"fatefully" poems
I don't want to shoot,
I don't want to _win_
I don't want to 'fight' the way we were trained,
I'll fight with my heart and a can of white paint.
Wounded flags fatefully fall.
Under the spell your command.
But watch me you will, I'll _make_ them true,
Watch me you will, as I make _them_ free.
_We_ don't belong to you.
I'll _brush_ them clean, with the _truth_ of our tears,
Unwilling participants of the _sick_ game,
We never wanted to play.
I don't want to shoot,
I don't want to _win_
I don't want to 'fight' the way we were trained,
I'll fight with my heart and not with your aims.
I'll fight for us all,
For we all die the same.
Mar 8, 2018
Mar 8, 2018 at 7:04 AM UTC
Aye, Vladimir, just before I met thee
I hath been sure I hath loved him-
no matter as queer as it may hath seemed!
Thou knowest not, how much tears I hath shredded
and noticest not, how t'eir vanity made me look dead!
But why-why then didst thou appear-
and wokest within me t'is secret fear-
with understanding in thy eyes,
and with a love t'at is to me so dear.
Why-why t'en thou left me, left me again!
Whenst I got to knowest thou but for a moment,
ah, with not so much of an endearment-
afforded ourselves only t'at streak of lovely,
but still weak of too a bond,
or any pact, of young novelty.
And everything was corrupt
As soon as thou re-released me
into t'ese qualms of insincerity
wherest I am still tossed about, guilty.
And hushed, hushed always,
like a trivial, parallel wind!
As though my dear heart's bathed in sin
and of a soul t'at is so thin
So worthy not of thy soulfulness
and sweet dreams of many happinesses.
Ah, Vladimir! If only thou could knowest
T'is thread of passion thou hath sowed
and how my entirety seekest being loved
By thee, and only by thee, o my rain!
As thou art but king to my sneaky moon
and my very own kingdom of stars
Not him-not him, o t'is I entreat,
albeit his wits hath been but to me so sweet.
Still he be a mistake, ah, a chilly autumn mistake
to me, from whom I didst just turn awake.
Probably thou would hath loved me;
imperishably and blindingly,
until all thy superb charms and wit
t'at wert but tortured and unbending
shalt be left within me lit;
and thus leaving our fiery souls entwined
with winds t'at art even sweeter
yet might be torturously everlasting.
Vladimir, Vladimir, oh my only Vladimir!
Thou altogether belongst with me; here,
so unjustly yet heavenly
And in our hands is cherished
our love, o, so wickedly-but fatefully!
How I longst to be thy lover, dearest-
and be so comely as thy only flower;
which ripens thickly in thy winter
and blooms robustly, in thy summer.
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 7:07 AM UTC
*A shared soul
Between a crimson wolf
And
A ****** vampire
Mated to a siren with a warriors heart
The marks bared
The howling wolf
Fatefully tamed
The lurking vampire
All four elements circled
The sirens tail now branded
The pair will prevail
Through thick and thin
Better or worse
Through everything thrown their way
For eternity their love will grow strong
Pushing evil from this world.
he will join the two worlds
but only with the help of his siren*
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 10:33 PM UTC
Galactic curls in spirals swirl, entwining twisted mystery,
where time unrolls in blackened holes, no longer bright and blistery,
but writ like runes on starry dunes enclosed in cosmic history
Galactic dust, from novas' gusts, congesting empty spaces
once fatefully flung beyond the tongue of burnt out astral traces,
may recompress and coalesce in distant times and places
Galactic dwarves, like ancient wharves with silent planets mooring
yet still in spin though long done in, hide flares no longer soaring -
magnetic webs of eons ebb, in thermal fusion roaring
Galactic tides warp space divides, call forth sublime creation
while bending clocks in rippled shocks, unfolding time dilation
that seems to crown the flowing gown of pulsars' pulsed gyration
Galactic stew, a seething brew, midst background noise and chatter
like Chaos reigns, the sole remains of missing antimatter,
with just a trace to form a space-time, curved or somewhat flatter
Galactic glue holds something new: dark energy and matter
that interacts and counteracts the ancient Big Bang splatter:
a cosmic soup of strings and loops, a universal batter
Galactic life's replete and rife 'neath lactic milky wafer,
though solar gales leave unseen trails of cosmic rays, the strafer;
but nonetheless, one must confess, it seems there's nowhere safer
Aug 21, 2016
Aug 21, 2016 at 8:54 AM UTC
Try your best to escape and free
Your mind is not your identity
Your genetics, your family tree
Your looking glass eyes can see
Through the window an fatefully
Change your perception of reality
And redefine who you are to be
My new persona is in a coma down in Barcelona
Now I'm Jonah in love with Mona from Arizona
Drinking corona with Fiona in the streets of Verona
Creativity is a proclivity that unshackles our identity free
Journey with me far from the vast sea of mental captivity
Exclusivity of proactivity creates a glorious life of festivity
Consent to your dreams to the absolute umpteenth degree
Augment your schemes and forget about the no guarantee
Reinvent thee extremes, and you will never be a life absentee
Remember as you read that we are all connected eternally
On this marble together spinning we are all just guests
Wandering around trying to solve our personal quests
Humans being we happened to be, but only temporarily
May as well attempt and squeeze life to death and manifest
All your aspirations and ambitions should be put to the test
All so blessed with a mind, and a beating heart in our chest
So why not invest the rest of our time to aspire to be the best
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 3:11 AM UTC
FLAME-Heart, take back your love. Swift, sure
And poignant as the dagger to the mark,
Your will is burning ever; it is pure.
Mine is vague water welling through the dark,
Holding all substances--except the spark.
Picture the pleasure of the meadow stream
When some clear striding naked-footed girl
Cuts swift and straightly as a gleam
Across its ***** ambling and aswirl
With mooning eddies and soft lips acurl;
Such was our meeting--fatefully so brief.
I have no purpose and no power to clutch.
Gleam onward, maiden, to your goal of grief;
And I more sadly flow, remembering much,
Yet doomed to take the form of all I touch.
1.8k
Wistfully
Wishfully
My daydream drift
Takes me eye to eye
And hand in hand
On a sunny morning
Somewhere
Settling dust
Step by step
And side by side
There's a tide close by
Responding to gravity
And gravity of sorts
Draws our souls
Fatefully
Inevitably
Together
By Phil Roberts
Jan 1, 2017
Jan 1, 2017 at 1:22 PM UTC
It is no accident that we have palms
With fingers extending from them
For when we unite our two hands,
They become a blooming flower.
We can follow the veins with our eyes
From fingertips to hearts
Blushing red.
Pumping into us another day
Another hope
Another dream
To find within ourselves the petals
To water faithfully.
I have watered fatefully.
Yet my flower has grown too long
In chilly dark basements
With mold growing in the corners and
Cobwebs decorating cracking walls.
I’ve only the strength to crack a thin beam of light
To dance upon the corners of my flower.
When will the music invite more?
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 2:37 PM UTC
We all fight our demons… At times, they prevail.
And once we give in, we are fatefully jailed –
By hatred and envy, by lust and ill will,
By malice and greed… Can we bear such a levy?
What happens to us should we rid ourselves
Of the duties, the vows, the commitments we’ve taken?
How long will it take for us to succumb
To the pleasures of flesh and be ever forsaken?
How long till we cry out for help, our tongues
Tied firmly in place by our own repletion?
How long till we see the daylight and admit
There is no going back to relieve our division.
Yet we dream and we hope, and some pray for redemption.
We fight back… And the demons return to the void.
And no fairies exist – not in our dimension.
Yet the demons are real. Hardly can we avoid
The temptations of power, the concoctions of plenty,
And the fight carries on to this day, far and wide.
Every crevice and nook, every palace and shanty
Hold the ones craving nothing but to bask in the light.
19 II 2017
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 8:54 AM UTC
Wistfully
Wishfully
My daydream drift
Takes me eye to eye
And hand in hand
On a sunny morning
Somewhere
Settling dust
Step by step
And side by side
There's a tide close by
Responding to gravity
And gravity of sorts
Draws our souls
Fatefully
Inevitably
Together
By Phil Roberts
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 2:52 AM UTC
It's nights like tonight,
When I don't know what to do.
My brain is all jumbled,
With the many thoughts of you.
There lies a question,
And an answer untold.
Either sadness and pain,
Or joy will unfold.
The problem is thus:
It's so right but it's wrong.
It's not what I've hoped,
But desired so long.
She's unlike any other,
Truly among the best.
I can think of nothing,
But her head on my chest.
A mind like an ocean,
Rich and full as the sea.
Her heart like the night sky,
As beautiful as can be.
Words flow from her lips,
Like silken dew drops.
Each something amazing,
With each, my heart stops.
Her eyes are like embers,
With cool, steady flame.
They stand or invite,
With no hint of shame.
Her hair drops like honey,
A gentle flow and cascade.
Not pure or flashy,
None better was made.
Her lips as heavenly,
As the petals of rose.
Of the color and texture,
Where so much of it shows.
Her body is soft,
Like snow in the morning.
So perfect and subtle,
It needs no adorning.
Her style is gentle,
The most perfect blend.
Not shabby nor excessive,
Without need to amend.
She is sublime.
There is no other word.
I can think of no other,
Dictionary proffered.
She is original,
Her own one of a kind.
She is amazing,
Something rare to find.
Finally, she is captivating,
So entrancing to me.
Wherever she is,
That's where I want to be.
But most, above it all,
She is my torturous pain.
The reason I'll be disappointed,
Time and time again.
She can't be what I want,
She just can't reciprocate.
There is nothing I can change,
This is the terrible fate.
I'm destined to love,
Someone who can't be mine.
Fatefully ******
Can't get her off my mind.
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 1:57 AM UTC
*Save me from this blazing desert afar
the drought is worse on my tongue; verses land
feeling parched
forms a scar
The only sip for miles is in my own head,
a thirst for thoughts
I can't grasp whats real,
and everywhere I look I only see spots
Ole' sun you see tricks only me; as I fatefully keep walking this desert afar*
Jun 6, 2010
Jun 6, 2010 at 8:06 PM UTC
I witness
the marching armies,
some trudging through the sludge of slaughter,
some gliding as if on polished glass
others flying on sympathetic currents
few faithfully, but ALL fatefully, moving
onward, to the deep sleep
like a mute director in life’s one act play
I watch many in their final moments
some in stillness so sweet
my camera gently weeps ( though not I)
others I record being ripped apart
in metal madness, yet
I don’t blink an eye
even while wiping the
blood from my hands
you, Robert, music maker at heart,
meat cutter by trade, scored my lens
leaving it forever altered
I knew you, a year younger than I,
I saw you, beaten down
by the grave gravity
we cherish yet dread,
you, trudging through
the slaughter, one
of the harshly humbled,
you, found the right rope
and your wife found you
on a Sunday morning,
hanging
in the garage,
your letter to the world the clang
of the alarm that woke her
and hastened her slow march
to the church, where other directors
took over the filming, and
closed the curtain, after
the final choking act
I cannot miss you
I,
(who only wistfully recall
the millions of marchers near and far)
felt your Sunday sojourn
**** the air from my lungs
I can only be grateful
your living and dying
made me feel
the palled pain
and undying dread
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 8:13 PM UTC
“Rolling Rock” it reads, fatefully so, so I’d hope he’s no Sisyphus. Bringing corner markets drought with pocket money, he’s perhaps overlooked by the commoner a proletariat. dating me in simply ways, peeing from the next room, my alone time, and indexing my forefinger: canine and biscupid, telling me to feel the ****** up’d-ness inside his skull. I claim otherwise but I suppose within fingers lies fallacy!
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 2:09 AM UTC
*Fatefully falling
He grabs the string
and pulls everything down.*
A spyglass of forgotten gems-
won in a rigged lottery
in the days before he was awake-
spies a land that has not yet been ravaged
in the pitch-black starless sky
not yet been taken
by the drilling crushing
by the empty words and hollow promises
The dreams do not prey on tonight.
They leave that vulnerable cardiac node
that empty dried well
for a delectable snack
in the times when the hollow men
should not feel so alone-
*Silently drowning
He grabs the rope
and pulls every hope down.*
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 12:31 PM UTC
Land of pain
and complaints
teaching it's young
the miserable lessons of failure
and injustice that went cruelly mad.
An island
with rugged shores
that turn in
on it's own populace.
Rising.
genuflecting
and falling 'fatefully'
again
into the puddles
of it's own demise.
All that remains
is an emerald sadness
filled with living ghosts.
Nov 8, 2010
Nov 8, 2010 at 5:54 AM UTC
somewhere near the nuclear power plant,
a young thing (not ready to remove those green tights)
observes the peach coloured flame of twin platoons from her window.
they burn at the base of the coffinlid like saliva to raw sugar, uncaring
that soon our sun will bleach it all away & have her
adoring minnesota
but only in the mornings, when
its mint walls and all cherry panels filled with sky.
because she knows, if she lies down flat enough she will
only catch a hint of sherburne roof tops and
fatefully begin her anticipation
for the hammering of sparkling nails deep into to dark purple.
Feb 22, 2010
Feb 22, 2010 at 11:28 AM UTC
I've been the only issue
That my parents have
Had to deal with always.
I've had many issues
Which I myself have
Had to deal with forever.
I had been so lonely
Devoid of any good
Friends to play or rhyme with.
Fatefully I've received
The pleasure of all
Elementary worldly things.
But still I felt so alone
And so lonely when
I was with many fake friends.
Then my fate shone
Through the dark of
A dreary night when she came.
I had been so lonely
Devoid of any God
She is my own beautiful Angel.
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 5:14 AM UTC
She leaves a stain on your brain that will drive you insane
Your heart is left with nothing but confusion
Was it all really just an elaborate illusion?
Time will prove that this is a minor contusion
Still I Helplessly fight the foregone conclusion
The pain will not remain it's just a mild sprain
Make sure you grab some crutches and try and keep yourself busy
Forget how when within her clutches you feel overwhelmingly dizzy
You need to mind less, why fret over things that you cannot control?
Just unnecessary stress, why let, these stings, infect your mated soul?
Finally broke the chain, as evaporated champagne, is fatefully freed with the rain
With each passing second,
with every breath of air
With a force to be reckoned
Life has never been fair
So you can lie to yourself and say you don't really care
Or you can lie with the truth instead of choosing dare
But even if I become the world's very first trillionaire
I'll smile every day thinking of the rare that we share
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 3:22 PM UTC
Too soon did things blow away:
with the wind went the truth.
And certainty remained lost,
to the dark morning hours:
A place my heart bloomed for you
and later burned 'til black and blue.
Careful
Too easily did the river run dry
with endless weeks of searing tears,
ripping open the agonies of love
unrequited, weaved in shadows:
The torment of which all hopes are soiled.
Beaten by lies of secrets well toiled.
Realistic
Too fatefully did the soul shrivel
under the brutal lashings of Unwant:
carving hollows into the passions,
dredging the unworthy pangs deeper.
To the bottom of the world without light,
one may find a BROKEN HEART without fight.
Human
Sep 7, 2012
Sep 7, 2012 at 2:27 AM UTC
There once was a tiny cupboard, where
We kept our groceries there,
Just enough room for two to squeeze
Inside, and under the stair,
And Karen would beckon me go to her
With just an arch of her brow,
She wouldn’t take no for an answer, but
Would say, ‘Just come to me now.’
Then I would go in and close the door
And feel her close in the gloom,
Her skirt would rustle, I’d feel her thighs
And would smell her sweet perfume,
She had such a sense of urgency
When she pulled me down to her breast,
But I would be telling old secrets to
Reveal what’s happening next.
But that was a million years ago,
It seemed the beginning of time,
When we were young, and I’d taste her tongue
Sweeter than strawberry wine,
Those nights were the nights of passion, but
Then nothing could really compare,
With the times when Karen called to me
To meet her under the stair.
But the years unfolded fatefully,
And Karen began to stray,
Her eyes that once had been more than wise
Would seem to have gone away,
She’d stare out into the distance to
Some place that I’d never been,
And when I’d ask her just where she went
She’d mutter, ‘What do you mean?’
I found her wandering down the road
Just down from St. Michael’s dome,
She looked at me, most piteously,
‘I don’t know how to get home.’
I took her hand and I led her back
Through the early morning frost,
And when we got to our gate, she said,
‘Oh God, I seem to be lost.’
The days ahead were a nightmare, she’d
Forget where she’d put the pans,
Then look at me like a stranger, when
I’d reach out, and hold her hands,
But worst of all, she would bring my tears
When she stood by the cupboard stair,
And say, ‘I seem to remember, but
Just what did we do in there?’
David Lewis Paget
Feb 6, 2017
Feb 6, 2017 at 12:44 AM UTC
*I am a poem
I am a tattooed gospel music loving non conformist who
believes that Christ is just an excuse not to be responsible.
I am an antagonist who believes that God is a constant
conversation with the world and that whoever created the
conspiracy of good versus evil was a genius.
I am descendant of the stories encrypted on the Pyramids of Egypt;
I am the physical manifestation of God, the daughter of Man sent
by the creator with all might, faith and wisdom.
I am the melanin woman who walked barefoot,not because she
was uncivilized, she had a spiritual connection with the soil.
Noble and humbled, I have been shipped around the earth to
mother and father the restless and paranoid.
My teachings are the same redefined theories that provide
content to modern civilization and technology.
I am the blue prints of what is being sold back to me.
With this knowledge came the courage to redefine my self.
These days I find myself within insane verses that ooze with
contempt, cast into a life in protest, constantly contesting my
compromised legacy.
So I live on the battle fields armed with weapons of this world,
fatefully fighting my way out.
Trying to relocate to a place where man found no need to
count the days and years of his life.
I refused to play a part in the rat race of degrees and perfect
grades,for wisdom is more precious that gold.
I fight to stay alive because I am a product of war, while all I
want is to be your friendly neighbor.*
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 9:37 AM UTC
A girl shrouded in darkness without a single friend
Will be shown no mercy, not even until the end.
So fragile she could float up to the sky
Watching her “would be friends” carelessly pass by.
This is her fate she so unwillingly took on
To spread her wings like a majestic swan.
Both her wings, when opened, are beautiful and sheer
While her crystal blue eyes can’t shed a single tear
Only one can help another during such a time
Since this world resembles a terrible steep climb.
If not the mist will sweep her dreams away
If her sickness continues to delay.
Soft and sweet her laughter brings
But is fatefully controlled by strands of thinly cut strings.
Save her in this time of need
You won’t be doing just her a good deed.
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 2:16 PM UTC
each morning brings nothing;
this is good. a gift often
overlooked.
in this quiet
i am neither here nor there;
dead, alive;
have never existed, never wanted
made movement whatsoever,
let alone
lifelong mistakes.
until it wakes, makes it move
and as if forgotten
in morning's thoughtless air;
how easily silence, like a ribbon,
slips from fingers, unspoken hope
to the floor.
and all of the everything, giant-high
as the space between blanket-lain bodies
and a starry vast sky,
is louder
than the knife of goodbye,
as fatefully simple
as the universe apart
by paper cut.
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 8:02 AM UTC