"lavishly" poems
THE FLOWERS
What I told
you about the
flowers
no one probably
won't tell you.
Is it not
about their fragrance
and how amazing
it is that
they share their
life with you.
They hang around
your garden and
patiently wait on
you with their
perfume of love.
To make you
happy with the
fragrance of their
healing presence,
they share their
fragrance and working
tirelessly in gladness
they gracefully grace
your life with grace.
They lay down
at our feet
always ready to
bring pleasure
to our leisure.
To please you
they share lavishly
and are generous
about it.
They bring pleasure
back into our
homes by spreading
their fragrance.
Even when bruised
they give out
their best fragrance
out of love
to soothe and bring
succour to our
tired mind.
They also help
decorate our world
with their beautiful
flowers to make
our lives lovely.
How can we
not appreciate
their presence
in our homes,
garden and environment.
They are divinely
precious beautiful treasure
with an alluring
power to help us heal.
Little beautiful gifts
from heaven with
such an unforgettable
sublime and divine fragrance.
Spreading their love
they reach out
to us even
from miles away
adorning our weddings
and other events
with their fragrance
and presence and
speaking to us
in the language
only the heart
can understand.
Nature gave us
fragrance in flowers
so lovely and
endearing that no
one can resist
their friendship.
To walk with
them is unbelievably sweet.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved
Jul 3, 2018
Jul 3, 2018 at 7:21 PM UTC
Before you criticize me too soon, I think you should spare some seconds and answer a simple question to yourself...
If Shahjahan loved Mumtaz Mahal so much, why he had a harem of wives to use at his own pleasure?
While I agree that the Taj Mahal is arguably the most extraordinarily beautiful monument in the world, I don't agree upon the fact that it was built as a tomb of love. It is just a symbol of madness if you asked me. An emperor's insecure feeling to get his name registered in the history books. While it may be one of the most beautiful architectural monument, it was built by over 20,000 architects, craftsmen, masons and engineers who took over 16 years to build the magnificent building.
He got this apparently high & prestigious monument of love built but everything that the Emperor did was not pleasant at all.
° The lavishly living Mughal Emperor spent all his - his subjects' money into building this monument of love instead of keeping his subjects well-fed.
° Mumtaz Mahal might have been the luckiest woman to have died and got such a marvelous building built as her mausoleum but she died giving birth to her & Shahjahan's 17th offspring and then Shahjahan who had uncountable other wives was inspired by her demise apparently to undertake what is termed as the biggest project in history build the costliest monument proclaiming his rule.
° The arrogant - falsely proud lover - Mughal emperor didn't know that what he thought to be looked at as the greatest symbol of love will be criticized by some poet in his own land nearly 375 years later. The insane Mughal Emperor got all the builders of the Taj Mahal's fingers cut-off of so that there could be no other Taj Mahal.
But Aurangzeb, his & Mumtaz Mahal's son overthrew his power when Shahjahan got older and locked him up in a jail at the other end of Yamuna river where the emperor then died a sad old lovelorn bedlamite person in prison. Aurangzeb was the exact opposite of his dad, he showed religious intolerance and his habits drove the empire towards its doom after his death.
But let me think this way; when I look at any picture of the Taj Mahal, what I get the first thing in mind is this: Such a CRAZY emperor who got such a beautiful monument of Egotism built!
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 11:23 AM UTC
Eat plenty of oatmeal.
Sauna every season,
Roll in the snow,
Naked.
Laugh, until you cry,
Cry, until you laugh.
Leave a love note,
For no reason.
Take long, lazy, walks,
Behold Mother Earth.
Hug tightly,
Tease lightly,
Kiss tenderly,
yet mightily.
Listen always,
Heart open.
Forgive quickly.
Love lavishly.
And…
Every day,
Every single day,
Pray,
Pray,
Pray.
~ PE Kaplan
Jan 15, 2012
Jan 15, 2012 at 9:42 AM UTC
Rest in this, my bruised and weary soul:
I was a wretch, chosen to be a beauty;
a slave, chosen to be a bride;
an orphan, chosen to be an heir;
an enemy, chosen to be a friend.
I deserved nothing but wrath and death
yet received everything of life and grace.
I am loved beyond any dreaming of it
and blessed above all worldly wealth.
I have the incomparable birthright of those
whose Father is God and whose Lord is Jesus Christ—
righteousness from Him and peace with Him.
I am a cherished gift from the Father to the Son.
I was paid for by the Son’s own blood
and am "engraved on the palms of His hands."
I am the living temple of God’s Holy Spirit
Who empowers me to do His pleasure and bring Him glory.
I am the LORD's, chosen and set apart for His delight.
***What more could I ask?
But that's only the beginning...***
I will live as blessed as I believe myself to already be,
for "I have been blessed in the heavenly realms
with every spiritual blessing in Christ,"
"given everything I need for life and godliness"
through knowing Him and His precious promises,
"an inheritance that can never perish, spoil or fade—
kept [securely and eternally] in heaven" for me.
I've been "raised up and seated with Christ";
my "life is hidden with Him" in the Father,
and "He will fill me with joy in His presence,
with eternal pleasures at His right hand."
Oh, that "the eyes of my heart would be enlightened
with the spirit of wisdom and revelation"
to see what’s already been prepared and given to me
and to know much more fully the One Who has
so meticulously prepared and lavishly given it.
As I walk intimately with Him and rest confidently in Him
(based only on His merits, never my own),
I am given free access to my account
in His heavenly storehouse and enabled to appropriate
its glorious riches to every circumstance of my life,
even the most searingly painful and confoundingly difficult ones.
I have a spiritual Fort Knox available to me
through knowing Christ Jesus my Lord,
but He Himself is my greatest treasure.
Without Him, nothing else matters.
Nothing else has meaning if I am not found in Him,
clinging to Him and carried by Him.
When I finally become desperate for Him alone,
I begin to understand the profound reality
of all He desires for me and offers to me
in my spiritual inheritance in Him.
There are infinite presents to be unwrapped
in His presence which cannot be told
in human words or comprehended by mortal minds,
but they wait to be taken hold of by
any and all who would take hold of Him.
***For He gives and gives and gives and gives,
and even when He takes, He gives.***#
Jul 28, 2017
Jul 28, 2017 at 3:22 AM UTC
A silhouette of some kind
That appeared and vanished
At the end of what seemed a horizon
A silhouette of a creature
That left behind the day
And just so simply vanished…
With a sigh I defy
The fact of what I saw
And had written it away as a memory
A memory that I had made to be as a figment of my imagination that I had formed in this gloomy day..
And with a chuckle I cleared my throat
And moved on…
But I couldn't sleep
For that night
The moon so lavishly
Without a care
As though without a thought
Stood
Shimmering in the sky beautifully
Instantly revealing that what I had seen this morn..
And with a feeling
That seemed as though this night would never end
I walk up and ask
That if not impossible
Can you tell me who you are?
I wonder A beast, a spirit, a demon, an angel, a monster….
You do not speak
And I start to dream
And for some reason… with every minute that I spend
Staring at you
I begin to fall in love..
Oh god.. help me..
For it seems that
I have once again begun to feel…
And as I try to avoid
And as I try to move
It seems that
I cannot get myself to keep away..
From connecting myself to you…
In a way that will never break away..
Oh how a bitter day has made its way
For a simple silhouette now soaked and stripped
Completely transparent with nothing in its way
A silhouette of black and white
Completely stripped down
As though wishing to die
And as the day goes by
You seem slightly in sight
I try to move on and walk away
But wherever I go
I seem to find you somewhere..
And unfavorably
I gaze at this
Lilac horizon
When all of a sudden
..What happened?
The clouds seem to have disappeared
And you are no nowhere in sight
Yet under a cloudless sky falls a downpour
Indefinitely in sight
Confirming I hadn't just gone blind..
It seems that I have just realized
That I had fallen in love with something otherworldly
I fell in love much more that I should have..
And now that you aren't in sight
I am lost Without a path to walk
I don’t know what to do
But why Even though we didn't speak
Even though we would just meet
Why does your absence
Create such a transparency within me…
And so I whisper good-bye, even if just for myself
Thinking that you were not but a figment of my imagination all this while
A tear drops As I take a step forward
A miserable and helpless man I was
What a miserable and helpless man I am…..
I fell in love with something unknown
I fell in love more gently that I thought
Such a tasteless romance..
To fall in love with something I do not know
To fall in love with something I do not understand
And as the hours go by
I begin to cry
I begin to cry
I request for a prayer
I request for a wish
"Give her a soul
Give her a body
Tell me she was real
TELL ME SHE WAS REAL ….please”
A silhouette so dark
A silhouette silent
Invisible and dark
As though never existent
Flying away
Flying away
And without knowing what you are
It seems I had completely fallen in love
A love so gentle…
A love so tasteless…
I fell in love with nothing but a presence
Of something I didn't know
Of something I didn't understand.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 12:12 PM UTC
struggle is the art form of the pitied, imagine
living lavishly, lightheartedly like a ladybug
in the spring just outside the city and
bliss: seldom seen in soldiers,
a privilege of the over privileged,
shining a bright, White light on each
and every one’s inner Judas, a way
to justify their means to demean
the conflict of the ages:
stay not in the sad, safe
confinements of that chrysalis or
smell not of that sweet, sweet,
chrysanthemum whose breath rocks of
morbidity.
breaking boundaries or snapping necks like
twigs on twigs on a White winter’s day, the summer:
long gone, and the fall: Black bruised knees and
scraped thighs, and a White world’s worth of words
left to say.
the New Year and the spring, alive and true,
are carried in by the southern wind and
trying times are all but through.
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 10:02 PM UTC
I know what I know,
and I don't know what I don't know.
Let all who know tell me about
what I don't know.
Check your self and let me know
what you want from me.
The whole world is not really
good or bad place.
It is a mystery that you cannot fathom.
To play your own game and win
must be your priority.
Life is about risking and sharing the
gifts, talents and abilities you were
endowed with and finding your place
in the scheme of things, and
to leave your signature and
fingerprints in the canvas of life.
It is about opening up with love,
kindness and compassion and
be generous in nature.
To lavishly share your life and
contribute in abundance the blessings
you were gifted with.
It is about transforming yourself
into an exulted being you were created to be.
To find the balance that centers you.
It's about daily discovery of
your innate dormant natural
endowments and how to safely
use it to your advantage and the benefits of mankind.
It is about opening up like the rose flower,
sharing your fragrance.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Jul 2, 2018
Jul 2, 2018 at 4:59 AM UTC
Why do poets and photographers love fleeting things?
Angled shafts of sunlight piercing a mass
of clouds. A rainbow flashing from dragonfly wings.
Water drops beading like shards of glass.
The fluttering shape of a sycamore’s shade.
The sun sinking into its reflection
In a purple bay. Smoke’s shadow. The rayed
Curve of a finger reaching for perfection.
Whatever churns, bursts, rocks, flies,
Foams, flickers, roils, evades
In pigments of impermanent dyes
We try to fix before it fades
Once I mourned the endless dying
Of here and now, the present always past
Elegized each moment, sighing
Beauty is loss and can never last.
But now I think I had it wrong. In fact
(I learned this from an artist’s eye)
Fleeting beauty reappears faster than we react,
At the speed of a daydream flashing by.
All around, light coalesces into form,
Form explodes into light,
And we live lavishly inside this storm
If we can learn to see it right.
Beauty multiplies, tapering, swelling:
Reshaping, reforming, now familiar, now strange.
This gaudy blur in which we’re dwelling
Is the permanence of change.
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 8:32 AM UTC
Together we swim,
Skin touching satin skin
Fingertips grazing knees and thighs
As my engine of a heart enters overdrive with glee
Her breath keeps me alive against the strain of our instincts
My breath catches and my body contorts
Until I am suddenly entangled with a hooded figure instead
His heavy limbs pin me against the wall and his hands greedily search through my home
I realize I am being robbed but
He's not a stranger
His lips warm my neck and I choke on his telltale cologne as his hands hastily break through the deepest closets that house my innocence, my treasures, and no matter how sternly I refuse, he shoves through the doors until he finds exactly what he wants
I thought it was hidden
I thought it was safe
I thought it was mine
He smiles and lavishly thrusts his hands into my special box
Thanking me,
Between heavy breaths,
for giving him access to my prized possession,
To my heart
But
when he asked for a taste
I refused. But
He insisted and
Kept pushing
Pushing
And pushing against the wooden door until it splintered and snapped and he could enter with
Or without
My permission
Once inside, I had no choice
but to let him manhandle my possessions,
I can never again close that door that He broke
To fulfill his needs and
To satisfy his craving
Although he leaves with satisfaction dripping from his palms
I know it won't last forever
His hunger will return again,
Stronger.
And no matter how much I invest in new locks
and thicker blockades around my special space
He has already stolen a taste of the core of my emotions that
That door served to protect
He will return again,
with a sense of entitlement to my insides
And I won't fight back
Because his sweaty palms and greasy skin have already leaked onto the pieces
Even those he had not yet touched
My pure and personal secret now leaves nothing but bitterness on my tongue and stains on my body
And now,
I still feel his hands, not hers
I hear his breathing
Feel his weight pressing against me,
His hands destroying my body
I become hysterical and
Tears burn my eyes and stain our sheets.
I see the panic in her eyes
She doesn't know
She doesn't know I'm ***** and broken
She doesn't know why
And I can't
stop
crying
She's scared.
I would be too
But I'm dead inside.
Jul 10, 2017
Jul 10, 2017 at 4:25 PM UTC
It's a much sweeter today
than yesterday indeed.
Radiant meadows are on fire
beneath the trees
indulging blue fairies'
summer bowl of sun shines
abundantly overflowing
lavishly enough to render in
every rose of humming bees.
Pop up to flowers and bouquets
maybe the song on the birds' lips:
Time is today to jump in
on a London summer clement scene!
Jul 8, 2022
Jul 8, 2022 at 2:08 PM UTC
Let lore luster lax,
Lingered love leavens.
Let love loop lilac lei lavishly.
Listen lovelorn lilt, laconic liken
Lisping liturgy, limping litany.
Litmus-leaking longing, languor lengthened.
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 1:28 AM UTC
I was born of a fisherman, fine and faithful
Faithful to God and the sea, faithful to my mother and me
I am a daughter of the sea, sensible and salty
To the sea I am impressed, there is peace that permeates
Perhaps it is in my bones, Portuguese explorer’s blood
When I breathe the salt air, its spirit deflects despair
This love derives from my father, this love affair with saltwater
This man of the sea fosters respect, but also tends to overprotect
Perhaps the sea prepared him to be practical and prudent
Undulating waves shaping his vision, dreams escorted to fruition
For these dreams I am grateful, for the breath of the sea
The lust the ocean produces in me
The love from his heart, the love from the sea
Floated over the waters so lavishly so lovely
I'll send him a kiss across the Atlantic
I hope it lands neatly on his cheek
I hope it reaches him, quick
Jun 18, 2017
Jun 18, 2017 at 2:18 PM UTC
*Their eyes light up,
As they glanced into the mirror,
In their distinguished and fashionable costumes,
Awaiting to attend the first annual magical competition,
And their face glowed,
Upon departing their private rooms.
On a glamorous Halloween night,
When three endearing teenage girls,
Played Jasmine, Cinderella, and Belle,
They dressed in extravagant fairy tale gowns,
As they held on a prestigious lobby rail,
And their heart stood still, as they walked down the stairs, in a fine hotel.
When guest sighed and applaud,
Into a standing ovation,
While the princess' streamed upon the platform,
In their lovely long dresses,
Posing lavishly, in distinctive and vibrant colors,
And in amazement, they came to a halt, in an exquisite form.
When three young male ushers,
Gently, reached out their hand,
Slowly proceeding with their Disney queens,
Guiding them to the dance floor,
And soon their wishes,
Became quite a reality, like a dream.
But before the clock struck to 12:00,
The girls quickly ran towards the door,
When one of Cinderella's shoes, slipped off her foot,
And was unable to stop,
Since a curfew was set at home,
And there, it sadly stood.*
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 8:35 AM UTC
she is a dream that wakes you up desperate to return to sleep
so as to feel her again, so as to be lured in irrevocably deep
she is as a dragon is when unconscious on the ground
harmless in speculation, not moving, just a heaping mound
stay wary lest she strike with her closed jaws that ache to bite
you will bleed then thank her lavishly with the foundations of your might
for even sparing you the smallest slice of pain from her sculptured lips
for even giving you the privilege of her attention in small strips
she is my dream, she is my glory, it is my spirit she has caught
and i will always be naught but her ever fleeting thought
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 1:12 AM UTC
Urdhva Hastasana
Salida del sol.
Her paws are bare
Ablaze against the black stone heat of the morning stroll
Pausing for the last monsoon, whispering
Salut?
There would not exist consequence for a dampened nose of pusillanimity
Carelessly drawn to the astrophysical realm of celestial bodies
Illuminating the chivalry once more.
We'll sing chansons
Oh cabaret!
The circumstance and pomp eliding
Lavishly rouged lips from sterling glances
Exposed by the slow and sultry raise of copper eyes
Premeditated, so that they lift in perfect timing
Beneath dark lashes to seem accidentally mesmeric.
I still lose amethysts
They drop from the back of my ears unexpectedly
Their plunge of contact against the water
Catches my attention but no more
Of a thought should surface except to surface
The stones from the depths pooling around my ankles.
The rain won't drain and hasn't for months
She scratches her hair but the pining never stops.
I rub her ears so she'll display such an ardor
Revealed in company and solitude simultaneously
To be weighed and doubted and accepted and declined
Beneath the stony gaze of the eyes of a god
Swindling a wrinkle in the shower curtain.
Alas what a shame it is
Besitos aren't quite fancied here.
Ne prennent pas garde aux berceaux, Que la main des femmes balance.
Puesta del sol.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 7:52 PM UTC
It sketched and slapped an ombre
of crimson reds
& tangerine oranges
until it carved a comfortable atmosphere
amongst the void blacks
and howling navy blues.
Her sun bleached hair dangled over her forehead.
They were the vines that tangled
into wispy curls of tiger's eye gold that
hung lavishly in front of the youngest
temple.
Her eyes were sour,
a Blink and a whistle.
Someone coughing on the last bus outta town.
Those powerful cheek bones,
that she obtained through her
constant "according to" accordion smile,
fell off into a pair of lips
that were just pronounced enough
to make her look like she would laugh & ****
tempt or incinerate.
Intellect winked from her every word
like a whip of cold water and eggnog.
The Campfire was an artist.
It delicately plucked a scene
ripe with confidence and relaxed alcohol.
A tone that made her amazonian scowl
seem intimate and gentle.
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 11:38 AM UTC
Steam spilling, white froths licking
Marble mantle pieces, stone white
Opaque ghosts swirling conspicuously,
Silently naught with disturbance and gloat
Humble in nature, the steam spills
From the open pours,
Streaming running water
spring, a delightful swing
slight melodies of sulfuric and mountain
flirting lavishly , emitting heat
an early morning bathe,
bright sunshine invades
sleeping shadows tinted cold
a chilling sensation humming
with that of the pool’s lip
--fluttering autumn leaves—
--cascading crystal flakes—
--rustling green trees—
--tickling cool rain—
The surface of the spring’s pool remains
It stirs with the slightest breath
Occupying stark bodies
Gleaming baby red
Washing away, cleansing a new day
As sunlight sparkles on the
Mirror surface
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 9:41 PM UTC
when everything everywhere
whispered in irresistible languages
*hey you there
stop resisting*
i began to surrender
was flowing free
stretching
wings flapping
toward the unknowable
inside
experimented with ditching
body as identification
name as identification
personal history as identification
faded off
mad word searching
explaining justifying
reiterating too much information
i loosened my squeeze grip
on intellectualism
tell-me-how-to-be spiritual books
whatever the famous someone
said once then got bronzed over
i surrendered to universal unity
where i lavishly decorated
my living changing dream
with my own snap choices
i was flowing with fresh
synergetic synthesis
returned outside to pedestrian streets
where angelics mixed in
wore transparent disguises
i began to flow
forgiveness out and in
skipped a light fandango
splashing puddles was
answer to inclement weather
i set wooden faces
to smiling after
i switched my own
i rolled on through
perceived stop signs
of the everlasting no
incinerated all my karma with
nownownow
wonwonwon
made myself
stock still
experienced
yes yes
relaxed awareness
breathed
emptiness
opened all my hands
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 2:16 PM UTC
If you were a corpse accepting cremation
I would be the flame
that lavishly licked your flesh,
the heat, heaped for your hair on a pyre
the last peril your boney body submits to,
making the air all around stink of you.
Forget the fact that you corrupt my mind,
it’ll only work out if your thoughts stink of me.
If for one second during
your self worshipping, wistful stares
into a mirror that drips a musty condensation
that lingered from your skinny, ****
torso after your morning shower, you
stand there smile *******
yourself with puckered lips and
un-dilated pupils, flirting with
camera phone pixels you think to yourself;
* Should I post me on myspace?
Should I send a text message pic to myself?
Should I forward it to that guy that I met
to make him think that I’m burning for him?*
If for that second I could be but that spark,
an after thought flare that gets you to want
more than what it is that you got,
where would you go?
With whom would you make yourself over?
I’m waiting for the morning your ashes
wake next to me; smoldered and spread out over my
mattress and under my breath, and
your eye lashes charred with clunky mascara
crumble as you replay in your silly head
the late mass I celebrated last night
when I exhumed and inhaled
that same condensation;
Little taste droplets of you then exhaled
from me to your golden tin flesh
that burned you to ******
Because of my tempered tongue you
cravingly bathed with,
because of your hair I feverishly wrapped
round my fists as
my head altered and smoothed out from whiskey
bounced waves of frivolous
thrusts pulls releases,
pushes twitches friction
in perfect timed fashion
between your radio
antenna thin legs
and your rib meat torso
you forced my lips unto.
That will be the night
you will come.
Yeah, that’s right
SEE YOU MMM-hmmm,
I will see you melt on that night.
And it will be your cremation.
Sep 22, 2010
Sep 22, 2010 at 1:09 PM UTC
Agape unconditional love
leaves world's mouth
agape (wide open).
Love unreservedly
and lavishly with
unrestricted abandon.
Forgive everything
and be free.
Contentment comes
from within the
heart of the freed,
and a soul that
is truly beautiful,
happy and full of grace
with joyful tenderness.
Without striving but
thriving in prosperity,
full of light
and the living ions.
Powered by the
force of the spirit.
Even though surrounded
by numerous tumults,
immense profound peace
engulfed such a one.
The unforgettable and
unusual unspeakable elixir
of life is unleashed
to comfort him.
Delightful with
a grateful heart,
pleasant and pleasing,
so easy to placate.
A comforter full
of wisdom and knowledge.
Versatile and eclectic nature
is abundantly lavished on him.
His presence heals.
Not judgemental but
full of unimaginable
tenderness and understanding.
Such is the way of love.
Agape love.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Nov 22, 2018
Nov 22, 2018 at 4:55 AM UTC
All he could see were numbers
that reached out and grabbed taxes
and takes, invoices and expenditures.
He could not see explanations of delight
that little mistake I made with fringe benefits,
those royalties that never came.
In the end his only concern was to pay the taxes
to build the roads, skyways and airports
where he would travel and stay.
I wondered how he slept at night
cocooned in numbers
just 1-9 with a hefty zero
that made the difference between rich and poor
I wondered how he could survive on numbers
no cucumbers, sunshine salads, beach beauties,
high waves of reckless living, low tides of penniless nights
and endless days of counting little many times over.
He said to me once: Save every cent,
fortify yourself against depression and
natural disasters, don't spend lavishly
there's a price to pay
cut up your credit card. Live austerely.
Oh yeah?. That same day I got an extra CC,
a nice Merc, some good looking sunglasses
(to shield my eyes from the accountants glare)
and a cruise to the Mediterranean
where the blue waters beckoned.
The accountant visited the GP
twice more than me that year.
I'm still working the fat off at the gym.
( I suspect petty poets do the same thing all the time?)
Author Notes
Anyone know this guy?
Check this Novel out!
The Chrysanthemum Trilogy: Transition
Marshall E Gass
ISBN 9781493137848
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 5:21 PM UTC
The seductress has learnt it,
But never has she earned it.
She always lavishly used it,
Pouting it away to ease it.
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 4:58 AM UTC
*Autumn adorns the universe,
Into a transitional seasonal display,
Preparing for a whimsical change,
Upon evergreen trees, in rouge and ember shades.
Lavishly, shedding slowly,
Into a fusion of tones, leaving embellishing grounds,
Bearing naked branches,
As they casually toss down.
Stroking their leaves, and sending colorful hues,
Like a genuine piece of tapestry,
Beautifully interlacing,
And harvesting, 'neath the suns abundance of energy.*
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 2:01 AM UTC
Idle moments, sweet talks
Having the best times of my life
Across the far numerous possibilities
Velvety colors
Everything was a beauty
Morning smiles
Egos whispering
Telling what the most important
Thing they could
Have
Ever imagined
Marble-like eyes
Onward towards you
Sighs between regrets
Tales won’t seem to work like they used to be
I’ve always been wondering about
Mystical creatures
Pondering inside my chest
Orbiting like constellations
Running like a pack of wolves
Touching this beating heart
And making my head spin round and round
Notions go shuffle like cards
These were all because of a
Person who happened to have passed by
Earning almost everything kept
Roaring out the most silent of thoughts
Scorching the once chilled soul
Over and over but I promise
Nothing will ever change
I’ve always been
Never would be
Minds on parallel paths
Yours truly
Living like it was the last
I just wanted to say that it was
Fun, fun to have these unruly
Emotions constantly splashing different colors right before my eyes
Brushing like it was part of a bigger canvass
Under this small fancy reality
To you, for you, by you
Never, ever
Once
We would
Have
Expected these to happen
World was my biggest stage
Intrigued, excited
Loving but never was once
Loved back
Shortly after breaks
Often we imagine
Often we wish but
None of mine came true
Lavishly fooling around
Everything was gradually taken for granted
Amidst those smiles was a
Voice yelling
Earning
Mourning, trying to
Ease the pain
I’ve always
Tried to be a puzzle
Wishing for
A
Solver
Focusing on me, and me alone
Until I might as well return the favor
Needless to say
These petty wishes
Have
Always been the reasons why
Nearly the whole scope of my imagination runs by circles and by
Knots
Yelling like mad
Obnoxiously trying to be
Untamed
And
Natural, always in
Denial
Good times never last
Of all things
Of all moments
Dying to say
Billions of sweet memories
Yet the other side was not willing to listen. The
End
Aug 12, 2016
Aug 12, 2016 at 8:26 AM UTC