes to those he encountered on a daily basis, More often to mankind and the unheeding cosmos in general, Which were stuffed higgledy-piggledy into his coat pockets. These missives were not humdrum laundry lists Of those slights and injuries, be they petty or mortal, But rather soaring and high-flown in nature and tone, More kin of the sermon than the scolding, Celebrations of life’s splendors great and small, More often than not those he knew little or nothing of first-hand. He’d no intention of sharing these dispatches With the world at large or anyone in particular; He’d simply empty his pockets once they were full enough To present an inconvenience, And he’d laundered any number of them On more than one occasion, And when he’d passed behind this earthly veil, All but unnoticed and unmourned, His landlady had simply emptied the contents of the coat's pockets And consigned them to the trash, Believing the garment barely fit for charitable purposes Washed and given a goodly airing out, Let alone burdened with the detritus of another man’s life.

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