"infer" poems
it's very much easy to say
that today is the day
wherein you no longer
have feelings that grows fonder
for him— who you loved freely
but indeed so genuinely.
but your challenge
is to look at his every edge
and the way he laughs and smile
without asking for a while
if you still love him for real;
you should then infer
that you are now happier
without him— to whom you gave your all,
though from him you only got a downfall.
Jan 10, 2019
Jan 10, 2019 at 9:22 AM UTC
797
By my Window have I for Scenery
Just a Sea—with a Stem—
If the Bird and the Farmer—deem it a “Pine”—
The Opinion will serve—for them—
It has no Port, nor a “Line”—but the Jays—
That split their route to the Sky—
Or a Squirrel, whose giddy Peninsula
May be easier reached—this way—
For Inlands—the Earth is the under side—
And the upper side—is the Sun—
And its Commerce—if Commerce it have—
Of Spice—I infer from the Odors borne—
Of its Voice—to affirm—when the Wind is within—
Can the Dumb—define the Divine?
The Definition of Melody—is—
That Definition is none—
It—suggests to our Faith—
They—suggest to our Sight—
When the latter—is put away
I shall meet with Conviction I somewhere met
That Immortality—
Was the Pine at my Window a “Fellow
Of the Royal” Infinity?
Apprehensions—are God’s introductions—
To be hallowed—accordingly—
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It doesn’t matter what I type
As long as I type words
It doesn’t faze me what the hype
As long as I infer
The lyrics although musical
Just bounce inside my head
They always start with music
But the words come out instead
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 12:42 AM UTC
did you know
that the
self effulgent light
of God it self
is **** shaped
as above so below
the inner revelation
******* above...light woven
*** hole below ...flesh woven
does this not infer
a magical operation
perhaps a hermetic
ritual of adoration
perhaps a puja
to the ****
with ornate
kaleidoscopic mandalas
replete with wrinkles
and folds
emerald toilet bowls
silk *** wipe
with full color florals
to be ingratiated
by **** art prints
and to be fussed over
and judged
by certified *******
clergy
then to cleanse
with fragrant ointments
that it may remain
unsullied by its
birthing labors
voluptuous
smoldering
fecundations
for purities sake
as god remains
free of limitation
it too
must remain
free of its forgetful
tarnished children
i build temple of ****
high above the people
the little *****
do they
even know
where they come from
how they may
devote themselves
to the grandeur
of the solar ****
and its bestowals
of clumpy torpedoes
the catechism
of the solar ****
to know
to adore
to prostrate
to proselytize
the glory of ****
to the
for corners
of the earth
to be faithful
unto it
to be obedient
and present
your *******
for ritual manicures
by the true initiates
the fussy
******* faeries
those who have
the secret knowledge
and remain true
to the lore
and precepts
set forth
of divine correspondences
to fully appreciate
its eminence
its glory
and have no
God before it
that mercy
will follow them
all the days
of there lives*
Jul 16, 2016
Jul 16, 2016 at 8:35 PM UTC
564
My period had come for Prayer—
No other Art—would do—
My Tactics missed a rudiment—
Creator—Was it you?
God grows above—so those who pray
Horizons—must ascend—
And so I stepped upon the North
To see this Curious Friend—
His House was not—no sign had He—
By Chimney—nor by Door
Could I infer his Residence—
Vast Prairies of Air
Unbroken by a Settler—
Were all that I could see—
Infinitude—Had’st Thou no Face
That I might look on Thee?
The Silence condescended—
Creation stopped—for Me—
But awed beyond my errand—
I worshipped—did not “pray”—
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We are each our own moon.
Charismatic souls reflecting sunlight,
As if to illuminate a room,
We glow against black, void; an endless night.
Like a caterpillar to a butterfly, emerging from a tight knit cocoon,
Spreading each wing, confidently slicing the evening air…taking flight.
Or even a flower freshly bloomed on a midsummer’s afternoon.
The moon: a flower, silently smiling despite the plight.
Aside from what each day shuffles in; each night simmers out
No matter how often we feel we have lost ourselves…
Or leave way to fill our heads with doubt.
With recurring assumptions of a worldwide redemption:omnipotent stealth.
Needn't some take longer than others to sprout?
Staring blankly into a mirror, or a moonless night sky: hungry for answers, yet facing an empty shelf.
However, that doesn't infer we embark on a divergent route.
Simply due to lack of clarity, lack of reasoning behind each card dealt.
With that in mind,
Just as the moon,true colors may dwindle…they may fade, yet in essence are always there.
Even on a cloudy day, or when the sunshine is at its peak…and just as well for the blind.
Full moon, half moon, new moon…waxing, waning: dynamic phases the night sky shares.
Moon phases;moody faces…natures way of emphasizing personality defined.
Notwithstanding the dark side, each moon may wear.
Like a guilty pleasure manifesting in a secret shrine,
We all suppress a certain side; to pompous to face reality genuinely bare.
Fragments of our faces may always be hidden,
But there’s one thing that will never absorb into the eclipse: emotion.
Some figure each phase, each wave of vibes … simply fate already written.
Devils advocate begs to differ… let your mind emit all distraction and harmonize with the ocean.
Effervescent rays,warm barrels in which emotions, old and new, have ridden.
Chaotically contradicting thoughts, pulling and pushing, creating the paradox of serene commotion.
A world of words from each moon face: a beautiful encryption.
We are each our own moon, written in the waves, compelled by life’s devotion.
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 1:13 AM UTC
There are many definitions of pride,
All in which, are perceived from a side,
Notable opinions indeed when we’re addressing the dogma that arise when mind project words that express one; wise,
However, it’s all contrary to me,
Pride isn’t something relating belief,
It can’t be put aside if it’s beyond side; choice/time,
Egoist defined when declined, rejoice inclined,
I can’t respond to a situation,
There’s no resolution when living unconditional and uncertain,
I am beyond interpretation,
I do not allude in illusions and wonder why they’re certain,
Abracadabra Hocus-Pocus...
Omm, “This State Farm jingle isn’t workin,”
AHP; “Magic”; Ouroboros,
Analytical Hierarchy Perspective on Serpent,
“They have power; They influence the course of events with supernatural forces”
That’s Magic?
The law of attraction; influencing life with thoughts; Quantum Mechanics, Force is,
Say “attract it,”
Demographics defining diplomatic, power be to the tree that’s aristocratic,
Problematic if geographic determines what’s democratic,
Tragic when ethnography constitutes what’s archetypal and habitual;
A classic ritual opposite of obsolete; of course bigotries automatic,
Bring back the art of holographic,
I’m leaning back like Crack if it’s dogmatic,
I do not understand how we understand species before intelligent and acknowledge intelligence like we never had it,
As if dyslexia was a natural condition; as if this ability was somehow previously hidden so with awareness became magic,
Freedom of speech,
“But I don’t like your words, sir”
Freedom to be,
“Those are not the clothes I prefer, sir”
Being discrete,
“He’s not in my position, he must concur”
Oh, What is believed?
They’re obligated to assumptions, so they infer most-
Too much pride will **** a man,
By picking a side he’ll lose a hand,
If using his pride he’s sure to win,
If losing his mind; insane a friend,
Clueless of time; he’ll never die,
Til P take a Ride, and replace his pride with another man’s.
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 5:30 PM UTC
She might laugh if she read this
at the flat little version of her
that lives in my mind.
She may laugh
at my comparison of her
to a hideous sea spider
but hear me out
it could be touching.
David Foster Wallace wrote:
*“Since pain is a totally subjective mental experience
we do not have direct access
to anyone or anything’s pain but our own;
and even just the principles
by which we can infer that others experience pain
and have a legitimate interest in not feeling pain
involve ******** philosophy—
metaphysics, epistemology, value theory, ethics.”
*"[Lobsters] do have an exquisite tactile sense,
one facilitated by hundreds of thousands of tiny hairs
that protrude through their carapace.
Although encased
in what seems a solid, impenetrable armour,
the lobster can receive stimuli and impressions from without
as readily as if it possessed a soft and delicate skin.”*
and so
“We lift lobsters out of the bag
or whatever retail container they came home in
…whereupon some uncomfortable things start to happen.
However stuporous the lobster is from the trip home, for instance,
it tends to come alarmingly to life when placed in boiling water."*
As much as I cannot comprehend the pain
of the exquisitely tactile lobster
in a *** of boiling water,
I wonder if I could
walk a mile in a lobster’s 8 minuscule shoes
and I wonder
what it might mean or not mean to her
with her armoured yet acute exoskeleton
to be back at home with her father.
They might try to butter you up
or snap elastic bands
around your oversized claws
and use a wooden spoon
to try and nudge your thrashing, clinging arms
back into the ***
but remember:
lobsters can live to be over 100 years old
and grow to over 20 pounds in size
which is very large for an aquatic insect
and remember that they are marine crustaceans of the family Homaridae, characterized by five pairs of jointed legs, the first pair terminating in large pincerish claws.
And DFW famously said,
“Everything I’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it.”
and he's not a lobster either
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 6:18 PM UTC
1411
Of Paradise’ existence
All we know
Is the uncertain certainty—
But its vicinity infer,
By its Bisecting
Messenger—
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1202
The Frost was never seen—
If met, too rapid passed,
Or in too unsubstantial Team—
The Flowers notice first
A Stranger hovering round
A Symptom of alarm
In Villages remotely set
But search effaces him
Till some retrieveless Night
Our Vigilance at waste
The Garden gets the only shot
That never could be traced.
Unproved is much we know—
Unknown the worst we fear—
Of Strangers is the Earth the Inn
Of Secrets is the Air—
To analyze perhaps
A Philip would prefer
But Labor vaster than myself
I find it to infer.
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when you fall in love with an angel, you must understand that there are things you will never understand.
- when you first go to run your hands through her hair, her halo will slice your palm. and it will hurt like hell. she will mend it with the touch of one golden finger, and leave so abruptly that she is gone almost before you even blink. the thing you will see is her at the doorway. terrified eyes, blood stained hair.
(later, she will tell you that she never realized how breakable humans could be. when she explains what it takes to make an angel bleed, you begin to understand )
- ask her about the sky, about stars and suns and galaxies light years away. ask her whether or not the universe looks like a blooming garden. never ask about lucifer - she will become a soldier before your eyes.
and not, do not, donot, ask about god.
do not ask about rebellious older brothers and absentee mothers.
(do not infer about a war you know nothing of)
- in a science class you are taking simply for extra credit, your teacher will be talking about quantum physics. he will explain galaxies and refer to stars as "celestial bodies," but you won't be listening. suddenly you will only be able to think of the way her mouth curls at the sides, of the way her golden skin glows, of all the puckered scars that crisscross her torso, of the graceful arch on the bottom of her foot. celestial bodies are certainly on your mind but they are so much more than gas and light and heat and touch and --- oh heavens ---
when the teacher asks if you are alright, you will flush an even deeper red. supernova.
(at times it is lovely to be in love with an angel. but at other times, it is not)
- beware when you fight, it is like the world is ending. her anger conjures a thunderstorm, and soon the entire country is three inches deep in water. you shatter a picture frame. a bolt of lightning catches the house across the street on fire. you are screaming at the top of your lungs – something about duty, something about god – and there is a crash of thunder that shakes the foundations. the weathermen talk about the storm for days. you flinch and change the channel.
(no matter how right she is, she will always let you win)
- there are times when she won't visit for months on end, and when she finally comes back to you, she is not herself. there are new scars across her chest, and she does not speak. she sits with you in her arms for hours, her nose buried in your hair, and her arms squeezed tight, so tight. she does not cry. you do not cry.
you do(not) cry.
(but you do remember the miles and miles of white scarring. you wonder if angels are as immortal and unbreakable as they think)
Nov 14, 2017
Nov 14, 2017 at 5:25 AM UTC
Soil: the great connector and healer!
River: the messenger of time and energy!
Mountain: the mark of immense hope and stepping up!
Plain: the ground for practicing and achieving dream!
Flower: the smear of flourishing smiles!
Grass: the broaden of tranquility!
Birds: the messenger of exuberance!
We are only visitors to this arcade!
Since the don of our civilization trying hard to infer nature’s creation!
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 6:27 AM UTC
Something simple, something sweet...
Something magical, my souls favorite treat.
The calm before the storm. A captivating blur,
Of feelings no bystander could infer.
A magical intensity of silent poetry.
Bittersweet bliss manifesting inside of me.
Spontaneity whipping through the air.
All sense of reality halts in the company we share.
Clouds of the past dissipate,
With each ray of sunshine you create.
A roller-coaster ride lacking a safety belt,
Surpassing any type of affection ever felt.
Like riding a wave, yet a board would serve no purpose...
If you have me constantly floating above the surface.
Reality holds no depiction to genuinely describe,
The notion of comprehending all that is inside.
Foraging for a taste of your soul, my eyes are met with a blue abyss.
Shaded ripples of Nirvana, too precious to resist.
Drifting towards the center, a black hole draws me in.
Here I realize I had found my key to explore within.
A whirlwind of beauty emerging from every angle.
So engulfed in the chemistry, I am now comfortably tangled.
Smacked with a supercharged rush leaving me numb, frozen with awe.
Eventually revived, your lips casually departing mine...the first thing I saw.
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 1:08 AM UTC
A whisper from a shadow
Prickling at my ears
Anything you have to say
I find I long to hear
Standing still behind me
Enticing me with words
Hold my breath, close my eyes
For all that you infer
Good or bad it matters not
It's your presence that I crave
Whip me, beat me, bleed me
I promise to behave
Or at least I promise for a bit,
An undetermined time
Knowing well how much I like
Crossing over your line
Bind my hands in silken rope
And hook them to the ceiling
Leaving me on tipy-toes
For pains blessed healing
It's playful punishment
That I daringly seek
A red moment captured
Your hand print on my cheek
Or perhaps my inner thigh
A delicious smack or soft whack
Of fingertips sublime
To pull me to the present track
Help me now, you know how
To take the world away
Here I am just for you
A piquant entree
Oct 16, 2017
Oct 16, 2017 at 12:56 PM UTC
When on the sandy shore I sit,
Beside the salt sea-wave,
And fall into a weeping fit
Because I dare not shave -
A little whisper at my ear
Enquires the reason of my fear.
I answer "If that ruffian Jones
Should recognise me here,
He'd bellow out my name in tones
Offensive to the ear:
He chaffs me so on being stout
(A thing that always puts me out)."
Ah me! I see him on the cliff!
Farewell, farewell to hope,
If he should look this way, and if
He's got his telescope!
To whatsoever place I flee,
My odious rival follows me!
For every night, and everywhere,
I meet him out at dinner;
And when I've found some charming fair,
And vowed to die or win her,
The wretch (he's thin and I am stout)
Is sure to come and cut me out!
The girls (just like them!) all agree
To praise J. Jones, Esquire:
I ask them what on earth they see
About him to admire?
They cry "He is so sleek and slim,
It's quite a treat to look at him!"
They vanish in tobacco smoke,
Those visionary maids -
I feel a sharp and sudden poke
Between the shoulder-blades -
"Why, Brown, my boy! Your growing stout!"
(I told you he would find me out!)
"My growth is not YOUR business, Sir!"
"No more it is, my boy!
But if it's YOURS, as I infer,
Why, Brown, I give you joy!
A man, whose business prospers so,
Is just the sort of man to know!
"It's hardly safe, though, talking here -
I'd best get out of reach:
For such a weight as yours, I fear,
Must shortly sink the beach!" -
Insult me thus because I'm stout!
I vow I'll go and call him out!
2.1k
*“Since pain is a totally subjective mental experience"
"we do not have direct access"
"to anyone or anything’s pain"
"but our own;"
"and even just the principles"
"by which we can infer"
"that others experience pain"
"and have a legitimate interest in not feeling pain"
"involve ******** philosophy—"
"metaphysics, epistemology, value theory, ethics.”*
- From Consider the Lobster by David Foster Wallace
David I've considered it and
I think she might laugh if she read
that a version of her
briny and spined
pint sized
now resides in the depths of my mind,
She might laugh
at my comparison of her
to a hideous sea spider
but it’s because, as you say,
one can neither comprehend the pain
of an exquisitely tactile lobster in a *** of boiling water,
nor walk a mile in it's eight lilliputian shoes
So I am left to wonder
what it might mean or not mean to her
in her armoured yet acute exoskeleton
to have quit school and
be back to her fathers house
on Prince Edward Island.
and what I'd want to tell her is:
They might try to butter you up,
bridle your anger with blue rubber bands,
Use their wooden spoons
to nudge your thrashing, clinging arms
back into the ***
but as we know,
lobsters can live to be over one hundred years old
and grow to be over twenty pounds in size
which is very large for an aquatic insect
and they are marine crustaceans of the family Homaridae,
characterized by five pairs of jointed legs,
the first pair terminating in large pincerish claws
I know she knows how to use them.
Which reminds me of something else you said:
"Everything I've ever let go of has claw marks on it."
A feeling I can understand
Though I'm no more lobster
than she
Sep 24, 2015
Sep 24, 2015 at 10:46 PM UTC
I don’t know
your pain,
I don’t know
how you feel.
I can only infer it
from your behavior
and the time it takes
for you to heal.
© Matthew Harlovic
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 1:56 PM UTC
He is so special
I feel it in his aura
There is something about his
Energy
That makes me want to explore him
It was a cold night
But his heart is warm
So it was only right
That his beauty is adorned
Although the cycle of perfection
Was complete
Because flaws don’t exist
for imperfections;
In his world are obsolete
How could I infer all this
From a single conversation
Nobody knows
Expect the Most High above us all
She made him a concrete rose
His value is so high
Because his existence is so real
He is somewhere in the sky
He is very conscious of how he feels
He is so special
I feel it in his aura
I only talked to him one time
And already
I want to explore him
His energy reminds me
Of Aphrodite on Venus
Love and beauty
In his heart,
His mind is the keenest
He smiles and I feel at ease
Many miles for me to feel the breeze
He is so pleasant so calm and
So free
He is everything I can see
In me
He is everything a man should be
How could I infer all this
From a single conversation
Nobody knows
Expect the Most High above us all
He made her a concrete rose
He is so special
I feel it in his Aura
I hope one day I can explore him
But this is something
That he already knew
The best part about it is
He knows I’m special too
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 4:31 AM UTC
Nida Fazli translations
Apni Marzi se
by Nida Fazli Shayari
translated by Mandakini Bhattacherya and Michael R. Burch
This journey was not of my making;
As the winds blow, I’m blown along ...
Time and dust are my ancient companions;
Who knows where I’m bound or belong?
Original Poem:
Apni Marzi se kahan apne safar ke hum hain,
Rukh hawaaon ka jidhar ka hai udhar ke hum hain.
Waqt ke saath mitti ka safar sadiyon se,
Kisko maaloom kahan ke hain kidhar ke hum hain.
Failures
by Nida Fazli
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I was unable to relate
the state
of my heart to her,
while she failed to infer
the nuances
of my silences.
Every Day and in Every Direction
by Nida Fazli
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Everywhere and in every direction we see innumerable people:
each man a victim of his own loneliness, reticence and silences.
From dawn to dusk men carry enormous burdens:
all preparing graves for their soon-to-be corpses.
Each day a man lives, the same day he dies.
Each new day requires the same old patience.
In every direction there are roads for him to roam,
but in every direction, men victimize men.
Every day a man dies many deaths only to resurrect from his ashes.
Each new day presents new challenges.
Life's destiny is not fixed, but a series of journeys:
thus, till his last breath, a man remains restless.
Couplets
by Nida Fazli
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
It was my fate to entangle and sink myself
because I am a boat and my ocean lies within.
―Nida Fazli, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
You were impossible to forget once you were gone:
hell, I remembered you most when I tried to forget you!
―Nida Fazli, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Don't squander these pearls:
such baubles may ornament sleepless nights!
―Nida Fazli, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The world is like a deck of cards on a gambling table:
some of us are bound to loose while others cash in.
―Nida Fazli, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
There is a proper protocol for everything in this world:
when visiting gardens never force butterflies to vacate their flowers!
―Nida Fazli, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Since I lack the courage to commit suicide,
I have elected to bother people with my life a bit longer.
―Nida Fazli, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Keywords/Tags: Urdu, translation, translations, love, heart, state, life, death, destiny, fate, breath, mrburdu
Sep 20, 2020
Sep 20, 2020 at 5:16 AM UTC
Speak to me in numbers
Something tangible
Calculated
Equate your feelings with something
I can infer
Without asking you to
Work these problems over again.
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 8:09 PM UTC
With the piquant poignancy of lurid allusion
I create a dynamically progressive matrix of collusion
Whose apex crux axis is beyond finite solution
And the endergonicaly adhesive pragmatics imbue a cohesively coercive illusion
For the inveterate hypotaxis of livid elusions
I portray a protensive conjunction of latent confusions
Whose effervescent effluence is vagile laconic effusions
And the sardonic impending preponderance conveys sabbat consortium delusions
From the endemic puissance of eclectic synectics
I derive a dialectically semantic sorcery of syntactics
Whose apothegm aphorisms are levity terse synaptics
And the lucidly collusive illuminism educes the aesthetics of geomancy's fatidic
Through the viable salience of kithe’s intrinsics
I exude a portentous pervasion acuity of linguistics
Whose apomixis anabolics are irrefragably felicitous orotund acoustics
And the aural auspice austerities infer axioms of manumission’s eidetics
By the hypercritical mitigations of anachronistic sociology
I purvey rampart ransack oblations of epistemology
Whose azure opulence articulations are futurity ostensive ontology
And the evolutional ontogeny metamorphisms incur a homogeny epiphany deontology
Oct 20, 2016
Oct 20, 2016 at 10:30 PM UTC
I have been thinking about & claim,
Is not the world all way too eccentric?
Anyone wondering how & why I claim so,
Should look at all of these facts so very fanatic.
The different crimes taking place in worldly realm,
Various wars & murders and thievery & rapes,
Outrageous scams & malignant corruption,
All fortify the claim of the world being so.
As I can infer from my first few thoughts,
About this fairly asymmetric world,
Where our orbit around the sun,
Is elliptical & not circular,
Our eccentricity is excused convincingly.
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 12:02 AM UTC
856
There is a finished feeling
Experienced at Graves—
A leisure of the Future—
A Wilderness of Size.
By Death’s bold Exhibition
Preciser what we are
And the Eternal function
Enabled to infer.
1.5k
It’s 2am and I’m wide awake,
I can’t stop thinking about what you said
Our past memories keep overwhelming me,
I ask myself: why didn’t I realise how much you meant to me?
Tears start rolling down my cheek,
I feel so guilty, so small and weak
“Why couldn’t I just accept your love and stay?”,
This question has been haunting me everyday
I scroll through our past messages tentatively,
Realising how you had waited for me so patiently
Even after numerous night falls,
Why didn’t I ever give you a call?
I realised that maybe I was too selfish,
You were just right there- why didn’t I cherish?
“I will be here for you” was what you said,
Why didn’t I ever say this to you instead?
A crushing sensation pierces through my heart,
It seems as if my entire world is falling apart
“I deserve this, you went through this too”,
I will willingly suffer pain and sorrow just for you
It is selfish for me to say that I want you back,
I have always loved you- it just took time for me to realise that
It’s too late, you seem to have already moved on;
What else can I do, but to pretend to put on a strong front?
It’s too late, maybe your heart is somewhere else
You didn’t wish me on my birthday- I can infer from it by myself
We both made mistakes, but you tried to make up for it;
I did too, but maybe, I was the cause of our second split
You’ll never read this, but I want you to know,
I have always had feelings for you- it just didn’t show
I have always been terrible at texting and directly expressing my feelings;
My ‘pococurante’ over messages might have been what was misleading
There are so many things that I want to tell you,
One of it is that it takes a lot not to call you
If me contacting you brings you pain in any way,
Even if it means suffering on my own- I won’t do so; I’ll act like everything is okay
You are the kindest, most selfless and sweetest guy I know,
Don’t let my mistakes affect you and become your shadow
You bring a ray of light and comfort to the people around you,
I hope one day, you’ll find someone who is like this too
“We’ll see what happens four years down the road” was what you said,
Four years have passed- what have we become instead?
From being friends, to lovers, to friends, back to being strangers;
Will this cycle repeat? Or is it too late for us
Every time I walk past you or see you from afar,
My heart beats crazily fast, it just adds on to my scars
It’s too late for me to apologise and reconcile, isn’t it,
My finger hovers above the ‘send’ button… should I click?
28/11/21
2am
Nov 27, 2021
Nov 27, 2021 at 1:28 PM UTC
I crave to create
But my creations miss behave
Cause they don't attiquately meet
My devotion for the week
I find a new prophet most often even when I sleep
I'm partial to the fact that humans can weep
If u express in a speech or an action
I will caption and it well dwell till it seeps
Neither aggressive nor obsessive is a quality I fancy
Yet if it were to follow then my senses would be dancing
I believe in light in the darkest places
The light is never gone as embers lie awaken
A mere glow can grow to a great fire
If the fuel forgrowth is allowed
I wonder to the worth of my actions whether creation is worth the time it's after
Not to the worth of creation. Yet the worth that I place at my feeble dedication.
My nippet at the toes of a holy saint as a catholic salmon they are about to fillet
My search for the light is not to infer it is Shinning brighter for me then you or even her
that may the case in a state or a place
Not mine I have no Devine ordination
I just search and I'm blessed with coordinations
That you'd see. If you were me and I u
Or a shrew as they do act quite rash like you do
Like at times the sun is clouded. All that can be seen is the clouds enlightened.
The promise of a storm.
Sealed on the cusp of a clouds lips
Unleashed in a fury
As to expel the the darkness
The power of a cleansing
Then again, the sky is blue
the clouds are white
the sun shines bright
No one man sees the dark sky
And fears its darkened state
As more then a chalky slate
It i only a product of the storm
As man is a product of his storm
No man is a dark sky
they just play stage to their storm.
Which all together is a topic not of the norm
Whether cold or hot
Ice or pots a nd plans
Your summer plans lay ruined
The ruins , you harbour
A product the doctors and dentists
Or mendists
Can't doctor
The clouds have all cleared the way.
To display
The destruction
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 2:30 PM UTC