I do not mean you as a metaphorical you, however "you" as in an undoubtable "you".
"You" may not see the panes it break. When "you" say my name my heart does wince with sweet, sweet soliloquy. When you hark my name, I turn away from the audience of strangers, and direct my speech unwavering toward "you". Now "you", with unwavering focus, hear my words back, ringing in "your" ear. "You" are the one. "You" my new-soul does love to hear speak. In silence "you" are a beautiful picture: with "your" hair long and brown, "your" eyes glowing green, "your" lips like pillows for my lips to dream. And when my dreams do meet their reality, "you" will fill my soul with sweet, sweet music.
Syllables leep and frolic off "your" tongue as children do play, in adolescent beauty and wonderment, in the fields of sping-time. They seem to adhere to "your" mind in both articulation and in reckless abandonment; they flow from "your" mouth like sweet, sweet sound in waves unbroken by thought (though I know "you" think before "you" speak).
Other me's may not hear the sounds that I do when "you" laugh, and giggle, and emote your beliefs. They may not believe me when I say I hear, no feel, "you", but if they would open their hearts, no minds, to true beauty I believe that they would, too, feel. Now I mean feel as in the most unbridled sense the senses can bare.
"Your" voice pangs on the strings of my heart's neck, the curvature of my being. It, "your" voice, still plays fluently in the drums of my ears; like a beautiful symphony "your" ways of speech. "Your" patterns they flow like notes on a staph. I will never know another human who can, through speech, evoke such emotion from I as "you".
I would give everything I owned to hear "your" voice play for hours, days, months, years; until "your" voice grew outdated and changed with the seasons. However, "your" voice will never grow outdated or change to me. It, "your" voice, will remain as beautiful as it was in its prime in my ears. Just to hear "your" chords play my name once more I would give it all. My heart longs to feel "you" again.

One day as leep by a captivating woke essence in your handscaught in your arms woke getting up after nearly having died ...you gave me your breathing air and calm your back to life, releasing the fear more gregarious, after opening my senses almost incinerated i learned that the stars trembled me to reach it

I started a new life to sharing with you,
sometimes i feel that in your hands sap this life to revive my acuity,
what to unfold my body, she quadrupled making me shiver by quakes your tenderness.

But today on the eighth day of the universe,
divided my feet walking to you for every step of light sonica,
road on it being over your carnal finesse frosted still light beams for aboriginal embracing love with your gutted threat to the end dump body, being today only light story emerged from any pythagorean indigo.

Eight feet by my raving not walk on forgetful slip hugs and achieve that without it on my feet, making you a path of kisses on a piecemeal moan  covering your pleasures in quiet regia union, sealing and my memories to mummifying the most sensitive areas disown make me when you suffer from almost feel much pleasure.

Your feet chafe my eighth willing body as your hands it to me, this is your feet eight  feet, and your finger eleven flute my way to you open your columns wet and trembling, born in the tropics decorative colors flashing your eyes when mine yours take on your innocence as a mother's dismissal, genesis as a maternal layoffs in the grotto shaggy times makes me roof for to paint with my kisses and my mouth full of oils,  full streaking manias those desires that are further under your skin, deep lining up to associate to me ...!

My seven feet is the semi - obese and language lenticular spider mine, unleavened filling the food, its highest sing syllabic, make your paint  blue and moan molecules liquid call themselves, with its concavity make the bio - live surgery last transplanted hallucinate ... vibratory column of my responsibility on your body, cutting all fear, every element of your flesh lying addict to me hanging on my conscience all descontrol physionomy, losing my light steps sonica falling into the abyss of your distances fragrances, falling in ovation interapeutica licking your body my breath, like a sixth sense.

I meditate burning between your legs, dying as i was born of a woman wild servant, fawn as an almost died for a hunter, i prefer my conscience advance day and night to your legs to die of living where one day saw in the recesses; the greatest pleasures with ambitions to break all your secrets, all your defenses to break your falling on my tyranny, allegory huge walk along the invisible to other united take that helped me your surplus usages, enter you and your being, feeling peace penetrate you, not feeling loving preact, or not to have you in the distance but hugging everytime you Drodida to moisten your words to me,  stuttering of desire.

My six feet organizing penetrates you feast on enraged cowbells,wishes with malice and early pregnat, alcamphor extreme longevity and erectile espermiosicotic, with smoothness and irradiating polish your rattling,
spitting cushion on my bones,
like a sapphire on until your clothes,
and as a inseparable attachment unit dispensable.

My bringing night of Saint John in your prayers for imaginary pain coexist
in between taking you doing it my trees by spoil collude copulate,
taking you stormy ray to the phenomenon with the masses elephantine hitting you on your shoulders, your ******* armpits challenge your beasts i want my grind with canines and incisors to create a new universe of shed your joy to laugh about our loving.

The five feet; rub your skin like a shower delicate pituitary
******* kilometers of rivers into criminal triads morbid on your face ...
as well as the sand masturbates the waves,
on the sand and wave nail with my eyes my spells dominating you,
rolling you thousand times to my love trades.

You shall be called Drodida; worship the everlasting orbit of my sight,
when i go for your absence mount your toxin grotesque gasp;
the stalk watered voluminousity  your mouth singing your sweating my
groaning  telling my cries thinking with my worst vanity,
the turn on rotation vanitatory what you just do me with your stalks and not my serous waters in my effervescent mouth in your ******* astral, arrested in any language your thinking lubrication retained me and your touching, what i always touch in you.

The five feet as a tightening necromantic porosity your skin that change shape your temples and declaims pretending aridity lovers bad; lords nomades covered them your area leafy tagled branches covered to neat legends of penalties appealed fables o mytofagic eaters; brotherhoods of the worst disease of not having small Mt. in high with it my staff rooted in resisting demolition and other eroding sorrow, reverie spoil it captive in your infinite journey of ecstasy explosional femic.

The four feet light make a gentle sonica, dry your language lenticular stalk ciliary zone, enter your supra entails, the cave unexplored wider,enter with both arms with herbs pulsating symmetrical cottoned sleeping in your walls and grotto forms  desensitized, insense redeem the pain of window pastoral bishop uniting both peni-***** areas full of gems balsamic, percusionatives full of eyes.

The three feet,
running is my hand movements on your ******* imprisoned,
they are my two hands scratched by scratching the delivery of your birth.
touch my hands that know not touch, when he was born without willing,
but my biohands touch your skin attached to transfer and progressive evil of love for the shores of cry to the center or your body centers clung to my hands over your thoughts rampant, wanting to stay in the fact to see you perisphery merge at twilight of our our sunken eyes friction and wet kisses dormitation delightful of travel and destructive of wickedness;
fulgurative but doubt of living or dying your enjoyment perpetuate.

The second feet,
you are you loving me on my feet vertically like a weak tower,
ash as rain that spread my fire for you.
i take my hands and i took a walk in the seas of ******* bellowing.
you took the scrub the eternal holy and spinal vocabulary of your mouth muted outrage both enjoy your subumbilicales areas.

The first is my feet Drodidaged,
it full landed liquid bathing you, your eyes full of ***** petals and replete, as bastions fallen with their helmets  gnawed your moans, that resound in memory of trees expectant that divert all about us practice,
only your tilt knee …will exalt   the  time for my happiness excessive.

My feet first,
it is my son music turret  ram rope breaking your every arbour grotto, asleep by the dream Drodida you commanded you do to me,
to rock for you and cutting wheel kissing my return to continue all apocalyptic dreams and your most ****** on my ways about it forever astral.
Plane  it me  come the way to sleep with me,
come see how i am able to teach Drodida
ways of sleeping next to me !!


Jose luis  / 0ctober 2003 -  Copyright 15 – all rigths reserved

Nobody remembered,


                                                   ­  It's my birthday today.



I guess I'll just sing a lonely birthday song for myself,





Then on my bed I'll lay




                                      'till I
                                              f
                                             a
                                              l
                                              l
                                                 as(zzzzzz)leep.

I laugh as I spit in Death's face
He doesn't seem to mind
I'll be his in due time

I smile as I float in the sky
Then I parachute land
Break my ankle in the sand

I grin as I race down the road
Make a dangerous turn
Smell tires burn

I whoop as I jump off the cliff
Watch jagged edges fly past
Hit the water with a splash

As a child, cheer as I leep from the swing
Hit the ground at high speed
Scraped my knees, now I bleed

I crow as I ride the wave
Get smacked to the seafloor
Swim for air, I want more

When Death finally catches up
I won't be any more dead
Than those who lived safer lives than I led

I shouldn't care,
But it cuts me deep,
To cut me off completely,
In one leep.
I can no longer check,
To see if you're okay,
It's probably for the best,
It'll be okay one day.
I just wish things were different,
I wish I wasn't such a ****,
First time I ever ****** up,
Didn't think it'll be like that.
I'd do anything to take back the words I said,
To those who shouldn't know,
But I didn't think,
My guilt suffocates as it grows.
Even though I'm moving on,
And the relationship is going well,
I still love you, but I don't want you,
I'm in some kind of hell.
I just want you back,
Just as a friend ,
You know everything about me,
This relationship, we can mend.
I don't want you,
I know that much for real,
I just can't leave us broken,
My wounds are to deep to heal.

Along multitudinal channels
Infinite possibilities exist.
Yet all universes point to you
And in all, you're sorely missed.

The mind plays tricks on us
As the imagination interrupts
With a reality where we lie in peace
Without the surrounding chaos.

A present on the road in awe
Of nature's biggest achievements.
A present without separation
Where that restlessness subsides.

Presently the future feels like home
While the the present isn't real,
An author under a pseudonym
Or cliched red herring.

I fell in love with your mind
But ran away in mine,
I think perhaps you did the same
And flew away in time.

Still at home when you write,
Or text, or call past three am.
For now i lie awake at night
Hopelessly wishing for then.

This sometimes passing yearning
Falls quiet while I sleep,
Wish fulfilment filters through
And reality takes a leep.

Like the oscillation of electrons
Through expanding neural pathways
You fluctuate between hemispheres
Bringing split-second clarity.

Here I sit in false nostalgia
Wishing a different prologue,
Yearning for a different arc,
Longing for a life unlived.

Perhaps next time you sit there too
You'll adapt the narrative.

I'm a little tired,
So I think I'm going to sleep.
I hope you understand that,
Sometimes it's hard to breathe,
When my thoughts race,
Trapped in my mind.
It's time to say goodnight.
Please don't forget.
That you mean everything.
I'm sorry. I'm no good,
With words but I love you.
Please don't forget that.

Washed white as snow
I cry when I
   die
I weep when I
   leep
I am dead
I am fallen
Dead to sin

You will not win
For the victory is
already won.
Glory be to God!
Author of life!
Giver of freedom!

I cry when I
   sing
I weep when I
   believe
I am alive!
   for the first time
I owe it to Jesus
for he loved me.
This I know.
   For He is the Washer to Snow

A RANDOM STORY WITH A GRAMMAR CHECK
By Darcy Prince

It’s a long leep between knowing wisdom & the wise life.

I look at the mirror. “I have emotional needs and wants. Though my soul collapses in the confrontation of feeling fear.” I breathe and sigh. Lighting a cigarette than wiping a smudge of the mirror. “Why can’t write this **** on paper.”

The bathroom door opens and the music from the house blasts into the bathroom. It distracts me than I snap out my gaze. A random guy I haven’t meet had seem to get luck with Annais. She giggles, crunching her body up. Giggling loudly as the guys smoochies her. Making their way into one of the toilets. I must admit, I do laugh, internally wished them luck and exited the bathroom.

The dance music is loud. As most of the party invites are standing off to the wall. Either alone or holding one on one conversation. I puffed and made my way past people dancing, on the floor passed out or just standing there.

Outside, where the sound of the music is slightly quieter. I put out my smoke and walked to the side, the part of the fence that seems to be less occupied by people. It's a shame that my flaws are embedded into my being. I looked at my phone, flicked over my messages, she’s online, not talking to me, my heart sunk and grew a little more anxious. I lit another smoke and do my best to forget her. But I did only come here on account of her.

“Howard.” A voice behind me spoke. Clearly grabbing my attention. ‘****, it’s Bill’. Walking towards me, with his stomach hanging over his belt buckle. His baseball cap covering his bald head at night, and a half drunk beer in his hand. “I want to know why you quit being a literary critic and be an actual writer.”

I laughed. “There’s less money in it.” I answered.

Bill chuckles. Placing his hand on my shoulder. “ I love your work. I tell everyone that I know you.” Giving me a play slap on my chest. ‘The ladies seem to love your work.”

I now want to leave the party completely. “I know. I get fan mail.”

Standing about a foot away from me. “Despite my endless amounts of questions and your personal philosophy. I want to know if you are willing to read some of my Satanic poetry.”

I took his beer out of his hand. Sipping it empty. “It’s payment.” I Finished my smoke. Flicked on the garden bed, “You’re a Satanist now?”

Bobbing his head up down. “Yep. I read the Satanic Bible and decided it so.”

I plant my open palm on his shoulder. “Good-luck.” I walked away. “Thanks for the beer Bill.”

I decide to leave at impulse. It’s freedom on drugs. Abundant with choice. Ability to create. Definite modern God. Who is the Muse to all philosophers?

Out on the road where all the cars are parked. I look around. Gave one look to the house and said **** it under my breathe. I walked home. I conjure up words that I’ve always to say to her. Knowing full well I should be writing them down for the next time I see her and that at one random moment I will forget. But to what Bill asked me. Alone I diver into self-publishing. Funny enough, I made some sort of success. Im free again. And my thoughts drifted into the strange thing of fame in contemporary art. Classical terms. Fame as a by-product of hardwork and talent. Like Clapton or Dante.

Glorious endeavour with high rewards. Movements of my will. A desire with a proper end. Languishing such things now. I am nothing without art. Surprise to see Bill turn to something as such of Satanism.

I got home and fell asleep.

I woke up. Had a morning coffee and cigarette.

I read the daily paper.

A few chapters of my current book that I’m reading.

Another smoke and coffee.

I begun to write with the radio playing in the background.

The street noises aren’t distraction. It is the capitols music. Just without harmony.

I write.

Stopping in the middle of the dat for lunch.

I watched ****.

I wanted to sleep. But one thing more important than the success of one's art. The effort the artists puts to create art. I forlorn my vice and continued to write, this is one model of freedom.

We’re at liberty when we can create who we are. A noble calling, shaping the clay of my existence. I choose the ideals to embrace.

At the end of my writing day. I decided to open my lounge room window. Hanging out on the window still, smoking and reading a book by Camus. A couple below caught my attention. I giggled. It’s her. With another man and I instantly lose faith in romance. Like Bill, I too have read the Satanic Bible. I took the ideals of her Muse and applied it to myself. I have no vendetta against God. Only humanity.

I flicked my smoke down to the street. Closed my window. And went to bed for the night.

In vain I always seem to rise to a higher self. Funny. I never give credit to the pain I feel. Serene. Untroubled by the undying yearnings to blast humanity of not of their sins. But only their ignorance.

I awoke. Like most of my mornings. I start the day with smoking too much and spending a couple of hours of reading. Seemingly dull and mundane, but it does wonders for my eternal being. I am a sinful prince.

I finished my novel and decided to place it on the pile of planned unpublished manuscripts for life after my death. Like many Satanic based writers before me. I decided to write on similar themes. Late modern society is principally concerned with purchasing things, in ever greater abundance and variety, and so has to strive to fabricate an ever greater number of desires to gratify, and to abolish as many limits and prohibitions upon desire as it can. Such a society is already implicitly atheist and so must slowly but relentlessly apply itself to the dissolution of transcendent values. It cannot allow ultimate goods to distract us from proximate goods. Our sacred writ is advertising, our piety is shopping, our highest devotion is private choice. God and the soul too often hinder the purely acquisitive longings upon which the market depends, and confront us with values that stand in stark rivalry to the only truly substantial value at the center of the social universe: the price tag.
Wisdom is the recovery of innocence at the far end of experience.

I had forgotten about her. At random she never did find the guy she ever wanted and I ended up being namecheck in her suicide note. Stating I was the only true, complex, beautiful soul that could match hers and how the regretted turning me away. Bill did the same. But only because I ignored him that one time at the party. In the publication of my Satanic novel, the Pope condemned to Hell. I sent him a letter that I wanted to do a confession with him. I have not yet heard of a reply. Catholics still protest.

Fear soon follows hope
I can see my self doing it
But that does not matter
Will i do it is the question
When it come time to jump
Into the unknown
Trusting my life to a piece of cloth and rope
Will i leep
When the red light goes green
Will i step forward
Or will i halt
In the face of fear
Will it open
Will i fall to doom
A thousand thoughts
In 3 seconds
Was i born a warrior?
Or was i born a man?

I love those appealin' eyes
you know ya can't disguise
your dimpled, stoppin' perfect smile
Never gonna go outta style
see you in a little while?
my sweet poet....

I love that I could love you
not saying that I do
cannot tell by the words I bleed
or feel the need
inside this stupid heart?
Sometimes we gotta let go
in order to grow
ya know
it's true
so...
what about me ....
and you?

I knew that smile
was going to nail me down
turn me right back around
I read my crystal ball
knowing what to whisper in your ear
told me whatcha  wanna hear
Exactly what to say
exactly what to do
exactly how...
to love you

maybe you still miss her  
as I'm penning you verses
an liftin' her curses
line by line....I'm readin' your mind
you want her sometimes
I'm bleeding out these rhymes
c'mon it'd be a crime

let's go down to the swimmin' hole
maybe a lil' cold
bare feet on the dashboard
wine bottle on the floorboard
cause' were all gettin' older
we might need a shoulder
to stay when the rains comin'  down

I'll stick around...
I'm all hometown
what else can I say darlin'
to make you wanna leep
I promises to keep you
forever...
if only you'd say yes
I'd love you
If I could
I told you
I'd
confess.....

Falling asleep,
            more like a leep in faith and all that is good.
            A jump into your conscious, praying
             you don't see another monster.
             Another fear behind your closed eyeslids.
             A full, peaceful rest before the haze.
             Dreaming of spirits and emotions holds me awake these past few nights.
             Along with the dread of my real fears like heights, that follow.
              If I wished upon a star, I'm afriad in my sleep the devil will call.
              There is no telling what I will dream of tonight;

Prediction

Fear

Insecurities

Loving memories

Or self hate and destruction.

Between the teeth of monster's
grinde the bone and flesh of
forgotten dreams.

As nightmares wake to shadow
and fear, my mind sail's the
oceans chasma deeply driven
by futures pull.

Reality forever leeps forward
into the depths of colliding
waves of experience.

Upon the rim I ride, I tip
slowly into the center of
lucid dreams like a dancer
dancing with its shadow.

These monsters that I create,
grimly I took a leep.

With a mouth full of inky grit
I spit my passion for expression
as poetry leeps onto the pages.

©️ 2021 By Amanda Shelton

I can't sleep
Even if I could I'd still be tired
I contemplate taking the leep
Always of a spired,
Tall edge