"gruntled" poems
mildly self conscious
gruntled about the present
estranged lovers meet
smile over stifled yearning
and think fondly of the past
Jul 31, 2017
Jul 31, 2017 at 12:40 AM UTC
To you I write the truth.
Give me an approximate of Thirty.
Slipping in the deep sea of corporate.
Slowly losing self, I feel *****
Searching for a balance, it’s not moderate.
My soul wanders aimlessly,
My mind searches timelessly.
My heart hasn’t gotten around this.
My eyes are lost in Sea,
Trying to look beyond the blue.
Trying to look for a reality that isn’t so solemn.
As I write to you. I hope that the truth of my voice can still be found.
I pray that my work will continue and that my hands and heart still itch to write.
My reality remains distorted.
Gruntled and dismantled by new environments.
I need an escape,
I need the Earth to call to my soul.
My chakras are dusty.
My lungs are burning.
My throat has gone dry.
Change becomes inevitable.
As it is a process of finding who you are.
But my body twists and turns and looks to this unravel and refuses.
“Cleanse your system”
“You are spiritual not corporate”
And so you called.
You sang to me the wonders of the soul.
You took me, and we travelled.
My soul felt freedom.
And now I write to you my truth.
My perception of truth lies in colour.
Drastically moving and molding into more.
Evolving into a greater theory than that of Darwin’s
My truth distorts reality, it gravitates you away from society.
And frees your mindset from sobriety.
It awakens you to the cult situation of life.
This reality.
It’s so vague with optimism
It’s so drizzled with pessimism.
This reality? It is not one for us.
Listen to my will, draw out your soul and feed from me.
Let my wisdom mold with yours.
Let our visions be two for one.
Your energies burn with curiosity.
Dive deep and stay below.
Explore till your breath cannot.
Open your eyes underwater, fear nothing and feel the burn of your intrigue.
Find your truth near mine.
And discover reality further from it.
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 5:55 AM UTC
Don't you hear that cracking?
It's so loud and getting louder
Am I the only one who hears it?
Maybe that's because it's inside of me
Cracking becomes maddening
It's starting to break up
Blood is coming from my wounds
I am falling apart
Still nobody hears it nobody noticed
Pain in my eyes, bruises on my skin
Cuts on my wrists, emptiness behind smile, yet everything is okay
I can try how far I can fly
Climb on the roof and meet the sky
Everything seems so easy so give it a try
Breath, slowly, close your eyes let the darkness take you high
I did what I have to do
I did what you asked for
Now it's my turn to feel gruntled
It's my purpose to break the chains
I can never be completely free
But just for a moment give it a try
Can you hear the cracking?
Chains are falling on the ground
Can you set my soul free? It's right in your hands you were crushing it for too long
You know everything, I know just your name
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 5:23 AM UTC
But deceptive blood-robed pomegranates
With their piteous decay, and sullen seeds
Packed as kids’ taut skins in sand-tinted crates;
With bloom, with ruin, and sweet as reeds
Them reeds naught know of plain parched mourn
As wails it and yields to their illiterate lips;
As stumbles then snakelike out— thin and worn.
Begotten unwanted, poorly fathomed, forgotten wisps
Of old, odourless leisured hours,
That scrubbed, so gruntled, and scratched the fruit.
Then white silks soft within parched blue days;
And no heirs birthed, sublimed the flowers.
Touch it; the crumple and crêpe is not yet soot
If it could bleed, it could bloom alive, ablaze.
Sep 29, 2021
Sep 29, 2021 at 1:59 PM UTC