"guiltless" poems
The man of life upright, whose guiltless heart is free
From all dishonest deeds and thoughts of vanity:
The man whose silent days in harmless joys are spent,
Whom hopes cannot delude, nor fortune discontent;
That man needs neither towers nor armor for defense,
Nor secret vaults to fly from thunder's violence:
He only can behold with unaffrighted eyes
The horrors of the deep and terrors of the skies;
Thus scorning all the care that fate or fortune brings,
He makes the heaven his book, his wisdom heavenly things;
Good thoughts his only friends, his wealth a well-spent age,
The earth his sober inn and quiet pilgrimage.
13.7k
first I smell myself.
the deep bass tonality of my musk,
hot, creamy, sweetness unique, of coffee and creamy,
my owned sweat oiled secretions massaged into her skin
emplaced by vigorous parts rubbing and tongue caressing,
under the fading shadows of my glancing, desirous admirings
then I smell herself.
sinking sunset glimpses of last nights parfume parfait,
scattered in random strategic locations architecturally planned,
some flavors come over me like modest waves,
others spelunking found in crevices, cracks and caves,
where humans tread in guileless search of guiltless pleasure
then I smell our sharings.
lemon and thyme, paprika, sea salt and pepper,
a basted rub laid upon animal skin consuming, and consumed,
the vinaigrette balsamic and California yellow raisins, pine nuts,
decorating leaves of red soil spinach and spicy arugula,
word salads, so miraculously ingenious, you swear off eating flesh
then I smell our combinations.
the air conditioned atmosphere that blends us properly chilled,
the olive oils pressed from two colored differing skins,
the mortal and pestle finely grinding our own fresh crumbled dirt,
appearing in places where dirt is wet panko crumbs encrusting us,
our combined liquidity, shaken and stirred, drying in martini tandem
it is 8:17am and this recipe of reciprocity,
at its most pungent peaking,
for soon raining waterfalls of potable city water
and the sophistry of French soap,
the pseudoscience of modern chemical shampoo,
together erasing, scrubbing away this poems aromatherapy tapestry,
your perplexed complexing nostrils will mock you once more,
for ever disbelieving, thinking you could no longer write of
only love poetry that crested high above the trite
Friday, March 29 2019
Mar 29, 2019
Mar 29, 2019 at 8:40 AM UTC
178
I cautious, scanned my little life—
I winnowed what would fade
From what would last till Heads like mine
Should be a-dreaming laid.
I put the latter in a Barn—
The former, blew away.
I went one winter morning
And lo—my priceless Hay
Was not upon the “Scaffold”—
Was not upon the “Beam”—
And from a thriving Farmer—
A Cynic, I became.
Whether a Thief did it—
Whether it was the wind—
Whether Deity’s guiltless—
My business is, to find!
So I begin to ransack!
How is it Hearts, with Thee?
Art thou within the little Barn
Love provided Thee?
6k
The whole concept
of adulthood
is one that seems to
trespass
from the ever-anticipated world
of the theoretical,
just to barge into your life
one night
like an uninvited drunken friend.
It will never really “hit you,”
but it’ll come **** close
the first time your aunt
offers you a glass of wine
as she and your mother
gossip frankly about
your father’s mistress—
you sip on cheap Chardonnay
and pretend to be used to the taste,
as they talk with
a middle-aged bitterness
of the man you were raised
to believe was too virtuous
to be in debt for some glitzy
engagement ring that he
bought to restart his life
with a woman he left your mother for
shortly after the pandemonium
of a guiltless affair.
The man
whose brutishness
you were told to overlook, cradling
the sparse memories
of when he’d tuck you
too tightly into bed, or
when he’d tell you that he loved you
even though half the time
you really didn’t believe him—
The man whose love confused you,
whose clumsy attempts
of fatherhood
kept the heart of a young girl
perpetually guarded
by a cautious skepticism—
The man who brought you into
a world he found absurd
as carelessly
as he raised you to face it,
torn apart
like every illusion that makes a child,
the ashes of which
that slip through your fingers
inevitably declare you
another bitter adult.
More wine will reveal
that your beloved father
is a controlling ******
and his relationship
with that *****
the whole family hates
only appears to be functioning
because she lets him have
all the control
he couldn’t exert on your mother,
even though you’ve had dinner
with the two of them a couple of times
and if you had met her
under any other circumstance (though
you’d feel like a traitor
if you said it aloud)
you wouldn’t think
she was all that bad.
In red, declarative letters
I want to write to any children I may ever bear
into this bittersweet game of ********
we play that we’ve since called ‘life,’
that when they first gaze with awe
at the unattainable grace
with which every grown-up seems to navigate
the world they created,
with all the pain of tax-paying and womanhood,
I want to scream
that we don’t know what the hell we’re doing either
and if at any point I try to convince you otherwise
you should tell your mother
that she’s full of ****
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 3:25 PM UTC
I’ll protect the innocent
even while I may proclaim
my deep regard for who they are
controversy may be exclaimed
guiltless stated for my friends
this word is used at its most broad
when all children of the divine
deserve their refuge from abuse
even while I seek to proclaim
my admiration for their grit
stepping outside confining realms
leading the way for this questing one
on the shoulders of the perverse
this is how the public may respond
declaring wisdom I don’t share
when I see threads of commonality
in my heart I know we are the same
seeking power in our own way
being true to ourselves
while expressing how we live
humanity searching for a voice
I’ll add mine to the chorus
admitting that I’ve fallen far
while ascending to the heights
spectrums ranged in pursuit
my honest nature at last found
though at first I wrongly thought
I was alone when I was not
the free spirits led the way
I wish my voice could exclaim
and still I hold back my breath
protecting innocent like myself.
© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180909.
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 10:57 PM UTC
*put out my light
put out my light*
as Othello did to Desdemona
no crimson painted on porcelain skin
from false betrayal found within.
*put out my light
put out my light*
allow my body to sink in the deep
my skin will shimmer under pulsing tide
only a ghost, my guiltless soul has died.
*put out my light
put out my light*
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 2:34 PM UTC
The whole concept
of adulthood
is one that seems to
trespass
from the ever-anticipated world
of the theoretical,
just to barge into your life
one night
like an uninvited drunken friend.
It will never really “hit you,”
but it’ll come **** close
the first time your aunt
offers you a glass of wine
as she and your mother
gossip frankly about
your father’s mistress—
you sip on cheap Chardonnay
and pretend to be used to the taste,
as they talk
of the man you were raised
to believe
was too virtuous to be
in debt for some glitzy
engagement ring that he
bought to restart his life
with a woman he left your mother for
shortly after the pandemonium
of a guiltless affair.
The man
whose brutishness
you were told to overlook, cradling
the sparse memories
of when he’d tuck you
too tightly into bed, or
when he’d tell you that he loved you
even though half the time
you really didn’t believe him.
The man who brought you into
the world as carelessly
as he raised you to face it,
torn apart
like every illusion that makes a child,
the ashes of which
that slip through your fingers
inevitably declare you
another bitter adult.
More wine will reveal
that your beloved father
is a controlling ******
and his relationship
with that *****
the whole family hates
only appears to be functioning
because she lets him have
all the control
he couldn’t exert on your mother,
even though you’ve had dinner with them
a couple of times
and if you had met her
under any other circumstance (even though
you’d feel like a traitor if you said it aloud)
you wouldn’t think
she was all that bad.
In red, declarative letters
I want to write to any children
I may ever bring
into this ******** little game that
goes by the name of “life,”
that when they first gaze with awe
at the unattainable grace
with which every grown-up seems
to be navigating the world they created,
with all the pain of tax-paying and womanhood,
I want to scream
that we don’t know what the hell we’re doing either
and if at any point I try to convince you otherwise
you should tell your mother
that she’s full of ****
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 6:21 PM UTC
Simply she stands at the cathedral’s
great ascent, close to the rose window,
with the apple in the apple-pose,
guiltless-guilty once and for all
of the growing she gave birth to
since form the circle of eternities
loving she went forth, top struggle through
her way throughout the earth like a young year.
Ah, gladly yet a little in that land
Would she have lingered, heeding the harmony
And understanding of the animals.
But since she found the man determined,
She went with him, aspiring after death,
And she had as yet hardly known God.
3.1k
The sound of a sigh
From a lovers lips
It echos through the night
It reverberates through every cell
Creating a hum under the epidermis
Breathing gets heavy
Inhale
1
2
Exhale
The heart only speeds
When sweat forms on their skin
Adorn by salty appetence
This is the sweetest taste
Of lips on a secret place
Teeth clamped in skin
Lovers wrapped in sin
Bodies traversing what it is to couple
They'll lay quiet for quite a while
Bodies humming and hands intwined
Feeling forever is this instant
Guiltless love
Uncontaminated by fear
They could spend eternity here
The day goes on
So do they
They hold forever
In their hearts and minds
Until after the end times
Jul 4, 2018
Jul 4, 2018 at 5:02 AM UTC
Regret,
One word,
Timeless damage condensed to
Six letters.
That are scented like cheap, Dollar store, perfume
Titled “Heavenly”.
The stench that you burned into my nostrils,choking me,
Suffocating me.
A word whose name taste like poison on my battered tongue,
Bitterly sweetless,
Just like the ***** pouring like fountains from your fingertips,
Sugar-laced manipulation.
It’s adorned with purple, the colour of the rich,
Of royalty,
Yet, worn by a wayward, penniless, and perverted sinner,
Guiltless, guilty.
It’s a word that purrs, “You’re so mature” as its filthy palms grasp my flesh,
Robbing me.
Robbing me straight from the cradle I slept so ignorantly,
So soundly.
Stripping me naked as I was born, yet wasn’t I just yesterday?
Too young.
Far too young to carry the weight of your skin,
Your sins,
My regret.
Jan 30, 2020
Jan 30, 2020 at 11:07 PM UTC
We shall wipe you OUT
We will ERASE you
We are the children's of Cain and that is what we do
I come from the lands of the Baobab tree and Cocoa Tree
Steep in the tradition of revering life and nature all free
By my wits and honest endeavours toiled and earned my fee
Never harmed nor injured never stole even a penny wee
Paid my dues and gave when I could always busy as a bee
Now YOU the children's of Cain spake and declared
We shall wipe you OUT
We will erase YOU
I come from a land that knows parched earth and hunger
Where great rivers flow yet clean water comes in little beaker
Proud animals run free and only the rodents are for hunter
Trees are fertile with fruits aplenty and vegetables are litter
In gleeful kin and merry we share harvest with each other
Now you the children's of Cain spake and declared
We shall wipe you OUT
We will erase YOU
What is my crime pray tell me when in honest endeavour
I gave and shared my wages and food to an errant neighbour
Who repaid my kindness by robbing mine with cruel vigour
And whilst I remorsed such vileness with fervent pained ardor
They riposted, a trip back to your jungle is what we will conjure
Now YOU the children's of Cain spake and declared
We shall wipe you OUT
We will erase YOU
Children's of Cain know nothing but death and destruction
You came to ours and plundered all you could with ruction
You stole, fornicated, ruined and destroyed with glib seduction
Modern times has merely refined your vainglorious disposition
Distinguished misrulers, liars and evil masters of misappropations
We shall wipe you OUT
We will erase YOU
Children's of Cain OTHERS know all YOU do is ****
Like your FATHER killed his BROTHER
Like your FATHER killed his guiltless BROTHER
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 11:15 PM UTC
i remember the temperate souls more than the sun
new faces hiding old friends
eager for fun and so kind
what are the words for this beautiful iteration
this reminder of childhood's unquestioned joy?
i too seek incontestable delight
trusting and guiltless
the only life is happiness
the only happiness is gratitude
i have seen myself in a thousand gentle mirrors
my heart is light and knows the way
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 10:26 AM UTC
Sprung, from beauteous filth,
The lies and gradation of the un wed saints
Hung, from gracious guilt,
The death and oration of the un sung and faint
Led, from grounded earth,
The soulless narration of the unloved taint
Believing is all when your all is a lie,
The smell of defeat in the blink of her eye,
The way you never fail to surprise the easily shockable,
Revealing that all was a lie of your life,
The decay of a scent from the skirt of the pile,
The path you never chose to really surmise the unreadable, uncollectable
Paid, to believe this girth,
The salt and salvation of unborn wealth,
Laid, the solution of all their faith,
The untouchable wrath and indignation of lifeless whelps,
Said, to ears that deceive all truth,
The unsinkable feeling you and your friends try not to avoid
Swaying in time to a common hope thief,
The guileless age and her sense of relief,
I thought i just told you to leave love at the door,
Poison and ruptured the stale old lies,
A night of betrayal and blood on these tiles,
Faithless, inauguration a purpose that you belie,
Lover, sweet mother, joker, and harpies with scales combine,
Hater, sweet undertaker, all is within, a touch to cold skin and a world you can't deny,
Believers, my underachievers, fornicate how to the march of the rain, a lifelong ambition that's driven in pain, a rusty disease that you spread with a knife, a guiltless decision made by his wife, a turning old format that withers and screams, a breathless recognition, we all fail to grin, just wait on the inkline to say what you want, I’m turning these covers and buying the bought, ******* the sweetness to boldly deny, that all these suspicions were aroused in the night, a turning, a quickening, a life on the rails, this one ****** mess i can't wash from my nails, so thorough, so clean, yet so impure it's not true, i tried to remake what i thought couldn't be you, but all indication now points to my spine, the tossing and yearning beneath valentine, i am the weather that spoils your day, please hold my ears as she screams my name.
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 4:48 PM UTC
She's got a face for radio,
She wears it best from head to toe.
She's a special kind of homely girl;
Her gift is being in a state of pity, so...
She is eager to shed her burdons,
But never tells the true
Meaning of actions
That always leave her due.
Love would never fix her woes,
She's a woman of motive
Crying on the shoulders of the higher-rated.
Tears are the flames of the voltive,
It's not mine to say.
It's mine to stay away.
She's not mine to slay.
But, I know her, anyway.
She's a vampire, the emotional kind,
One bite, then three times three is nine,
Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,
And thrice again to make up nine,
Like a Harpee, she goes to them,
And drains from them vitality,
She's a shrewd one, and she's a shrew,
She doesn't even want to *****
She's a player, till the game is won,
And the sorceress says the charm is done.
No one can ever show her kindness
Without her expecting more.
If you have a dollar of quarters,
She'd not take less than four.
I have seen the hearts of hopeful
Shredded at her feet.
And then the ugliness that thrives her
Gathers the replete.
She's sated til her next desire.
She never rest for long.
There will always be some lonely sap,
That she Will sap upon.
It's not mine to say.
It's mine to stay away.
She's not mine to slay.
But, I know her way.
She's a vampire, the emotional kind,
One bite, then three times three is nine,
Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,
And thrice again to make up nine,
Like a Harpee, she goes to them,
And drains from them vitality,
She's a shrewd one, and she's a shrew,
She doesn't even want to *****
She's a player, till the game is won,
And the sorceress says the charm is done.
The only thing she has is blame
To mead out to another sucker's name,
As soon as she has all she can get,
She leaves them, she leaves like all the rest,
Don't they think her heart is good!
They treat her like they think they should.
They don't know that to ease her pain
Is too surrender their gain, and go insane.
She never will come differently
Some things do not change.
Her talons grip them where they live,
Time and time, again.
It's not mine to say.
It's mine to stay away.
She's not mine to slay.
But, I know her way.
She's a vampire, the emotional kind,
One bite, then three times three is nine,
Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,
And thrice again to make up nine,
Like a Harpee, she goes to them,
And drains from them vitality,
She's a shrewd one, and she's a shrew,
She doesn't even want to *****
She's a player, till the game is won,
And the sorceress says the charm is done.
She will make them steal
From the future of their children.
She is a guiltless wonder.
She really never lets them in.
All for nothing is the way she lives.
She is gone with the fairer treat.
Every lonely victom she leaves
The bitter without the sweet.
It's not mine to say.
It's mine to stay away.
She's not mine to slay.
But, I know her way.
She's a vampire, the emotional kind,
One bite, then three, times three is nine,
Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,
And thrice again to make up nine,
Like a Harpee, she goes to them,
And drains from them vitality,
She's a shrewd one, and she's a shrew,
She doesn't even want to *****
She's a player, till the game is won,
And the sorceress says the charm is done.
Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 11:06 PM UTC
can't imagine it ranks high up
on any list of any deity,
*** and God ******
probably don't make the cut,
on a relative basis,
but ya never know...
looked around,
couldn't be found
any mention of who he roots for,
or if it's ok to ask for intervention
**but
if you ******
if you behead...
claiming with perfect
human vanity
his name as your own
for justification
in ignoring
Thou Shall Not ****
know this
you're a commandment breaker,
having taken god's name in vain,
vain like vanity,
the sin unique to only humans
we cannot divine the divine,
sure wish it was my NY Giants
were today bowl-occupied,
why he chooses me to suffer
someday will surely be explained
or not
but you murderers,
easy rest assured,
taking his name in vain,
you won't be forgotten,
cause and effect
spelled out clearly**
“the LORD will not hold him guiltless
who takes his name in vain”
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 2:51 PM UTC
This journey:
this path I’m on seems ever circular, bringing me back around to the same old lessons that for some strange reason I am just too dense to understand.
There is something I feel I should be learning – or something I need to let go of – or is it grasp? Maybe it’s both…. I don’t know.
I feel like I’m on a roller coaster –
one minute I’m strong –
I really believe I can do this…
the next, I am hiding again…
allowing myself to be lost in shame and self-hate.
A few months ago, I felt like I took this huge leap forward...
self-care, healing, opening emotional pockets…
knowing full well that I needed to keep reminding myself about the lurking shadows...
the ones who provoke me and make me feel bad even in the midst of making strides forward.
So here I am, feeling those same old feelings of guilt and shame and hatred.
I suppose I know what the shadow is that lurks, but I just don’t know what to do with the shadow. How do I bring it into the light to stay?
My husband tries to use my “achievements” to bolster my confidence, help me shed this bone crushing feeling of self-defeat, but those achievements are a smokescreen – an elaborate, disguise, the stronger I seem, the less likely anyone is to guess what a coward I truly am.
I can fool others- but not myself.
The first time, I lost, it was to him
this time, it comes at my own hands….
And that seems to be so much worse...
I can feel myself backsliding …. So much up and down!
When does it does it stop?
Does it stop?
The term “survivor” implies a certain level of triumph or victory. The term ‘victim’ carries connotation of guiltless submission. I am neither a survivor nor a victim. I am a fraud, a shell of a person hidden inside a carefully constructed facade. I have not triumphed over my past, and the damage it continues to cause is due to my own personal failure to set it aside. I have managed to surrender my whole identity because I lack the courage to claim my truth.
Healing is a lot like daylight savings time...
fall back, spring forward, over and over and over again.
It makes me dizzy, sick to my stomach and depressed...
all of this back and forth.
Now I feel the path has once again ended
and I am left standing alone.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 9:10 PM UTC
I am
corn-fed girl of
middle land
glaciers rested here
then chose to stay
melted into the ground
from which stalks sprouted
I am
daughter of floods
on the plains
pioneer of the elementary school prairie
conqueror of the long highways
that stretch from flat horizon
to flat horizon
I am
speaker of tongues
imperfectly
I am
curious
seeking the limbo where
East meets West
I am
austriangermanhungarianslovenianpolishscottishwelshirishspanishcomancheiowan
I am
He is
sugarcane sweet boy of
Partition’s land
born on the right side
border still bathed in the blood
of those born in the wrong
He is
son of monsoons
and spider-web trees
longing for his land
visitor of Swat
disparaging long lost tranquility
uprooted, exiled
frequenter of south asian sweets houses
He is
a bad dancer
He is
guiltless in this battle between
East and West
He is
pakistanimultanisiraikidesipunjabi
He is
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 3:19 PM UTC
in ancient times
in hidden places
there lived a tribe
of small green faces
seldom seen by the human eye
these beings in fact were not always kind
a midsummers evening
when the moon was full
though hidden by clouds
the night was rather dull
a traveller walking home
tired and weak
saw a spot by a tree
and took a seat
he closed his eyes
and off he fell
into a world of dreams and secrets
so he could recover well
he dreamt of his daughter
pure and new
how he wished he was with her
and her mother too
but the dream took a twist
with an image too dark
for me to repeat
he awoke with a spark
panic in his blood
and a knot in his chest
he stood to continue
after his interrupted rest
but confusion then filled him
as he looked around
and did not recognise his surroundings
was this where he settled down?
"oh no" he whimpered
but little did he know
this was just the start
of the next few hours of woe
as very close by
not seen by his eye
were the mischievous imps
and faeries side by side
to play was all they wanted
their humour different to ours
ensuring the traveller was lost
would help them in the next few hours
as the traveller was stuck
and couldn't find his was home
which left his wife and child
unprotected; alone
around he paced
but no place he knew was found
though he wouldn't give up
and kept peering around
though at this time
the little green smirks
we're distracted by
the next part of their work
on their way to pick up the baby
a fake left in its place
would anyone notice? maybe
but the traveller grew weaker
and couldn't survive
the faeries fun almost ended
once he had died
i had to say almost
as the mother was left
not to know
that her husband was dead
and that it was not her child
that she watched grow
and we never found out
if she was ever in the know
and the impish beings
were still amused by this
and watched for a while
proud and guiltless
they giggled and laughed
at the mess they'd been making
then flew off to find
a new baby to swap for a changeling
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 4:27 AM UTC
You tried misguiding me,
With your various distractions,
You had alcohol - offered *** to me,
But I'm me - And I'm a soldier of morals,
I'll practice Brahmcharya till I'm 25 - sorry,
You tried seducing me to your bedroom,
With your laces' & thongs' actions,
You made me look at yours,
But guiltless - I remained.
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 2:57 AM UTC
Around age 30, she had begun this dance
Of conversation, how to suggest the low-fat
Without insulting the husband’s paunch
And need for chocolate chip and fudge ripple.
Twenty years later, they stand in the aisle,
freezing, as they open door after door
in pursuit of the perfect opportunity
to be guiltless,
in at least one aspect of their lives.
“Is that mocha chip a two-for-seven deal?”
He asks, squinting at his wife.
It’s not low-fat, it’s only sugar-free,
She said, eyebrows creased
“Well, it looks like a good deal.”
He is reaching, ignoring the tap tap of her foot,
when she snatches the tub from his palms
and the freezer door closes the conversation.
They leave for home in silence,
with frozen peas.
My fiance and I watch,
each carrying tubs of french silk
and mango sorbet, and feeling the fullness
of potential among the frozen foods,
and I add waffles and bananas
to our feast.
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 8:00 PM UTC
Beauty is a mold
You have stolen for yourself
No matter how I try I can't believe
You were all that mattered
All that matters to me now is to know you
And the sound of your name
Cassandra
A touch of innocence
In a guilty world
I fell in love this morning with another girl
Another name
A different time
It's all the same
A light that always shined for Cassandra
The angels never flew so free
Your eyes sparkled electricity
You dug into my heart and brought my vision back to life
Graceful as Isadora Duncan on a ride
Cassandra
There are no innocents
In a guiltless world
I'll fall in love tomorrow with another girl
Another name
Every time
I'll feel the same
The light that always shined for Cassandra
Apr 26, 2012
Apr 26, 2012 at 5:34 PM UTC
A shot or item stolen
By someone, or myself
Maybe both, maybe neither
Crime is crime
Punishment is punishment
Is it innocent until proven guilty
Or guilty until proven innocent?
Either way, someone must pay
For hasn’t everyone done something
Warranting conviction?
Slowly descending into an icy crypt,
Their silence mimics my own
Half are me,
Other aren’t quite as guiltless
Trick is in the knowing
Of which is which
The long-necked key appears
Sliding painfully into its lock
A simple turning, a simple changing
Opens the dark room of misery
Promises of old are fading
They weren’t worth anything anyway.
Now only one oath remains
The silver skeleton proves its trust
And only after five years
Do red bars constrict
Closer with every breath
There’s only a single way out
Jul 13, 2010
Jul 13, 2010 at 1:22 PM UTC
thank you for visiting my pad, unannounced,
everything there was in a mess after the shake up,
my books, the whole lot was in a heap,
soiled clothes like big dead birds
were strewn everywhere,
the packets that accumulated,
remained unopened,
my sense of humor was in hibernation
for a long long time,
The potted plants cried for water,
my pet parrot stopped talking,
but kept on complaining-
asking about her,
I had even forgotten
the sound of laughter,
I knew few things were to be done
to get back on track,
I needed someone to do some
creative prodding; get back my mind
to its original mooring.
I longed for some guiltless
heavy duty loving,
though so much has to be involved
for all this to happen, in a short while,
that too i needed without any strings attached,
after all that happened i was more than battle scarred.
there was nothing money can buy i didn't try.
but all failed and i was left, high and dry
You appeared like a whirlwind,
and changed everything,
yet you knew how to be a breeze so gentle,
at the right moment;
bless you, even if you aren't sneezing.
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 7:28 AM UTC