"impasse" poems
right in front of me
but out of reach
windiness
tests upon tests
you teach me
patience
i’m weary
but i keep chasing
and i just don’t know
if i can reach the top
collecting pieces
of facts like rags
i shape opinions,
secrets map
trust impasse.
i may never know
the mountain shade
unearthed in doubt
from years of pain
but for it all
i love you more
you teach me
strength
and i’ll plant my flag
and print my foot
drag my wooden,
peg-legged soul
lose my voice,
foretell my wake
altitudes high
and immense
please believe
what i can see
let me teach you
acceptance
everest man
i am
shrinking
as you hide the sun
behind your back
as you hide the sun
away from me
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 4:06 PM UTC
i.
I’ve heard people say on various occasions “if it’s meant to be, it will happen.” I don’t buy it.
Lots of things never happened that should have.
ii.
Talking to Jimi was like having a conversation thru the plexi-glass of a prison visitation room.
They could see each other, they could almost touch each other, but a layer of bullet proof glass stood between them and true intimacy. Yet, there were times when the wall was more like the shell of a bubble—thin and pliable and sticking to her fingers when she pressed against it. And Jimi’s shape
would begin to take form with her touch, and the reality of his true self would show in defiance of his expectations.
iii.
Jimi just didn’t seem to get it. It was like he thought every word Mango uttered about her crushed spirit and just trying to survive was some sort of manipulation tactic.
“You don't act like you did before.” She said.
“I'm sorry for that, you never leave my mind though.”
“The things going on in your head don't talk to me or spend time with me or hold me....they just
stay with you and I am all alone.”
iv.
“Jimi, I can’t focus, I can’t concentrate on anything! The sound of my thoughts are so loud that reality is just background clamor and white noise!”
“I’m trying, I’m doing the best I can. What more do you want me to do?”
“Move out! Make the leap! If you’re not happy there, if you don’t want to be married to her you shouldn’t be there. If being with me isn’t enough motivation to leave, then leave because Lizi deserves more than a fake husband.”
“I’m **** I’m just a coward. I don’t like myself for what I’m doing.”
“The only one who can change how you feel about yourself is you.
Sitting around thinking about how ****** you are isn’t going to change a **** thing.”
“Neither is yelling at me.”
“Then I guess we’re at an impasse.”
v.
Something in their relationship had died. Not unlike the many times Mango’s heart had been broken and her hope had been lost. But it was harder for Jimi, taking that leap of love in the first place was
the most difficult thing he had ever done. And now, he had never experienced such intense levels of pain, he thought his heart would literally stop beating, and he would be swallowed up by the enormous cavity in his chest. Mango wanted to know if he could love her again, and he didn’t know, he honestly didn’t know. He wanted to, but now the part of him that feared he would not be enough for her had taken over, and his sense of fear and overwhelm was too much for him to bear.
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 2:45 AM UTC
The hole is deep enough for the two of us
And yet we keep on digging!
To haul each day a heavy load
Is this the life worth living?
I hear the wailing in the distance
I feel the heavy hooves beating down
The stubborn mule never listened
And the steed chased but never found
The gift of life can give or take
Like crops in a drought mid harvest
Sugar cane can grow in numbers
Or growing hunger serves to starve us
So when the wind no longer howls
We will see the trees stop flailing
And when the eyes can see the sea
We can trust the sailor sailing.
Dec 16, 2018
Dec 16, 2018 at 4:53 PM UTC
Remoaners to the left, Brextremists to the right,
Theresa “Maggie” May has an uphill fight.
I can’t see her lasting many more days,
Unless she changes her stubborn ways.
Theresa is an immovable object.
Her hubby must be totally henpecked.
Trying to please just everyone,
Annoying all is what she’s done.
Right now she is UK Prime Minister,
But her own back benchers are getting sinister.
Some say she’s sold us down the river,
A thing for which they can’t forgive her.
Others claim she’s gone too far,
As we should stay just where we are.
Some see Europe as our friend,
But others say the UK we must defend.
Ireland is a sticking point
A thing that’s gonna rock the joint.
They don’t know where to put the border,
Without causing grief and disorder.
What an impasse, feels like stalemate,
Are we heading to be a slave state?
Who knows what’s going to happen next?
No wonder we are all perplexed.
Paul Butters
© PB 17\11\2018.
Nov 17, 2018
Nov 17, 2018 at 6:19 AM UTC
All summer we moved in a villa brimful of echos,
Cool as the pearled interior of a conch.
Bells, hooves, of the high-stipping black goats woke us.
Around our bed the baronial furniture
Foundered through levels of light seagreen and strange.
Not one leaf wrinkled in the clearing air.
We dreamed how we were perfect, and we were.
Against bare, whitewashed walls, the furniture
Anchored itself, griffin-legged and darkly grained.
Two of us in a place meant for ten more-
Our footsteps multiplied in the shadowy chambers,
Our voices fathomed a profounder sound:
The walnut banquet table, the twelve chairs
Mirrored the intricate gestures of two others.
Heavy as a statuary, shapes not ours
Performed a dumbshow in the polished wood,
That cabinet without windows or doors:
He lifts an arm to bring her close, but she
Shies from his touch: his is an iron mood.
Seeing her freeze, he turns his face away.
They poise and grieve as in some old tragedy.
Moon-blanched and implacable, he and she
Would not be eased, released. Our each example
Of temderness dove through their purgatory
Like a planet, a stone, swallowed in a great darkness,
Leaving no sparky track, setting up no ripple.
Nightly we left them in their desert place.
Lights out, they dogged us, sleepless and envious:
We dreamed their arguments, their stricken voices.
We might embrace, but those two never did,
Come, so unlike us, to a stiff impasse,
Burdened in such a way we seemed the lighter-
Ourselves the haunters, and they, flesh and blood;
As if, above love's ruinage, we were
The heaven those two dreamed of, in despair.
3.2k
or
EGGSISTENTIALISM
I put eggs in a ***
with some water to cook
turned the heat up to hot
then the egg-timer took
and I gave it a spin
so the sand was on top
and an aperture, thin,
let the grains start to drop
like a little landslide
that just in a short while
had begun spreading wide
from a conical pile
then I saw myself there
in the egg timer's glass
and returned my own glare
just to fill the impasse
but my face looked obscure
seeming bulbous and stout
with my chin on the floor
and my brow at the spout
as the sand tumbled south
to the hour-glass base
down my nose to my mouth
just like tears on my face
then I had this strange thought
as I took an egg cup
of how time can run short
while it's filling right up
now a thousand yard stare
in those eyes, I could see
existential despair
facing infinity
they left no room to doubt
that we'd both been misled
that time doesn't run out
- it falls right on your head
'til you're buried alive
with a mouthful of grit
you might think you'll survive
but it's not prone to quit
then your eggs are all done
time's caught up and been spent
by the end of the run
your not sure where it went
but time waits for no man
that much can't be denied
so boiled eggs? change of plan -
in the end had them fried.
Dec 3, 2022
Dec 3, 2022 at 5:02 AM UTC
****
mit ein(e)
gernierung
of... ******
MACDONALDS
for the protestants
MCDONALDS
for the catholics...
and **** the rest of it
whoop di do d'ah
whoopsie!
**** it...
i always called the IRA
the ginger ninja brigade...
******* *****
ha ha!
is that even permitted?
like...
oopsies?!
oh ****
the steam-roller is
giving it a shot at reading
the earth,..
flat...
map on paper?
**** me... no app....
****** you ever navigate a car
through the German Rhine roundabout?
what's in it?
Dortmund.. Essen...
you know that constipated
part of the road map of Europe...
ever navigate that trippy
conundrum ******** of navigation?
beside me...
can't speak german,
won't navigate in german,
no matter how many
Mercedes-Benz they pump out
from the Henry Ford institute of
the reclining chair,
supposing
die krupps to be squidgy clean...
i think the european translation
reads:
die Dortmund Ringe...
das Rhine Ringe...
**** allocating yourself to a rally car...
navigate through that sort
of German ********
achtung achtung...
autobahn ende!
vorwärtskreis
might as well salute for a second
coming of... hítlear!
shaking Stevens?
huh?!
knee on the no contra
the know: bother...
the english won't know...
isn't that nay?
i listen to too much lawyer
jargon...
i'd love to listen to
poetry...
but... i figured...
lawyers play the slight of
the sly of hand that poets
exasperate into toying with words
to accomplish art...
lawyers? the impasse of
judgement?
**** me!
apparently the argument
goes:
down syndrome...
psychopaths...
'ere by god's grace...
much grace, my lord...
too much grace...
two salvation pointers:
(a) i won't drink with them...
(b) i won't eat with them,
(c) there is no "c" that isn't
a "d" that isn't an "e"
"f", etc!
you get a zebra...
you get a null bonus!
a ******* safari of an automated
anti hamster Boston outfit!
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 8:23 PM UTC
Going in Circles
seems like I've been here before
is it deja vu or really something more
when I feel I have left my comfort zone
here I am again in the looking glass
is it me or just a figment of mind
searching everywhere trying to find
the road that leads me from the garden path
nothing changes only time will pass
the lady that has stolen my heart
she has a smile that sets her apart
but she only comes to me in my dreams
such an unsettling confusing morass
now here I am I have come back to begin
going in circles in a heart wrenching spin
one more time around the trap in my head
have I reached my life's impasse
round and round and nobody knows
I wonder if my pain truly shows
going in circles will this ever end
one last swallow to empty my wineglass
Gomer LePoet....
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 6:40 PM UTC
As the last waltz playing in my jacket ceased,
Loneliness and longing spilled out,
Along with a few coins and a recorder
From my roomy coat pockets.
The phone booth stood there,
Frosted by icicles of promises
Never thawed to life,
Yet a haven from my impasse;
A womb for the stranded & unwanted.
I closed the door behind me,
And fed the phone a few coins,
Punched your number with numb fingers
And fogged up the insides of the glass,
As I waited to hear your voice.
“Hello?” You said, but where were my words?
I must have lost them on my way,
I must have fed them to the phone
Along with the paltry coins,
Could you hear what I wanted to say?
“Hello?” You repeated, a little alert,
I listened to your silence, trying to smile,
It sank like warm music on my heart,
Waltzes and sonatas were so cliché.
Where were my words? Just one would suffice,
Couldn’t I sum us up in a single word?
I couldn’t find the kigo to our season.
I had lost it, left it with you,
That and my voice
In the world I was forced to leave,
And all this while I was held,
Tenuously to you by this phone call,
Till I heard the strained dial tone again,
In this silent world I’ve come to inhabit.
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 10:11 AM UTC
Winter's unsteady weather
cold, cold, hot desert
on this walkabout with severe angles of sun
icy mornings drip into the sweat of day
the impasse of giant stones the gods have laid
to stop or climb another way
egos travel irretrievable, sink into what is real
here we scale thorny towers of denial
revealed, peeled in layers - to cry, to smile
meanwhile awakened, shaken
from the sleep of our amnesia.
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 9:24 AM UTC
Sometimes I feel like I'm just frozen in space,
Stuck in the fabric of time
Without a purpose, simply static
Not quite floating,
Not actively moving but not stopping either
Hurtling through the stars,
Simply dancing in the dark.
I don't act, I don't try;
I just find myself in the sky
Waiting for you to come, though you never do.
Give me a reason to stay, to leave,
Something to hint that we should be complete
I just want to stop being alone,
Stuck here,
Dancing in the dark.
It's such a shame to be alone
Here among this beauty that I can't appreciate
My mind won't stop focusing on you,
And your inability to reciprocate
So I will remain,
Swirling in this nebula of stars,
Dancing alone in the dark.
You don't want me here
But you can do nothing to stop me
So we're at an impasse, love--
Unable to continue, unable to desist
I just want you to end up in my arms,
But you know this will never work
So I'm frozen here
Forever in love, forever broken
Simply listening to your voice as it shatters the silence,
While we're dancing in the dark.
The sky is lit with a million stars
The void is painted with their light
Space screams with everything left unsaid
For I will, here, remain,
Crying into the nothingness as I am spent
I don't want to keep dancing in the dark.
Stop shutting me out.
You may think you hide it so well,
But I see you, love.
I may be blind in the daylight,
But I hear you loud and clear
You think you wear that mask with such aplomb
But I know you're really a ticking bomb
You're just like me, love
We may hear different tunes, we may not feel the same drums
But you are here too, dancing in the dark.
We're not so different after all.
I don't wanna cry after you,
But I know I will.
Here among the dying stars,
As the sun begins to overtake the sky
I'll keep dancing in the dark until the very end,
Until there's nothing, of me, that's left.
For, after all,
It was you that sent me spiraling into the night,
Awaiting death,
As I danced in the dark for you.
Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 1:11 AM UTC
True tangled Gordian thoughts entwine
Amid labyrinthine paths that wind
Sliding sledding serpentine
To assay value and extent
Braid a mind a shoreward end
Seeking weeping thrashing send
Infused with knowledge deep and sound
A consciousness cogitabund
Within the portals self confined
Disconnected judgements breed
Diffuse journeys often made
To darkened places
Where no light
Of vision lucid sparkling bright
Will penetrate and seem so safe
Writhing heavy leaden womb
Elusive dissolute abound
Reclusive and so moribund
But in the darkened space there seems
A distant tendril sparkling white
A reaching focal point to strive
To make that leap
Great grasping bound
Wrapping arms so safe around
Clasping forgone lines abandoned
Sublimating impasse upward
Strength of purpose
Welling forward
Great eruption spewing outwards
Lava flowed eureka moment
Spreading outwards
Flowing downwards
Cogent sentient live born
Brewed in darkness
Drinks the bright
With clarity and strength unite
Dazzling brilliant shining moment
Cleft asunder glorious light ....!
Oct 14, 2009
Oct 14, 2009 at 2:13 AM UTC
You twist my hands, and my mouth
kept still. Again and again.
Turning blue and purple, they are dying.
And I thought: Is this the way
holding hands feel?
Suffocating, and miserable,
I don't think this is right.
We stayed statuesque, out of sight
of crazed eyes, and my mouth kept still.
Vibrations stuck between the walls
of my throat. Under my mind, above my chest.
And your hands are still on my hands.
And now they're turning
into the early night.
This is how we die, you say.
Even nothing has been forged
into my memory. Your hands had killed mine.
Over and over, i cling to the possibilities.
And you let go when my hands are gray
walked back into your skin.
You are nothing but a murderer.
And this is how
I cannot go back to you. You are smart
I applaud you. That's the thing
anger is an impasse. As you are.
And now, i wonder
why I didn't think this before
You were killing the very thing that i could hold you to keep you mine.
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 12:10 PM UTC
freedom is a funny thing
what would dreams bring
but calamity (and loss
tears superfluous waste of water)
slow treading in treacle
hold absent flora to the wind face
cross eyed glory on a pale mask
no extending big hand
to the child who doles out water
to babes from ***** papercups
scratching scoops of brown mess
amid domesticated fauna
in the middle of nowhere land
feet rubbing for warmth
an ever going stipple wagon
a small blanket the only cover
one scooter holds too many
open beauty closing too soon
supply demand coercing blank stare
impasse holds the keeper hostage
some up - some down
no break from unbroken cycle
the dreamer lives forever on
inside the tightest cage
and knows there's little cure
yet within full ironic view
lies the priceless key to unlock
dark eyes implore me to take you
anything is possible
yes
anything
dreamer, dreamer
open dreamer
open your dream wings
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 11:38 AM UTC
I am a weary traveler, yet I fatigue from sitting still
I've been on this trail, seeking medicine for my disease
Not sure if I'm still alive, or merely ill
I am lukewarm water, yet I burn from the cold inside
I stop at every impasse, pushing rocks out of my way
And wondering if my legs are broken, or if they overstride
I am a rudderless vessel, paying no mind to signs
As I drift from place to place, from dream to dream
Retreating from this world without a finish line
I am a weary traveler, yet I fatigue from sitting still
I've been on this trail, seeking medicine for my disease
Still not sure if I'm alive, or merely ill
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 9:59 AM UTC
Sleeping.
No. Not sleeping.
Hands in the dark.
Arm/Arm.
Next to each other, on top of each other.
Legs. Legs.
Foot. Tracing your leg.
A hand in the dark.
Fingers take my fingers.
Touches my face.
Kissing.
Suddenly.
You’re there.
So am I.
Should we be doing--?
--Kiss.
Never mind.
You’re supposed to be on a plane right now.
You’re not.
You’re on this bed.
Where I am too.
You kiss me again. Hard.
Hello, tongue.
Wait. What?
Doesn’t matter?
Okay.
Keep kissing.
Yes.
I know what this is.
I’m everything she’s not.
You call me beautiful.
No, I’m not.
My, you’re insistent.
I really don’t think I am.
You stare at me:
I’m the only woman in the world.
No one’s ever done that before.
Hands are going places.
I don’t want ***
Well, I do.
I want *** with love. You love someone else. And I love you.
I am not an Equal Opportunity Provider.
Is that okay?
God, you’re so sweet.
You kiss me again.
I kiss you back.
Stroke my hair.
Scratchy beard,
Rubs my chin.
God you feel good.
Ugh.
My willpower is diminishing.
Stop.
Let’s talk.
Not about…her.
I mean.
About whatever, really.
Your back porch in Atlanta.
Play them blues.
Drink your Manhattans.
You and your gin.
Sounds beautiful.
You want me to know I’m beautiful.
No I’m not.
Why do I think that?
I’m just not.
It seems we’re at an impasse.
I don’t know I’m beautiful.
You don’t know you’re quite a catch.
You’re fanfacking tastic.
How do you not know it?
[It’s a cruel game;
that the universe made you love someone
who just can’t see that.
That the Gods would laugh
at our human folly
seems unfair.
That they gave us love
and then gave us no directions on how to use it.
That this man
is tripping over his own two feet
trekking mountains
traversing deserts
stealing the stars right out of the sky
Trying to re-win the love of his life.
She doesn’t even bat an eye.
She doesn’t know
that he is the rarest form of species.
And she
is a ******* poacher.]
Now I’m falling in love with your soul.
The very depths of you.
The secret rooms.
The inner dialogue.
You just get me like no one else does.
Sleeping.
No.
Getting there.
Pull me in tight.
Body on body.
Safest place in the world
is right here.
My head on your chest.
Arm/Arm.
Hand/Hand.
Tonight you’re mine.
Tomorrow
you were just a dream.
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 2:46 PM UTC
Listen,
I wanna embrace a blanket of your sensuality.
I wanna abandon all rationality and create our own boundaries.
I wanna become in tuned with the vibrations of each other's souls.
Want you to climb so steeply within me that you can't find the way out of me.
See I don't wanna make love, I wanna create precious poetry.
While breathing the same rhythm.
You **** every stanza out of me.
Two pair of eyes undivided, two bodies ***** vigorous, exuding of familiarity.
Make a story out of me.
Feed it descriptions of true beauty.
Not shrewdly, but do it smoothly.
Let's co write a poem based on our union.
We can be a masterpiece.
Ink stains left in my bed sheets.
I'll lend you my body to use as a diary.
Release all frustrations as you lay your fervor out on me.
Send a chill of suspense intensely towards the inside of my thighs,
just where the margins would be.
Our minds are deadly.
Their correlation, deadlier.
We're writing words so compelling, while releasing showers from hearts too heavy.
Our poetry is nothing to compare to the regular.
Every inch of my body manifesting your touch readily.
I recede as you synchronize my private visions of a flawless fantasy.
Basking in this radiance as you guide your pen to an astonishing ******
Inducing my body to impasse in ecstasy.
Leaving me dripping with your artfulness.
As if announcing all expectations surpassed.
Drowning me in words that mirror ardor.
Each line so passionate,
I have no such memory of felicity that neither compares nor contrasts.
Every part of my skin left sensitive, tender, and fragile.
My body fluently floating, light as a feather.
Skin now designed and decorated with such puissant letters.
And God forbid we begin to forget the significance of our coalescence.
You can lay me down,
As you read it back to me.
This way, we can reminisce on the angelic medley.
Listen,
I don't just wanna make love,
I want our bodies to intertwine and invoke aesthetic poetry.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 4:37 AM UTC
{ impasse }
Non action –again
Under a dim sun
I read the world
and miss the encounter
Di nuovo inazione
Al sole fioco di lucerne
leggo il mondo
–e non t'incontro
Aug 15, 2016
Aug 15, 2016 at 4:37 AM UTC
What he will give is the incipient bare minimum
of his heartbeat
He’ll reveal just
the washed out clamoring of his horded desire
all because there would be nothing left in his own perception
of a universe that may reduce his secret lust to nothing.
implode like terrorists on the fantasy of his greatness yet to come…
although we are born magnificent; which then gets blinded out by all the hearsay of our original sin
he won’t go too far with a notion of
blissful ‘otherness’
nor squeeze too many lemons
he’s got no room for confidence sugar stored
on his empty shelf
*however negative space can be
a good thing*
(he has heard)
he’s dumbfounded when he wants more from someone
and expects the best of their yet to be born
mind reading abilities to:
just
understand who he is
or
“be gone I say!”
…(hehehe) -writer could not help it-
scathed in baby blisters by his choices so far...
it was of course!
all the:
****** babble of growing up in his _Family of origin_/original sin
where he learned to swim so comfortably in precious
Aloneness ----- -Aloofness-
and there he became more real than ever
---Ahh well...it’s the grand excuse for
most of his life
until he feels the scratch of his riotous ‘settling for’
is bleeding ****** ******
and then one day he looks in the mirror and a ghost like
stroke (not yet manifested)
spotlights his over bearing mind to feel what it has
~done did~
disconnected with deeds of the heart
and foresight/manipulation
for naught
he then finds out his heart needed more than a cup of
tea and a scone (mid 40's)
he finds out his emotional impasse was so ****
false (almost 50)
and that his lack of allowing others in
was truly a waste of mental constructs
(Solid 51)
this I know like my own dry eyed nodding
I was him
(the now pleasure of hindsight... 55)
but all the 'do right' stuff is cohesively on time
all the contrast that created a calling for
again and again
this leaning
to love
Linaji 2011
Nov 9, 2011
Nov 9, 2011 at 12:58 AM UTC
the setting moon
slips close to its watery grave
and she finally appears
walking slow carrying her broken shoes
she says that the night jumped her
and she had gotten lost in the
vast differences between what she hoped
and what the world always left her longing with
tears spread from her still young innocent eyes
i held her to reassure
but as i wait for our fears to subside
i see the lights approach
of thouse who would claim lordship over her wallet
and over her soul
bankers of the material world
doubling as demons from hells coldest corner
no fleeing the version where you need to change batteries
they are dead as the souls who manufacture them
she slips a pair of double a's from her
pocket rocket personal massage device
and plugs her mind back into the need to get on with her day
the moon has reached its last gasp
and she has romanced her way out of her dress
and you out of your noble intents
we all reach this impasse
with our pen and page
having sold off our forward momentum
for a desperado gamble at claiming that elusive perfect written word
we flounder at waters edge
unable to pull ourselfs back
unable to manufacture method to crawl further
we make mad dashes round and round the
proverbial gallows pole
hanging on a single idea or ideal
trying to express it clearly
it need not more clear than it is
in mind's eye
but her face lingers in your soul
urging you you recapitulate your dire love
to craft a better master plan for tearing yourself down
the moon has reached its invisible zenith
on the worlds opposite side
and you have yet to reconcile
your good natured laugh
to her dark predictions
she slips away again to seek
her rightful place in her world view
and you are the captain of your sinking rowboat
once more
sexton in hand
plot your thoughts
and row king james home
the moon will rise soon
and you need to be home
when she comes in need of a hugs
and a shoulder to weep on
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 1:25 PM UTC
*The die is cast to die at last
Envision the vast everlasting
We live in the past too fast
Forward-fast future impasse
Intentions to pass and repass
Notwithstanding
Elusive are the ticks of tock
That take place in the mind
Marinating for meaning
And a design to define in art
Whether it be mind or it matter
At an epoch that unlocks where life starts
Present past, future tense
Beginnings and endings
Instantaneous events
The secret of the clock
Is that it can never count
The mystery of the sands
Remains on higher ground
Wait a second, forever and a day
Columns of sand pillars wasting away
With a time well spent in thought
Immortality and perpetuity
Illusion of continuity
Momentary lapses of universal ambiguity*
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 2:55 PM UTC
Forevers not a promise,
It’s a fact.
Although, my heart is hurting.
And yes, it may be cracked.
Every second that I’m near you,
I’m on the mend.
Distance is illusion,
And so I play pretend.
Before we arrived here,
We made a pact.
A lifelong journey,
A soul contract.
A story so grand,
Through time and space on land.
How could you have forgotten?
We came here to expand.
The healing of this nation,
Relies on you and I.
I plan to act this out,
Before our bodies die.
I’ve chosen this path and
you along with it.
I wish you’d stick it out,
And fight to the finish.
I’m ever so patient,
I know you’re not ready.
I’m giving you space
And I’m keeping things steady.
I’m not the enemy,
But still you attack.
It isn’t my fault,
I possess what you lack.
The whole point is to balance
What’s alike and what’s different.
You seek accountability,
When we’re meant to produce it.
I know that you’re not ready
For this or for me,
But we are right in the thick of this
And I’m feeling lost at sea.
You’ve done this to me many times,
I know you can’t remember.
I just have to re-walk this path.
(We’ll touch base in December.)
With everything I practice and everything you preach, I thought that you could figure out, what they sent me here to teach.
I tried to exit this journey,
But every time I do…
The universe keeps pushing me
Right back into you
I’m growing quite weary
So I’m letting God steer me
I wanted to communicate,
But fail to do so clearly
I’m stuck at an impasse
Because I am an empath
I know I should be more assertive,
Nice guys always finish last
But with you there’s a soft spot
It’ll be there forever
I’m hoping that you’ll notice soon
Better late than never
You string me along
I put it in a song
I keep on fighting tooth and nail
I always seem so strong
My strength irritates many
Who know not what I’ve been through
But they pass their judgment
as they see what I give into
It’s been this way forever
It’ll be forever more
But nobody sees me
When I’m crying on the floor
I never let them see this side
Because it is unpleasant
I work so hard to heal myself
And remain in the present
I speak on what I’m thinking
Without revealing much
I write what I can’t speak about
My journal is my crutch
I keep the darkest parts in there
So no one senses my despair
The pain is there forever though
And so you reap, so shall you sew
Forevers not a promise
It is a fact.
You’ve shaken up the universe,
Brace for impact.
Jun 3, 2023
Jun 3, 2023 at 12:33 AM UTC