"expending" poems
My bones have become filled
to the brim with lead
until each step I take
is so labored
I can barely make another.
I am exhausted
to my very core
And I'm expending
every ounce of my energy
simply attempting
to hold my eyelids up.
I can't anymore, I'm sorry.
I just can't, I'm too tired,
I'm going to sleep now,
that deep, restful sleep
from which one doesn't awake.
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 5:23 PM UTC
A drab drop drips
Downed casualty
Down casually.
A sulfuric gust cycles
In three fly-by nights.
A gust hoping,
A breeze yearning to dab a wet tear off a moistened spring cheek.
Floating by on a wisp of breath,
Breathed once by the blessed. Now irreparably tainted, then incomprehensible anew:
Treated by the respirations of the perspiring, expending breath on czarist ears, aspiring;
Cured by the tongues of the insatiably dying
And by those primary soothe-ers, invisibly crying.
Alveoli gripping that sine qua non of civilization
Until they must release the once-oxygen into the hills of Kyivan Rus.
A first breath and second
As much as a penultimate and final.
And witness to the chronology that led to such a
Bloodbath-blessed blast
As this.
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 11:44 PM UTC
Now the days dark ends
begin to stretch out giving
greenery room to
expand expending too the
suspension of flowers
Apr 26, 2010
Apr 26, 2010 at 1:09 PM UTC
A serene cottage upon a dreary hillside
Where my mind's listless galaxy of neurons
Synapse in the absolute darkness,
Is painted in Victorian hues, cold and haunting.
Dejection rains down from the leeward sky
With nothing harkened save for the ocean's
Stormy roar and a desolate lighthouse,
Beckoning through the fog and memoirs of the past.
The deeper my soul is carved out with sorrow,
The deeper the hollow can be filled with joy.
But alas, I feel nothing of joy but only a void
Left by the dagger of yesterday's darkening tragedies.
I feel the rain soothe my skin and kiss my cheek
Like the sweetest lover on midnight's embrace,
Yet my moth-eaten quilt of memories only seems
Enough to shelter our legs but ne'er our feet.
My heart feels the warmth of an autumn fire,
Kindling in the crisp rain, bleeding beneath
A rose where we burn in the endless torture
Of our own despondence.
I can feel the blood in my veins turning to fire
As I imagine her fingertips unzipping my spine
As though it were full of secrets and mysteries
Unbeknowst to myself...
I can feel the inferno that rages within my aortic arch
Every moment I imagine losing myself within her
Eyes, glimmering like an eclipse over a midnight
Sea...the Sleepless Coventry.
She unlocks my secrets and weaves them in the bouquet
Of tendrils in her hair like ribbons of crimson and light,
Waving in the vehement northerlies with numbing scents
Of argan and spice.
Her body is but a canvas wrapped neatly around a
Paper mache skeleton, the most beautifully tragic
Foundation known to humanity...
She arrives right on the equinox to set fire to my sorrow,
Intoxicating me with her kiss and infecting me with her smile.
And so enters the conflagration of my soul,
An annihilation of light, blackening my coronary
Artery whilst shooting smoke through my cinnamon
Whiskey tainted veins.
'Tis hard to look through such a misconstrued lens
As such, the Vena Cava Kaleidoscope...
Where the flames burn through the galaxy of neurons
Expending the harrowing memories as its fuel.
I can see the magnetic alloy of her Cobalt eyes reflecting
The fire that consumes me from the inside out.
She pulls on me like the moon pulls upon the tide
As she whispers with her soft, enamored sigh.
I burn in my silent knowing, my liquid mind
Awakening in fervor and strange euphoria.
I burn for the Aurora Infinite.
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 3:08 PM UTC
Wisdom is not knowledge.
It took me a vial of mescaline
And the Holy Bible
To figure this out.
All this contemplation
Over matters of the heart,
That information or judgement
Could never fathom.
Wisdom passed down,
Acquired through
Inheritance.
Knowledge learned
And memorized
Through practice.
Fantasies and dreams
Always seemed like
The synonym for
The same thing.
Fantasies are sleepy dreams
Allowing us to imagine
Our wildest possibilities.
Fantasy parked out front
In a street car named Desire.
Dreams draped in a scarlet robe
Of lust and positivity,
Always come into fruition.
Dreams draped in onyx
And negativity
Turn into the reversed
Prophetic vision of what
We want to be.
Fantasy dismissed
As impossibility
But allowed in the
Bedroom ************
Dreams realized and
Dreams that die,
They are considered
The guiding reality.
Expending so much energy
On knowledge and dreams,
But now I am
Consciously connected
To the vibration of
Wisdom and Fantasy.
Releasing resistance to
Those concepts
That I've never seen.
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 2:59 PM UTC
Oh baby,
prepare yourself for a fitting tribute
at the hands of my lyrical ability.
I will rhyme effectively
much as a successful sportsman
might employ his talents
in order to win a tournament of some kind.
Indeed, my mastery of rhythm and rhyme
will be such
that you will find yourself very powerfully
attracted to me.
Girl,
you put me in mind of a famous celebrity
noted for her physical beauty.
If you were, let's say, a car,
you would be
a really good car.
The sort of car
I would wish to own and drive.
Not convinced?
Then let me assure you
that I can easily put paid to my rivals
by deploying the linguistic and musical prowess
which I believe I mentioned above.
Oh yeah.
Incidentally,
I would think nothing
of expending quite considerable sums
on nice things to give you.
That would be nice,
wouldn't it?
So, baby,
if these enticements are sufficient to stir your interest
in me
then I would be delighted
to exchange
contact details
or something.
Oh yeah. Get down.
Mar 4, 2011
Mar 4, 2011 at 4:23 AM UTC
Do you know what’s good in this world?
You, you ****** idiot,
expending all your energy
whirling and worrying
about what others think
while your very industry stops them sinking,
you almighty dingus
You bally fool!
Your absence injures
in increments felt by each person
you vex for, who miss you
which add in mounds and scores
and you shaped piles
while they would run for miles
to keep you in their orbit
So,
you massive plum,
let yourself feel it
Mar 25, 2021
Mar 25, 2021 at 2:38 PM UTC
Ugly and disappointing colors are what they're revealing
It's a challenge not to fall victim to the deceptive deceiving
This world in which all are tirelessly scheming
Corrupt messages intended to disillusion our modes of sensory
The laws of this dishonesty are rarely discriminant
The unlimited reach of the effects are constantly consistent
Putting current views and outlooks in legitimate jeopardy
Originality is one thing they've made a hobby of stealing
Dark, ***** secrets require intelligent attempts at concealing
This society in which all are tirelessly scheming
Naivity is an automatic assumption of all that is innocent
You can witness their successes expending minimal energy
The fraud is hazardous; failure is certainly imminent
One would desire that outcome sooner than later, as it leaves recipients feeling elderly
With any form of luck, more will come to share this sentiment
Endless efforts put toward developing façades generally appealing
Aiming to have candor and valor on the knees, kneeling
This reality in which all are tirelessly scheming
Sturdy quilts to shield clarity are woven most expertly
Time being tested passed slowly- increment by minute increment
Blueprints to fool the majority will be, expectedly, intricate
What was the original reality has been altered into a distant, doubted memory
Any and all accomplished legitimitacy sends them all reeling
There's always a "crisis" with which we should be dealing
Our universe in which all are tirelessly scheming
Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 1:17 AM UTC
Manifold Blessing
There is a reason wife rhymes with life
In her eyes I find the depths I must ever mine
Hearts of gold not made in any other way
The vain derived by expending softest feelings this all aligns
Molten gold flows into the mold only when honest truth fires singular hopes
For no other exceeds or matches this sacred bond that love has forged
In pressure I gladly steadfastly March this alone breaks my nature of stone
To another coupled selfless paths give rise to adornments uncommon
Her hand her voice most gentle but by it alone many storms unerring guide held the course
The day holds only empty clouds if she is absent the sun shines in vain all is tied together by her smile
She knows secrets that keep us safe in their power we run with never ending force all troubles are dispersed
Holy writ speaks to this matter when it says a man finds a good thing when he takes a wife
From these priceless cherished gifts all the earth is replenished no other way is it made whole
He who would hold her in small esteem troubles his own life and condemns himself to poverty
Jan 10, 2012
Jan 10, 2012 at 1:16 PM UTC
i look at her
and i forget i exist
and when i'm lost in thought
she hangsout in my dreams
she lives inside me
corrupting my essence;
expending my vibrance
and if she could have my last breath
she’d take that too
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 4:00 PM UTC
A combination of yours and mine
my smile and yours
torn at the hedges
combined at the soul
wrinkled in certain places
thoughts dug in holes for me to hold
lest your mortal words from your physical tongue
sing to me in silent echos
and watch my body unfold
the veins in your eyes are red
and your pupils are streched
by simply watching me lay lifeless on this sephia toned bed
and when your hand streches forward
to calm my brutal needs
on to your lips my body feeds
and I forget that
one of the most deadly sins is
greed
Nov 2, 2010
Nov 2, 2010 at 8:54 PM UTC
Manifold Blessing
There is a reason wife rhymes with life
In her eyes I find the depths I must ever mine
Hearts of gold not made in any other way
The vain derived by expending softest feelings this all aligns
Molten gold flows into the mold only when honest truth fires singular hopes
For no other exceeds or matches this sacred bond that love has forged
In pressure I gladly steadfastly March this alone breaks my nature of stone
To another coupled selfless paths give rise to adornments uncommon
Her hand her voice most gentle but by it alone many storms unerring guide held the course
The day holds only empty clouds if she is absent the sun shines in vain all is tied together by her smile
She knows secrets that keep us safe in their power we run with never ending force all troubles are dispersed
Holy writ speaks to this matter when it says a man finds a good thing when he takes a wife
From these priceless cherished gifts all the earth is replenished no other way is it made whole
He who would hold her in small esteem troubles his own life and condemns himself to poverty
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 2:38 PM UTC
Paper folding, tearing, shaping -
Tie a strip in a knot,
Make a star.
So much simpler than writing,
So much less rewarding.
And just distracting enough
To forget I am disappointing myself.
Fill up a mason jar
Like a galaxy
And the screen is still blank
Reprovingly.
I am giving nothing
And expending energy
But it's such a marvelous way
To waste time.
Later I'll probably
Throw out the universe
Or maybe pour it on someone's desk
As a surprise.
It's a small inconvenience
But maybe they'll wonder
How long it took to put the stars together.
(And never know they hold
Little chunks of unsung songs
And unwritten poems.)
Apr 3, 2012
Apr 3, 2012 at 10:07 PM UTC
Tell me of a day without struggle, a day without pain
If there be such a day, let it remain a secret to no man
Let it fill our ears and tremble in our own throats
For such a day is a gift from the universe
Bequeathed upon the masses
An approximated apology, focused on redeeming malice
The brightly shining sun would focus its strength on its object
Taking aim at his soul, meaning to warm it, looking to extract it
Taking from him all that was harmful from tarrying seconds
Replacing cruelty and hatred with thoughts that resemble forgiveness
But in themselves they are not forgiveness
Forgiveness, being but a specter, usurped by memories grown grainy
Forgiveness is so sallow and downtrodden, unconvincing
No, the thoughts projected by the early year’s sun are not so
They are empty of reminisces, void of meaning
Shining and new, redemptive and rejuvenating
Yet we approach them with a quiver of arrows fastened from our past
Expending ourselves in fighting its gaze and retreating to our caves
Where our memories are sheltered
To ponder what it means that this intruder has returned
Stroking the identities it tried to quell and weeping until overtaken by slumber
If ever there has been a day without pain and without struggle
Verily, the night which followed has it cast asunder
Mar 26, 2010
Mar 26, 2010 at 11:15 PM UTC
I know how to grab your attention,
but I'm not sure how to keep it,
so I'll keep this as shallow as I can before diving into the deep end.
I know how to bob and weave,
but I'm not sure what I believe in.
Something to do with the conservation of energy, I think;
expending it in a dream-like series of experiences before eventually going back to being a part of Everything.
I know how to cut a rug,
but . . . well actually I don't think I know what that means.
Hang on while I look it up:
Jan 2, 2017
Jan 2, 2017 at 8:17 PM UTC
On the mornings I awake empty,
more frequent than few and far between,
I take solace in the supposition
That I have something within me
Worth expending.
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 12:48 PM UTC
Experience morphed me into such a detailed design.
Any exposure taints, just ask the sun when it hits our skin.
The spiral never ceases, it merely expands into the nothingness.
Until it is enveloped in the blackness.
What am I without the drugs, the relationships, the maya, the physical?
My mind questions me when I close my eyes every night.
Planet Earth has taught me to love what is in my hands
with all of my bones,
and when it is time...
to simply let it go.
It is not simple.
To invest and to expend for the sake of investing and expending.
But I know this... and so I watch...
finger by finger
as I loosen my clenched fist.
Transcending the object I cradled with agony,
and with each release
I rise higher than I
and it.
Senseless liberation it seems like,
but in doing so I lose my senses.
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 4:08 PM UTC
It could be faintly heard in the early years
Such beauty it was unimaginable what it
Stood for as its notes past into white noise.
Its rhyme of thought would engulf some in
Coming fear. like wilted flowers they fell into
Themselves unsure of what was indeed heard.
Like the lady of the lake, calling to those enticing
Those of open thought to the shallow waters then
Would pull them under submerged in silence.
It would echo around halls and rooms where its
need was high, soothing the calling that would
Grasp a last breath expending last notes in rhyme.
The song of death was awoken with the first breath
Of life, but would finish upon a last breath.
Soothing all to that place with each softening note.
Dec 27, 2015
Dec 27, 2015 at 12:35 PM UTC
now, i’m no physicist
but i believe
the powers of gravity
to lay far beyond
the tides of the ocean
and the pulls of the moon
if gravity
in all its mighty magnetism
chooses only to pull the earth
how might one explain
the karmatic lure
that graces our love?
through the roughest of splits
leaving the most jagged of edges
scars ripped through perfection
forever shattered by broken words
despite endless attempts at resolution
and countless finales to our grand tale
we always found our tears
to be recurringly interrupted
by the rustle of curtains being drawn open
for an encore of what was presumed to be lost
who has drawn these continuously?
consistently hoping in the face of doubt
to whom might i extend thanks
for becoming the self-appointed stagehand of our love?
why, it can be none other
than the beloved universe
that intertwined us from formation
expending the very magic used to bind us
to tear away our blindness
and once again
as if on cue
reunite us
Mar 11, 2019
Mar 11, 2019 at 11:59 PM UTC
Words are unstoppable
Words may be spoken
Words may be written
Words may be thought
Night falls over the day
Night falls over the block
Night falls over the hood
Night falls over us
First as the dusk
Then as the stars
We can see nothing
Street corners light
Streetlight too bright
We can see nothing
Too bright but never enough.
We can see nothing of hope in the cosmos
We carry our blinded eyes in our hands
Buy me a knife.
Buy me a gun.
Find me behind the barrel,
I'd rather be first in line,
I will secure first place.
Buy me a knife.
Buy me a gun.
Find me shaking the iron sights,
I'd rather be running away from the system,
I will do what I must.
Take our education, expect us to grow.
Take our nutrition, expect we maintain.
The gatekeeper looks less like St. Peter
Than it looks like a bank.
Make it for money,
Expect we be happy
For the physical.
Make it vanity,
Expect our diminished state
Be aspiration and dream enough.
Words are unstoppable,
I know this to be true.
Where are the words
We need the most?
We cry for each other in night,
Each broken compatriot
Each potential confidant
Convinced we're abandoned
Convinced we're at war with the poor
Then at war with ourselves
Expending bullets for the clout on the shelf.
I am in here just as you so put that down.
I am in you, and I need your words to tell,
To touch, to show,
Those with nothing know what more there is than this.
May 9, 2018
May 9, 2018 at 5:24 PM UTC
My heart breaks and rips as I convey the deep feelings I have for you on paper
The love letters that I write seem to be meaningless seeing as though this love is one sided
My stomach is sick and my cheeks are stained red from these moments of anguish where I let you go
Our relationship doesn't make me happy, it only makes me angry and sad, dissatisfied and unfulfilled
We barely speak, we barely connect, our relationship is impossible to maintain due to a lack of sacrifices being made
You seem uninterested and treat me as if I'm an afterthought in your mind, while you consume my every moment
Continuing down this path will only breakdown my heart further into the space of emptiness that it seems to be
These love letters are tear stained as the droplets fall with every written word, I wanted it so badly to be real
I miss you every second and I long for you passionately, wanting to know you and be with you all the days through
But we will never be because what I see in front of me is someone who cannot love me the way that I love them
I'm sick of crying over you, I'm sick of expending all my energy on you, because by the end of the day, I am only depleted of my love, lacking affection and attention from you
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 5:07 PM UTC
backwards progress
like the clock has lost
it's purpose &
decided to join the circus
**** it--
the effort has been perilous and i thought it would be alright just to hear your voice and feel your love and remember what we were working for but i'm stressed and nervous and what if i was wrong and we can't do this and it's just a solo road ahead until the landscape becomes smoother i just don't know--
i want to believe it's going to work out,
but i'm expending energy on it
that i don't have to expend worrying
when i dragged myself through
the grocery store after work and bought yarn,
the simplest of tasks
were the most soul-wrenchingly exhausting
& i want to go to bed--
is this what we need?
would you be better without me?
would i be better without you?
it hurts me to even ask
since i'd like to believe
i know what love feels like
but then maybe i'm not a good example--
there's this place
in my head far away,
my higher self lives there
in this magic forest,
Totoro and i could be kindred spirits
of thick, moist forest air
that rejuvenates the soul
just to smell the abundance,
the lust for everything & want for nothing--
i'd like to say things are getting easier
but i don't know much these days--
Aug 12, 2017
Aug 12, 2017 at 9:40 PM UTC
My Horrible Habit
My horrible habit of laziness
Chains me to the ground
In the epicentre
Of the circumference
Of my life
I do what I like to do
And nothing else
Expending all my energy
On myself
My inconsideration for others
For all my mothers
Is utterly unacceptable
I must tie my mind
To the stake
And burn my self away
Sean Hunt
Windermere April 2015
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 2:11 PM UTC