"excercised" poems
Wish for your eyes to see indeed
breathlessly wishing deep inside
your love needs you ,she needs you around here longer.
but you are already half dead and the other half in a coma
doctor says it could last a day, maybe two
or even a decade.
i still need you, without you love
life essense is spiceless
i need a re-incarnation!
faith is the remaining gut
left when all hopes are excercised.
one more redemption, the only chance to life again!
i desire for you life again, not so much to seek a second chance.
for you this cup kindly pass over,
Christ also resisted with an agonizing plea at calvary
one more prayer need answered
in this heavens today
darkness!!!! we lost him
pim pim pim pim and steadily the beeps rise
the heart rate monitor regains a steady pulse
its a re-incarnation!
breath taking deep inside, i recount
God answers prayers one moment in time sometime
when we so badly make the call.
Jan 20, 2018
Jan 20, 2018 at 11:54 PM UTC
I'm only happy when I write,
But the words only mutter their
Way out of my palms
When I'm downtrodden in the alleyway of self-induced tragedies
And the infinite pool of senile smirks.
I'm only happy in my utter love of despair
And despite all of the sweetness pouring out
Of my deranged pores
I'm only perfect when I write.
And when I write the syllables expose every fresh wound wandering with the whiff of sunrise.
I'm not sure how to transcribe a smile
Even when the hilarity ensues from within the depths of every over excercised drama lesson
From every corner of the televized reality.
I'm only happy when I write
Even when the soundtrack is overhyped and autotuned
To its very small inch closer to the grave of sanity.
I'm only happy when I write
Even when the wine has dried and morphed into a need to quench a thirst from a well of burnt tears.
I'm only happy when I write
On the overtime commute between
The verses overjoyed with the euphoria of making the perfect pun for all what is faulty with the theories of competence and competition in elation.
I'm only happy when I write,
But I only write when the darkness of despair grows thick and wild.
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 2:54 PM UTC
The family's asleep
I, as usual
Try
To
Write
Something wise and profound.
As usual, I can't!
My mind
Is not that well excercised.
I'm not a writer anyway
But I like to think I am.
Where
Do the great poets obtain
Such deep insight and poetic
Phraseology?
I don't suppose I'll ever know,
For where they were
I
Just don't
Have a clue how to go.
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 5:39 PM UTC