Zeus, your predilection for banishing Titans to Hades...
anathema of them--revolt was theirs of you...Titanomachy.
Enter Prometheus, second generational Titan, brother
to Atlas--Prometheus of whom Titan revolt at first ran
no fire through his veins.
Thus, Zeus was well pleased and employed Prometheus
to put earth to water, water to earth...as to yield man.
As so man was, and was unto Prometheus...a fondness
entered him of them.
And in of passion Prometheus' veins were run through
with fire...fire fought fire--thus Prometheus reached out
taking hold Zeus' lightning.
Hid in a hollowed fennel stalk, to be bequeathed unto man.
Torrents of fire now ran Prometheus' veins, and in a fit of
infamous mockery presented Zeus with two packets of
slaughtered animal parts.
A hubris was born in Prometheus that being so halved
God-man gave itself fully to that polarity...he gawked at
Zeus and bade him choose between the two packets.
One of ox meat and innards coated in stomach lining, the
other of ox-bones coated in its own abundant fat.
Thus Zeus chose, the wretched lesser of the two...
inconsumable ox-bones coated by fat.
A charged and terrible air cut and heavied all direction,
pointing assuredly that Zeus was one given over to the
surface of things, a psychological casualty of his own
vanity.
Zeus overcome with Prometheus' disaffection for the God
of him struck at Prometheus' family.
At length, this assault could not, would not put asunder
Prometheus from the ground he stood.
A certain Haphaestus was summoned by Zeus...whose
directive was writ in torment.
Chain Prometheus to Mount Caucasus...where from on
high a sackcloth cloud shall shake loose an eagle, whose
homing hunger shall have only a taste for Prometheus' liver.
Day in, and day out, that accursed ***** shall be the
bounty of itself!

i.

O'
Timely
Apricity;

ii.

Mayest thou
Warm, and blanketeth
Me; as a neonate, as
Thou shalt gorgonize
Me, from within the space,
Ourn embracing is a cataract,
Of heavied chime-together laced.

iii.

Thine speak is comely, Concord
To mine earshot; the copse is
Surrounding, none manor
Needed, just the coney's,
With the delightful tree's,
veneering ourn cot.

iv.

Exhaling all ourn woes
And sorrow's, as if none
Tommorrow; None haste,
And none distaste, house-
Leeks groweth whilst the
Flaxen colored roses follow.

v.

O' oriental Apricity
I'm cold mine lass,
I'm freezing fast;
This winter day
Hath chilled mine
Soul, I needeth thine
Fire-place, to heateth these bones.
Though far-flung, away on stretched water's.
I'm awaiting for thee, mine queen, O' Apricity,
I'm awaiting O' queen, mine swart of the sea, thou holdeth the lock, tis I hath the key, here thou goeth amour', open it up, flyeth on through-setteth me free.



©Brandon Nagley
©Earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( Filipino rose)
©Lonesome poet's poetry

(Dedicated to my mother, Juna Marie Nagley- happy mother's day momma!!!)

O' Màthair, Màthair, from whence I birthed.
Best friend, mine Angel, mine guide; Disguised
As a lady at birth; it's from thine womb from
Whence I arrived, this is a thanking thee, to
A flawless seraph, mine Màthair, mine Màthair-
To thee; whom do I compareth?

Anglamotharia, thou hath always met mine need's,
When mine knee was scraped, and when I got sick;
Thou wouldst alway's protecteth me. Eyne blue as
The sea's, hair blonde as the street's thou hath
stemmed from, Anglamotharia-Jehovah's chosen
One, mine host of host's, guardian from the ghost's
Who always tried to hurt thy own son.
Anglamotharia, from whence I am from-
Latha màthair math; angelic one.

(Second part is a mothers day dedication to my mother in law Evangeline sardua- Earl Jane sardua my Queens mother....)

Adlaw Malipayon inahan, dearest mother-in-law, the Apple to Jane's vision, hardworking, gentle-calm. I thankest thee for showing Jane the right way's; the way's of God, the way's of love, O' heaven knoweth thy name.

Adlaw Malipayon inahan, woman who knoweth none time, for thine family is thy priority; thou cookest and cleanest, thy labor hath heavied over time, mayest the Lord bless thee and keep thee, and the Lord make His face shine upon thee. And be gracious to thee. The Lord lift up His countenance upon thee,
And give thee peace. Mayest thine abode be a blessing from Mount malindang-west unto East. Mayest Yeshua guideth thy feet to where dangerous travels cometh and goeth. Mayest the word of God always from thy mouth appear and floweth. Mayest this mother's day, be a remembrance to thee, Evangeline; thy love hath not been forgotten, this is mine gift and thanking to thee.



©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©mothers day dedication to two special mother's ( Evangeline Sardua, janes mother, and dedication to my mother juna Marie Nagley, ) happy mother's day to both of you and may God shine his face upon you!!! With love Brandon!!

Over a month, or a little more,
Maybe two, or just before;
At mine last métier,
Working at the
Dollar store.
I kept on seeing
The vatic harbinger's
In tax form; thirty-one
And thirteen. The register
Wouldst with none other
Sign to me read. For one day
After earning mine wages, I told
Mine mother of these prognostic gazes.
In fret, and distress, I kneweth these symbol's
Hadst to do with mother and father, twas mine guess.
In mine soul, God gaveth me sigil's, in the appearance of extra-change; O' how mighty God is, powerful, unchanged. Just a few twenty-four hour's ago, on the thirty-first of  March, mine father went to the restroom in anguish; Lip's parched. Panic hit ourn abode, mother ran to father's side, I was in the living room as mine father walked out-tears in eye's. He was holding his chest, as if a stone rolled on his beating heart, his face crimson red, he was stumbling toward's death's spark. Mother grabbed the phone, I went into dismay, I ran to grab the aspirin's, and started praying in mine mind silently. Popping the bottles top, fortunately knowing what to do, Sat father down on the couch, mother talking to medics to. I told him in force, " chew these pills right now, making him drink water, to get those orange thing's down. I couldst seeith quietus coming from his heavied breath, I held his hand as If that day was the last dance, with mine father's paining chest. The two emergency medical technician's, crossed into ourn door, there bag's in hand's with oxygen tank's; machines and much more. As the emt's were keeping mine father conscious, I took mine mother by the arm, I took her into the bedroom-closed the door in silent charm. I whispered to mother quickly, " Come on were praying NOW", we bowed ourn head's on the side of the bed, asking God though faith in Christ, " Lord please hath mercy and saveth Ron now. After a few questions from the emt's, I went down to the ambulance with father, as whilst mine dad was dying, he to the ambulance men preached. I laughed and smiled, as dad was telling those fine men how to be saved; Mine father spoke of Yeshua, even whilst his heart beat in rage. Mother followed behind the ambulance, I was sitting inside with dad, knowing all wouldst be alright, for the Lord and Savior was on ourn side that day, and for all coming night's. We got to the hospital, doctor's gaveth dad some tests, A miracle happened; no damage to his beater, no issues with his chest. As after dad was taken for x-rays to a darkly picture room, I looked at mother left alone with me, and it hit me with prophetic swoon. I thought about the number's thirty-one and thirteen, as I kept on seeing them in tax form, I kneweth it was about mine father or mother both, as crazy as it mayest seem. Though Yahweh giveth signs; vision's, or by death, symbols and dream's. As water started flowing in that room, left alone with mother, I cried out to her, as we stared upon another. I told mine mother "GOD SHOWED ME ALL ALONG", mine father's day of birth, was the thirteenth back way long. His heart attack was the thirty-first thus both signs matching the story, thirteen God showed me his birth, and thirty first was when this happened, a harbinger in timely warning. Though the story doth not end there, verily more to it, father hadst a dream a month ago, that I did not tell. Mine father sawest mine grandfather Nagley, who died when I was only five, from tumors throughout his body, cancer the way he died. Grandpa Nagley warned mine father a month in advance, of mine father's coming soon shaking, mine father didst not remember the word's from grandpa's mouth in the dream, though now we knoweth it was truth on string's. And one day before mine dad's happening as well, mine dad dreamt three dream's in a row, three; the number of the father son and holy spirit, the Trinity in God's mode. Dad hadst dreamt three dream's right before what took place, dad saidst he saweth me whispering " there's two men at the door, wake up. He sawest the two men come in, the end of his dream. The two men that first walked in to help saveth his life, were those two emt's. ...........


©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©dedication to father Ron Nagley..... Thank God your alive dad love you.... As angels were once again protecting you, as God answered me and mothers prayer... And God's giving mine father a warning sign to come back to him.... As if we turn away from God he gives signs for us to come back to him....and it's truth and reality!!! Though what a loving merciful God you are!!! This even isn't the end of the story. Found out 31 had to do with my mother .. Kept seeing 31 and 13 at work. On cash register... Lol. Well mine mother just got into a car accident Jane knows about now I told her. Mother made it home safe. Totaled her vehicle. So this happened all literally two days apart from each other... Both numbers God kept showing me and I kept telling Jane, Jane these numbers are bothering me because I know they have to do with parents!! And yes!!! They did! God warned me!!! 31 July 31st mothers b day. August 13. Dads b day both matching signs God gave me!!! God wants mother and father to come back to him. I'm his vessel he's using to reach parents. And for me to come back fully!!! An amen to God alot!!!

Welkins so melancholy, welkin so gray,
How mine isolation dost mock me; for
Only the lonesome make sharu fotay.

Bedchamber so hushed, bedchamber of many tears; how I feel thy ivory paint,
How I feel thy pain here.

Hallway so narrow, hallway that breathes, O' hallway, O' hallway, listen when I sing.
Grab mine hand, O' hallway of mine abode,
Mine feet do walk quietly, on thy carpet; thy soul.

Spirit O' spirit, how heavied thou art, soon shalt thou depart; for the world is to much.

Mine skin yearns for kisses, mine fingers for touch, O' many hath wishes, guess I ask for to much.

Mine hair screams loudly, to be caressed, ruffled. How gray art the welkins; when a poet's love is muffled.

Mine hand tis weak, from not having ones grip, mine lips chapped; no wetness
Nor mist.

Mine dance is off, with none holding of hips, mine glance is off; eyes pained
By watching worldliness.

Mine old worn out ninety-sixties Beatles boots art worn, tired they mourn; they've
Walked many miles; on trails I've turned.

They've walked through streets, where dope addicts fiend, I've been that pusher, that user in scenes.

I've dreamt, I've dreamed, hath had many emotions; with mother and dad, I've smoked and mind opened.

Mine hope in God strong, unearthly, outspoken; I'm here on thy globe,
To bring hope to the hopeless.

Mine garb is bygone, outstandish, I'm Irish, Scottish, two types of native American Indian blood; Chickasaw-Choctaw,
From mother's generational flood.

A Greek man's inside me, one of biblical times, with french royalty, even Charlemagne, is connected to
Family of mine.

As well french power, and kings and queens, emperor's, empresses in mine relations; who ruled Rome with
Maximus, and around
Constantine.

With pilgrim cruor from England, that came here on ships; on the Mayflower they traveled, to this place of new bliss.

Even tis I am Swiss, these art mine bloodlines, O' how mine souls old,
A gold refined.

This is me O' Lord, thy lonesome son,
O' this is me God, thy writer
Of love.

Welkins so melancholy, welkin so gray,
How much longer O' loneliness; til
Thou shalt go away.

Tonight, O' tonight, shalt be silence once again;

Thus the dream of being held, is just
A thought with none end.

© Brandon nagley
© Lonesome poets poetry

In these closely quarter's called apartments....
There's a porch right next to me
Third floor

There is a man named Anthony
Thirties in age or so,
Mine neighbor girl is who he's friends with
Yet friends he doth not seeketh....

He doth not liveth here
Yet myswell sayeth he doth...

The girl next to me
Dallas ( her name)
Isn't with Anthony
( as I said) just friends....
But I just saw Dallas bring over a guy friend...

As Anthony's outside taking a hit of his light drag in hurtful motion....

I canst seeith the pain that holds his face up
Like a lantern to a flame....
I seeith his hearts enflamed...

Though knowing him and Dallas art ust friend's..  
What canst the man do?

As I seeith him take a heavied puff
Blowing out all of his pains through the tobacco misty....

I seeith he dreaded going back inside
As his heart was screaming
( GET OUT, SHES MINE *****)
He kept his head hung low

As if going to the gallows.....

you fit into me.
and i fit into you.
where we slid into place.
was something I never thought we'd do.

since we breathed as one.
where we slid into place.
how your weight fell on my chest.
how your hand stroked my waist.

the way you pressed in closer.
how your weight fell on my chest.
when your eyelids heavied.
while your hand brushed my breast.

we layed as one.
the world fell silent.

See
I'm just a lonesome peasant at the Spanish castle door
Hungry for food, thirsty for her decor
Her Spanish hillside resides in a place I shalt not speaketh
( secrecy I vow to keepeth)
As tis her door is adorned in Luna illumination,
Amour's central station..........

As she seeith me beseech her
For her Latin sheek
Mine legs get heavied
Mine extremities goeth week

Mine breathing goes faint
Mine eye's rolleth back
Then she taketh me in
Upon her reina love shack

Inside her abode
Is decorated by orb painting scene's
Her thought's stuck on poetry
As her words art her dreams....

She's realism to me
And a fantasy as well
Though tis I think to mineself
( truly she is all real)

For she feeleth me
As I feeleth her to
Nothing couldst ever separate
Two mi amour's so true,

For as I left her house
I found a little secret
Her second casa
Nest's beyond a martian surface.......

For I went there
For when she shalt cometh
For she doesn't knoweth
That I'll replace her plastic gnome in her garden on Mars,
With mine own self to showeth ...

You gave me a marvelous ring on my finger,
You gave me a firefly jar
To tie to a branch and to light up the sky;
Show the world that small glory of ours.

My young stomach was sickened as yours was afloat,
And so heavied my hand did the ring,
And I cut through the brilliance by shutting my eyes,
But you cast at me luminous things.

He's probably got the passion in his sinnew to blow up...something. he's worth being dead. His family says they said. If one day you met him. He'd probably smile at you fast. You'd hate his guts after that. Toward sun he looked onward till his gaze died down inside his throat. He heavied over the hate he's engulfed. The sun hangs lower. The cans weigh down on his neck. The paints scratching. He's got friends though. Theyll write an articulate article. He's just food for dust mites

Victorians old aged queen hast come to greet me
Come to treat me to extraterrestrial highs
Where her tongues forensic
With mine love we shalt dine!!!

So fine are thy heavied lids
Thy skin painted on spanishly clear
Heaven draws near
To thy angelic trim!!!

Make me feel five again lover!!!

Wherein I haveth no more care nor worry
Just romance novel stories
To maketh me anew!!

Thou missing puzzle
Thou clue I've sought so long

Thou fit's me perfectly friend
Thy smell to be the Rosie's
Mine own to be in stench!!!

Paralyze me again
Thine eyes daily do I seek
Wherein nothing goes bleaque
Between ourn child laughs and words!!!

I'm alive once again
After so long a sleep
The queens kiss
Has once again awoken me

To die for love!!!!

To love for years
For many weeks!!!!

Sleep, little one
Your eyes need not be heavied by burdens of a world above you
A world to soon become yours
Rest your gentle head upon the downy pillow below you
It's time to drift away from your day
Full of play and laughter, decisions made with a teddy bear

Sleep, little one
Your ears need not hear the hate tearing your future world apart
A world to soon become yours
Let dreams be cause of your perfect smile as you slip off to sleep
Enjoy this beautiful night from your slumber
Live in bliss a while yet before the world becomes yours and full of lies

Sleep, little one
Your mouth need not taste the bitterness of a world intent on spite
A world to soon become yours
Discover dreamland peacefully across the starry sea
Reliving all the fun you had
Ignorance is a blessing, until you realize the fresh slap of
intelligence

Sleep, little one
Your nose need not smell the putrid smell of rotten intention
In a world to soon become yours
Become one with the mattress as peace overtakes you
You don't have to face truth just yet
It may be so you save us all, we have high hopes for you

Sleep, little one
Your hands need not grasp reality just quite yet
Of a world to soon become yours
The sweet little nails on a sweet little hand grasping at my finger
Your blanket curled around your head
It's a sacred image, the babe in a crib, fast asleep

One I will hold 'till the end of time
In this world soon to become yours
So sleep, little one
And maybe I will too

Borges; this one
starts by your name.

fate did not want us;
fate wanted our words;
for yours to question mine.
to disenfranchise was its
goal on that July-ending day
in that smoke-fogged bar.
i shot true and drank with
heavied hand. you approached.
random-heaved spine, and you
were coverd by butterflies.
asked of life and responded:
      i owe the Universe some
           ******* poetry.
the question reciprocated but
you were found without breath.
time found us parting
with civilized talking of a
pre-determined clandestineship.
our fate quelled in that bar
on that July-ending day.

As I pick up mine burdened cross, mine brow's art heavied by the mockery of the crowd. Mine head shaved to maketh me feeleth belittled, the drizzle of pain down mine vessel, comes pouring all down... The ruler's art all around, as the pharisees laugh, they spit upon mine smiling lips, and whip me with unused glass. As they spike me they heareth mine screams, dancing to the scene. I close mine eyes, and pray to god, forgiveth them of their deeds. As I knoweth mine water shalt soon depart, I shalt uplift to the mansion grove....... I yell back at the crowd..... Expect to see mine ghost... As they see mine ghost, it knoweth not much longer shalt they maketh a travesty of me. I spill mine gut's upon the wood, on the old juniper tree......... As when mine spirit left me, mine own mother sat there because they made her watch, as mine soul left mine carrion, their temple's rent ripped into shock....
And the Pharisees, tis they didst see, the son they hath killed, was one not of this world, now their sin's shalt they feel...


©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry...

Cinderblock walls a mile high, covered in thick brambles of insults and insecurities.
Red webbed bruises laced with black.
Guilt-laden eyebrows, bushy with life's burdens.
A carefully trained smirk of nonchalance splits the pale lips of fated cheekbones,
Whites of eyes bloodshot with freshly smoked buds designs.
Laughter of a child heavied with unrest and lonely nights.
Sleep comes only with the knowledge of another morning.
You draw moths, not to the broken surface,
but the flaming soul behind it.
A trap that causes many a hand to ooze with crimson in hopes of soothing your open wounds.
But words will not reach you,
Cries will not move you,
And I cannot fix you.

Something small and winged outside my window sings
To a new day? To invite it's kind in chorus?
It does and that's enough

An Old Sun arises to a fresh born day
Not yet birthed but burgeoning
A thousand times a thousand
Indian paint brush reds come back to me
From the pipe racks and sky reaching cranes
These made things but also growing
Ideas given structure by flesh.

There, off a mile or so
Boot heavied feet clump
Horns warn, diesels clamour to motion
Rattling about, a handful of rocks in a Campbell's can
Once again to bring into being so much intent.

And Beauty doesn't mind
Isn't such a fragile thing
That the hiccups and yawns of all our
Micey thoughts should scare it off
It's Here.
Light upon Light upon every angle

Something small and winged outside my window sings
It does and that's enough.

Architect of mine brawn,
Bird to mine songs,
Your weight is heavied and I feel its tax!!!!

Your broken,
Unrelaxed,
As I wish to giveth thou azure!!!

Your posterior is defective,
Your fingers are worn,
Soo many dishes hath thou wiped,
Cleaned,
Gleamed!!!

No excite!!!

Mother,
Thine vitality has given me new meanings,
Your a fowl of the unseaming,
A sire of mine own beautitude!!!

Soo lost to thy worlds hatred,
Soo much love and  gratitude!!!

You'd bequeath your animation to me as I you!!!!

Mother,
Homage so true!!!

Fast conqest, please do not come to thy lonely end, the mounts been put up, the bars hast been broken, this soul feels complete with mine own love and best friend. Feelings of innocent thoughts, no money can make a difference, no pounds could could be heavied, im light where the books hast been dropped.! Irregularity greeted me so extraterrestrially, extending me to something i never knew. Taketh me, break through thou holy lover  im on thy standby. . . . Mine law of commandments. Mine holy seeing eye

As I awake from the cryogenic slumber I was put in, I find myself walking around a mansion. It must be a century into the future, but everyone still seems to be asleep in their pods.

As I walk around, my feet guide me through a tunnel lit by hanging candelabras, as though they have a life of their own. Few moments later, I find myself standing in front of a of a jagged wooden door with tiny bugs crawling up the dented-scratches and a loose door **** awaiting to be opened to the library that stretches far and wide.

The windows are tinted vintage yellow and air stenched with the musty smell of worn books; heavied with dust. The large maghony table stands alongside the ladders and railings, allowing access to the different levels of the library.

My hand reaches out for a leather-bounded book, as though it was longing to be read and plucked from the ornately carved bookshelf. It is my biography; my breathings worded and memories penned.

Stunned, I ran my fingers along the frayed pages, to find the stories of every person to have crossed paths with stretched out across the pages.

I re-read pages, letting the wordy essence cling to my skin and the embers to re-ignite. I allowed myself to taste the salt and sugar of the sunrise to sunset span with the ones who left inky footprints across my heart. Until I came across a name that started resurfacing from the dustiest parts of my mind.

Out of curiosity I reach out to the protruding mark to find myself holding her biography, and countless pages stained with my name. “I sat there tossing sorrows from one hand to another, trying to let the blue ink gush onto the page in front. I could feel the darkness coaxing my mind, labeling me with names as I held back the tears stinging my eyes. I was an invisible cloak; an outcast who was unwanted.

But then she came, each step paced with confidence. Her curls leaked sunshine into the room; I could feel it warming the cold that layered me. I found her seating herself near me, as the girls behind me laughed like a pack of hyenas, gossiping about the new faces entering.

I found her looming above me, her hair brushing against my forehead “Wow, has anyone told you write really well?” but all I could manage was a shy smile in comparison to her gleaming grin that swallowed her cheeks whole. That was the first time I heard someone say that and then there was something warm, fuzzy, a spark? Happiness? Hope? It felt foreign and different, almost energetic but I craved more.

In the coming days I watched as she drove herself with passion, reaching out to catch stars, blooming herself and handing it to others. She was alive and vibrant. Almost brilliant like lightning, enlightening the sky with her spark like the one that was fuzzing between my cells.

Her presence was alluring, I found myself responding to her wavelengths, wanting to resonate with it; to have purpose, meaning and life. She made me want to untangle myself from the toxic relationships I had. It made me want to stop drinking the poison they fed me. It made me want to crave for good. To nourish my body and to breathe.

She called me on my birthday; no one ever called me on my birthday. The next day she hugged me and turned my hurricanes to a whiff. Weeks after that she invites me to her birthday, pulling me away from my world as I accepted her hand paving paths for me to explore.
I flicked a few grainy pages ahead.

“Are you okay?” She said as she though she could smell the stench of it on me. As though she could see me drowning within myself. And in that moment I let her in, I broke the walls, I let them crash. I let the ocean erupt open through my pores. I let my rusty voice box to voice its cries. Even though I spoke in language that came natural to me; chaos. But she sat there listening patiently, and in that moment I wrote about how her ears were made of empathy, eyes of moonlight that made me feel lighter and blissed.

I watched her move with such zeal that I was mesmerized. She became my muse, my inspiration. So I undressed myself of self-loathing and set out to talk to people and explore. My bruised throat ringed and my chewed tongue wanted to speak. My hands wanted to write for my younger self that stayed quite all this time.

She breathed air into my collapsing lungs, became the brightest of hues in the world of my blues. I was a dead language and she pronounced me with life.

Here I am, a writer. All because of that compliment that left me to weave my sorrows, revertebratating the hope she gave me through my writing. Hoping to provide the same inspiration and passion she inspired me with. She restored the courage in my spine; the faith in my cells and the love into my heart that I tucked safely into inky words hoping someday someone feels the same.

I closed the book as I traced the last line, with a tear in my eye. How could’ve my trivial action have such a profound affect?

There is a fire in my bones
it grows, quite slow, still grows, it rose
from spark to flame it is my name
to love the broken all the same
their tears, their hurt, their loss are mine
so I'll care.
I'll care.

My fight is long and weary mind
a bitter war waged strong in times
yet fire is quenched, coals cease to glow
the sun is blurred above, below
I'm drowned beneath the grating waves
do I care?
I care.

It's not a heat to douse at will
somehow it's deep within me still
it rages on, my fierce inferno
but nowhere for the smoke to go
my blackened lungs starve me of air
and I care.
I care.

I'm suffocating, can't seem to breathe
as the roiling waves begin to seethe
at the senseless violence I can't escape
eyes stinging, tears streaming, never assuaged
no candle in the darkness
only I care.
I care

And the anger drains me while waiting and watching
the singed stars plummet, falling and fearing
this world, torn to pieces, is crashing and burning
bile razes my weary body, retching and cursing
my heavied heart hurts with the hatred
and still I care.
I care too much.

Mine heart fluttering
Pivotal to all feeling
Mine scepter is beating
Like a drum of tribal momentous,
I crawl as a beast to belly
Tasting soot and ash
Mine aorta sliced in half
As a serial killer to mine trauma.........
Shalt one feeleth such anguish?
I relish the good times
Yet bad seem more good to me
Since I'm soo used to it
Yet,
I shalt not be broken
Mine catena's hath been hacksawed
For now freedom hath wrapped mine heavied head
Gratis instead.......
I shalt not be one to be left to the wind
As if I'm just its fatal breeze
Tis I'm me
And unearhtly shower of blessed beauty
Raining fiery hott
On old lit cities....  
Mine marvel plateau do I awaiteth....
Wherein I shalt be noticed
Not flicked aside
As the trash of the earth!!!!

Don’t coddle me.
I don’t like to be coddled.
In fact, I don’t like to be held.
I don’t like to be touched.
In fact, don’t breathe my air.
I’m coming down with something, it must be from here or there.
And please don’t try to conversant about the news like its traverse
You cannot sit at the table without a place to put it first.

Don’t coddle me like a child.
We both know we lost our way
Don’t speak to me in such numbers
Where it seems I’m not okay
Don’t twist my words or quarry
About my younger days
As if I don’t quite ponder what will become of my wicked ways

Don’t coddle if I’m so intolerable
Don’t call if the time is not just right
Don’t feed me to the world
Just to hide me from viewers sight

And grace reflects my mere impeachment
Lets not forget about my lucky stars
Don’t count them in their glory,
Then question where they are

Don’t nurture me into success just to strip it all away
Don’t treat me like a doll
Then give me of which no house to play-

In fact, you shouldn’t coddle; when heavied from all of which I’ve weeped
What use is it to coddle- when the wicked get no sleep.

-Bre Womble

The answers I've sought never seemed too far,
But i accepted the pursuit was neverendng.

  It feels right to persue.

Years before, I dreamt of you.
Not knowing, even after we met.
A girl, on a bus, looking back at me.
Departed, and heavied my chest.

Long ago, when young, i felt the longing,
Not unlike homesickness,
But for this fictional character i witnessed.

There will never be a time i wasn't connected.
Her face, her head laden with long black hair
the other half, the female half
the same, but having what i do not have.

Growing up, with mental uncertainty
This dream of the half of me, left

In such a hurry.

Always around, but too far away.

Im homesick for the time I didnt know this dream.

Victorians old age queen,
Where art thou to come and greet me?
To extrarestrial high!!!

Where her tounges forensic,
With me thy love we shall dine!!!!!

Soo fine are your heavied lids!!!

Your skin painted on so fluorescent,
Heaven draweth near to your angelic trim!!

Make me feel child once again lover where I have no more cares of worries,
Just romances novel stories to make me anew!!

Thine missing puzzle,
Thine clue I've sought so long....

You fit Soo neatly to me mine friend,
Your smell to be thine gardenias,
Mine own to be its end....

Parylize me extend!!!

Thine eyes do I daily seek,
Where nothing goes weak between our child laugh and words...

To be alive once again Soo long after sleep!!

Thy queens kiss to abrupt me to die for ones approbation,
To predilection for years,

For weeks!!!!

I want to take the hat off
And then wave my goodbye.

I am a child with a suitcase,
A woman with a crane
Taking each step with little strength,
then falling over again

I am a child that ran over,
A man with no name
Helding my hands in the sky,
begging for the rain

I was the falling paper,
from the tree of neglect
Rushed with the wind,
heavied by water, loved by the pain

I became the small pebble
that talked to little grains
Ignored and dumbfounded
and stinged by bolts of gale

I went to take the hat off,
with a smile that never fade
Soon, I will take this hat off.
So long! To you my friend.

I hurt her,
So I took a tack to mine hands and feet
To ease her heavied twine....

If only I could turn back the hand's of time!!!

Tis,
These lonesome shoulder's

Tis,
This heavied boulder

Tis,
I clinch mine teeth

Tis,
With broken feet

Tis,
With a dark shadow that doubles!!!

Tis,
Its me,
That lonesome fellow!!!

pretty american houses
pretty bays
and boys and happenings
hidden dreams fly out like smoke, in rings, in threes
candled wishes don’t go far—
but i don’t know about these dancing stars
twinkling, aren’t they?
the eyes of God
that bestow heavied wonders
on the shore
underneath the doors
of those pretty american
beach house floors
stars, wished on with this treasured heart
of yours
it’s ethereal, your existence
your words are like the sea
i hear them roar when i’m asleep
i love you still i love you

there comes an

awareness, so unto

and heavied...it alights.

slouching down on

a cross, so stark against

its white sky.

remaining at the foot

of  that hallowing

ground.

always hit by the first

drop.