"livelier" poems
Dead fish do not move.
They lay there,
Dead.
Dead fish do not breathe,
They lay there,
Dead.
Dead fish do not speak.
They lay there,
Dead.
But the dead fish do wander.
They wander around fish heaven,
Or fish hell.
Dead fish's minds, lasting longer than their physical bodies do,
Explore crevices of the universe that people aren't even familiar with.
Well, at least not people from Earth.
Dead fish not only wander, but they do this thing that sounds like wander and is spelled like wander but is called "wonder."
Their minds forever wonder about things.
Like seaweed, ah the good ol' days of eating seaweed.
Or maybe dead fish wonder about what life is like now that they are gone.
They might wonder if it's raining, or if it's sunny.
But they're fish, so what the hell matters if it's raining or sunny?
You see, dead fish also do this thing.
It sounds much like wander and wonder but it's different.
The thing is "nothing."
Well, I assume "nothing" would sound like the words "wander" and "wonder" to a dead fish.
Considering dead fish can do nothing.
They just lay there,
Dead.
But we are not dead fish.
We are alive people, well at least some of us.
We can do things.
Like ride a rollercoaster, or eat a sandwich.
We can watch televisions shows probably longer than most other human beings can.
We can write poetry books that only five and a half people will read.
(One of those hits home for this author.)
We can go out and live lives livelier than those dead fish.
We can live for those dead fish.
We can wander and wonder and do nothing all at the same time.
We are all given life to live and lives to breathe life into.
Alive humans and dead fish.
At one point in time, we all have the opportunity to be someone who does something maybe even with somebody.
Alive humans and dead fish.
Dead humans and alive fish.
Alive humans and alive fish.
Dead human and dead fish.
Creatures have beautiful and blank canvases on which they can spill beautiful masterpieces on.
Or even blank masterpieces.
It just depends on who you're asking to paint you a picture.
An alive human, or a dead fish.
Both have some type of story to tell.
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 11:16 PM UTC
For Leonard Baskin
To his house the bodiless
Come to barter endlessly
Vision, wisdom, for bodies
Palpable as his, and weighty.
Hands moving move priestlier
Than priest's hands, invoke no vain
Images of light and air
But sure stations in bronze, wood, stone.
Obdurate, in dense-grained wood,
A bald angel blocks and shapes
The flimsy light; arms folded
Watches his cumbrous world eclipse
Inane worlds of wind and cloud.
Bronze dead dominate the floor,
Resistive, ruddy-bodied,
Dwarfing us. Our bodies flicker
Toward extinction in those eyes
Which, without him, were beggared
Of place, time, and their bodies.
Emulous spirits make discord,
Try entry, enter nightmares
Until his chisel bequeaths
Them life livelier than ours,
A solider repose than death's.
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I eyed you from across the room,
Tim was yak-yakking about some drop D heavy metal band
he was drumming in,
But I was tired of socializing,
I had only come to drink,
yet I was overtaken by you.
I'd seen you prettier, livelier.
You looked so blue
decked all in red,
in your worn out fuck-me-shoes.
I think my mouth was still agape,
when your gaze turned my way.
We both were locked.
Getting headsick from the smoke,
waiting for the flame to catch up.
You'd never seen me so unkept.
I hadn't shaved in a couple months,
my hair was to my shoulders, and
my body was drowing in wrinkled,
secondhand, early 2000s high fashion.
I walked over. Leaving Tim talking about
fusing dubstep with his metal ****
You were working at a bank,
making three bucks more than minimum.
You changed your major.
Your relations got too public,
so you're shooting for journalism.
Haha me too, or something like that,
is what I said.
Your smile became parasitic to my clumsy words.
You said we should hang out for old time's sake.
"I won't take no for an answer."
"I'm too sober for this."
I walked off, grabbed the flask from Tim,
spent the night strolling under streetlights,
and hoping to have a revelation.
But all I had was a dwindling buzz,
and a divine gravity pulling me
away from remaking the same
mistakes.
Dec 8, 2010
Dec 8, 2010 at 12:33 PM UTC
It was a throwback party
Of the Bossa Nova
Staying up late until
The dance was over.
The Latin beat pounding,
The music was everything
It was so happy sounding.
Bossa Nova was king.
It is the cousin to samba
And in Brazil it is the way
To party with your amigos
Partying the night away.
Dancing like the music
Lives inside your soul.
Much livelier than cha cha
Twice as hot as rock and roll.
It was a throwback party
Of the Bossa Nova
Staying up late until
The dance was over.
Time to wear **** clothing
Girls in dresses up so high
Men in calças they can dance in
Oba! How the hours fly.
Music, sometimes words
And a strong and ***** beat
Drive away the daily worries
And put the rhythm in the feet.
It was a throwback party
Of the Bossa Nova
Staying up late until
The dance was over.
The Latin beat pounding,
The music was everything
It was so happy sounding.
Bossa Nova was king.
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 11:00 PM UTC
Spirit that breathest through my lattice, thou
That cool'st the twilight of the sultry day,
Gratefully flows thy freshness round my brow:
Thou hast been out upon the deep at play,
Riding all day the wild blue waves till now,
Roughening their crests, and scattering high their spray
And swelling the white sail. I welcome thee
To the scorched land, thou wanderer of the sea!
Nor I alone--a thousand bosoms round
Inhale thee in the fulness of delight;
And languid forms rise up, and pulses bound
Livelier, at coming of the wind of night;
And, languishing to hear thy grateful sound,
Lies the vast inland stretched beyond the sight.
Go forth into the gathering shade; go forth,
God's blessing breathed upon the fainting earth!
Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest,
Curl the still waters, bright with stars, and rouse
The wide old wood from his majestic rest,
Summoning from the innumerable boughs
The strange, deep harmonies that haunt his breast:
Pleasant shall be thy way where meekly bows
The shutting flower, and darkling waters pass,
And where the o'ershadowing branches sweep the grass.
The faint old man shall lean his silver head
To feel thee; thou shalt kiss the child asleep,
And dry the moistened curls that overspread
His temples, while his breathing grows more deep:
And they who stand about the sick man's bed,
Shall joy to listen to thy distant sweep,
And softly part his curtains to allow
Thy visit, grateful to his burning brow.
Go--but the circle of eternal change,
Which is the life of nature, shall restore,
With sounds and scents from all thy mighty range
Thee to thy birthplace of the deep once more;
Sweet odours in the sea-air, sweet and strange,
Shall tell the home-sick mariner of the shore;
And, listening to thy murmur, he shall deem
He hears the rustling leaf and running stream.
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soft words and their way of making people sing
lull me like a sweet tune in this chimney, in this place
in my head, slurring over and over until lines would draw up triangles of sleepy infant "jeux",
circles of faded fantasies would come to life and pray,
plus rectangles and cornucopias filled with fun and livelier days.
clouds of droopy golden light drip over our heads as we both lay
in soft blankets made out of my personal handmade Heaven's embrace
lush silk pillows under our overweight, over-bearing, strongly fastened necks
'cause they hold Atlas' weight and the answers for today.
the cycle ends for another shortened day...
the air seems rich with the smell of freshly-made pancakes.
little troll walking down the stairs with a new spring in her step.
lean into the chocolatey sweetness of a mother's oven-like haze,
close your eyes and wonder
if you'll ever feel the same.
Jan 21, 2019
Jan 21, 2019 at 1:28 PM UTC
I see more of you
every day.
It's been 5 months since you passed,
and your sister acts like you.
Saturday night she came over,
and showed us all your favorite videos.
We laughed,
as did she,
and we realized that for the first time in years,
she was a little livelier than before.
That's when I realized the skip in her step
so closely resembled yours.
For a moment of seeing her near the bonfire,
I was awfully sure I saw you.
As these thoughts left my head
I swore I saw you above,
shooting star.
I pointed out the star,
she pointed out that it was dead.
Maybe she knew what I was thinking.
Maybe that's why she pointed that out.
Maybe you're watching her.
Maybe you're more proud than I remember.
Maybe you're glad she's finally past crying
at the mention of your name,
because you know we all had that.
I know she misses you, more than we.
She longs to go back.
She regrets all those fights
and sleepless nights,
and wishes she'd spent just one more hour,
or week,
pulling pranks.
Then maybe,
she'd have just a few more memories
of you,
her
brother.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 9:47 PM UTC
When the sun glowed warm with brighter sheen
The Earth that lay inert in drunken sleep
Woke up suddenly to greet the glorious dawn
Casting aside the blanket of fluffy wool
Beams of light thawed and melted the icy crust
Leaving the land, bare, bright and new
A clean slate for life to make a fresh start
And give our Earth a lovely face lift
As winter slouched away in staggering steps
Spring, came down gracefully on dancing feet
Like an ingenious wizard with the Mida’s touch
Turning everything into glittering green n’ gold
So awesome it is to watch with widening eye
The first burgeoning of life with the kiss of spring
Every tree n’ every shrub, dressed in sudden sprout of leaves
And every plant and every bough bursting into newer buds
Daffodils on wayside nodding in blooms of gold
Pansies and daisies springing close to passing heels
The laburnum and lilacs, getting ready to burst into bloom
Flowers yellow, red and blue on every fence and field
Butterflies flitting round and round on colorful wings
And exotic blooms in gentle breeze swinging their heads
The birds that ere migrated to warmer climes
Coming back once more to fill the aerial space
Sparrows merrily twittering around tiled eaves
The robin springing, throwing a livelier note
The lark disappearing into the sky of fleecy clouds
The swallows shooting out into giddy heights
The feathered minstrels, filling the air in riotous rings
And Nature covering the Earth in quilts of lovely designs
Lovers leave their fireside hearths and coming out
To ramble through country paths, hand in hand
Oh! Spring has come to wipe away the frosty tear
And fill the hearts with overwhelming cheer
Let us join this array of happy crowd
And sing a song of joy with this mirthful brood
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 11:57 AM UTC
Wind, you, this oak grandfather clock;
That clicked and knocked in Nature’s wind;
That grew and leafed and once housed things
More and less than clockwork. I grew
Once in the sweet season scents,
Ignorant of axe-men and axe-wounds,
Who, sent on their rounds sent
Me to be wound. Slung to the
Round, conforming blade
That confined me to box. And yet
This age would be young were I but
Livelier wood. Hands
I may have, but my rings are now lost,
And my boughs and roots, once strong to climb,
And my new-leaf shoots, gone now for chimes
(Do they comfort your nights, my new-life screams?)
That are of a gold less precious than green.
My youth was the joy of wind’s breath on my branches –
Before your deep breaths in the chore of your winding.
Now we have purpose, but once I had meaning –
In whispering and twisting and creaking and leaning.
Feb 1, 2010
Feb 1, 2010 at 12:32 PM UTC
If I finally lost myself,
and the pieces of my mind and soul
were as scattered as my thoughts,
would you find them for me
and help piece me back together?
If these nightmares finally come true,
and my fears and my worries
begin ripping me apart at my seams,
would you fight them off
and stitch together my heart?
If I believed what I saw in the mirror
and what my mind was whispering in my ear, and began my slow descent into the abyss of self loathing,
Would you tell me how you love me?
Your words of comfort and consolation are the remedy to the sickness of my mind, an antidote to these poisonous thoughts. I wish they were a vaccine but my mind requires the occasional reassurance.
I regret these thoughts and the weight they share in both our hearts, I don't wish to impose this noxious state of mind upon you. But even when my mind is burning,
even when I wake, gasping, in the middle of the night, when Pandora's Box is wrenched from my hands and forced open, and Hope flies out,
I swear. I swear that I'll love you. I'll love you with my rough hands, with these tired eyes. I'll love you with every last shred of my being, even in the deepest pit of self-hate.
Because you're the bottom of that pit. You don't let me fall deeper into my hate. You lift me up and you give me hope. You give me a reason to smile again.
When my life flashes before my eyes, it's a boring movie for a while, but then your image comes into the frame and everything becomes brighter and livelier.
I love you in the most irretrievable and unconditional way. I've signed off my soul and heart off to you, I have your name and your smile branded into my brain.
Everything I have and everything I am, everything I will ever be and that I will ever have, is yours. I surrender myself entirely to you, a flawed being with good intentions.
I would lay upon the very ground you walk on and be your bridge when all of them have burned down. I would carry you on my back when your legs give out from underneath you.
I would swim across oceans and fight currents to pull you closer to me, I would take a blade or a bullet or both, to prevent any harm from coming to you.
I know it may seem overwhelming to you my dear but I won't apologize for the way I've fallen for you. I'm in love with you, and there's no use in denying the truth.
So for as long as you choose to deal with my thoughts and my fears, I promise to love you and listen to you and kiss you with all of my heart and every bit of me I can.
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 12:29 PM UTC
You leave us: you will see the Rhine,
And those fair hills I sail'd below,
When I was there with him; and go
By summer belts of wheat and vine
To where he breathed his latest breath,
That City. All her splendour seems
No livelier than the wisp that gleams
On Lethe in the eyes of Death.
Let her great Danube rolling fair
Enwind her isles, unmark'd of me:
I have not seen, I will not see
Vienna; rather dream that there,
A treble darkness, Evil haunts
The birth, the bridal; friend from friend
Is oftener parted, fathers bend
Above more graves, a thousand wants
Gnarr at the heels of men, and prey
By each cold hearth, and sadness flings
Her shadow on the blaze of kings:
And yet myself have heard him say,
That not in any mother town
With statelier progress to and fro
The double tides of chariots flow
By park and suburb under brown
Of lustier leaves; nor more content,
He told me, lives in any crowd,
When all is gay with lamps, and loud
With sport and song, in booth and tent,
Imperial halls, or open plain;
And wheels the circled dance, and breaks
The rocket molten into flakes
Of crimson or in emerald rain.
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As thy friend’s face, with shadow of soul o’erspread,
Somewhile unto thy sight perchance hath been
Ghastly and strange, yet never so is seen
In thought, but to all fortunate favour wed;
As thy love’s death-bound features never dead
To memory’s glass return, but contravene
Frail fugitive days, and always keep, I ween
Than all new life a livelier lovelihead:—
So Life herself, thy spirit’s friend and love,
Even still as Spring’s authentic harbinger
Glows with fresh hours for hope to glorify;
Though pale she lay when in the winter grove
Her funeral flowers were snow-flakes shed on her
And the red wings of frost-fire rent the sky.
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‘TERENCE, this is stupid stuff:
You eat your victuals fast enough;
There can’t be much amiss, ’tis clear,
To see the rate you drink your beer.
But oh, good Lord, the verse you make,
It gives a chap the belly-ache.
The cow, the old cow, she is dead;
It sleeps well, the horned head:
We poor lads, ’tis our turn now
To hear such tunes as killed the cow.
Pretty friendship ’tis to rhyme
Your friends to death before their time
Moping melancholy mad:
Come, pipe a tune to dance to, lad.’
Why, if ’tis dancing you would be,
There’s brisker pipes than poetry.
Say, for what were hop-yards meant,
Or why was Burton built on Trent?
Oh many a peer of England brews
Livelier liquor than the Muse,
And malt does more than Milton can
To justify God’s ways to man.
Ale, man, ale’s the stuff to drink
For fellows whom it hurts to think:
Look into the pewter ***
To see the world as the world’s not.
And faith, ’tis pleasant till ’tis past:
The mischief is that ’twill not last.
Oh I have been to Ludlow fair
And left my necktie God knows where,
And carried half way home, or near,
Pints and quarts of Ludlow beer:
Then the world seemed none so bad,
And I myself a sterling lad;
And down in lovely muck I’ve lain,
Happy till I woke again.
Then I saw the morning sky:
Heigho, the tale was all a lie;
The world, it was the old world yet,
I was I, my things were wet,
And nothing now remained to do
But begin the game anew.
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 5:30 PM UTC
Entangled in this lost love this
New trust all wrapped in
New lust this gray scale
Between being alone and in love
The enigma I am,
Existing between the borders
Of feeling enough leaning up against that hard line
Marking off space for the insufficients,
Deaf,loners and mutes and
All those awkward adolescents,
Loitering on the far side of sanity.
Any body ostracized for being different than
what ever normal means.
Or those lonley people like me.
your meek and vulnerable,
Dyeing
For something on the other side
I fiddle around somewhere in the middle
Sometimes I’m so sad
And I just don’t cry.
It just wont work
And then when you have me laughing
Side aching gasping
I think of all the little things
And now that I feel safe
I can take a breath,
I want to cry about everything.
What the hell does that mean?
There finely something to feed
the ache in my chest.
I feel livelier I feel brighter
And sadder in the same ways
But I’m like a beacon shining through the broken
Hanging to the notion that broken dreams
Can heal too and when they get together
They can transform like a caterpillar
Into the butterflies in you.
When you smile it’s like a glimpse at a truth
I keep chasing after but have never really seen
Heading contrary to this person I became.
You excite me into being something I am but have never lived
And I’m fighting to see who she is
I’m pinning myself against the answers to the questions
About who this new person really is.
And wondering the part in it you will play,
Kicking my self for my uncertainty in the claim
Of being broken or brave
At this silent admission of my wanting you to stay.
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 8:12 PM UTC
There is no need...
To try to be a Superhero
Be satisfied by just giving
someone's the light
Be their light in the darkness
So their life is brighter
is livelier
than ever before..
Free someone from their darkest life
The best deed you do indeed...
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 10:59 AM UTC
he slept in a world
slightly higher
truer
livelier than mine,
a world that held him tighter
and loved him sharper
than i could have
with my earthen arms.
but i felt him come back to me
when the weariness of my bones
asked for a glimmer
moment
taste
of eternity from his lips
and he gave it to me
Sep 7, 2016
Sep 7, 2016 at 12:12 AM UTC
Witch-elms that counterchange the floor
Of this flat lawn with dusk and bright;
And thou, with all thy breadth and height
Of foliage, towering sycamore;
How often, hither wandering down,
My Arthur found your shadows fair,
And shook to all the liberal air
The dust and din and steam of town:
He brought an eye for all he saw;
He mixt in all our simple sports;
They pleased him, fresh from brawling courts
And dusty purlieus of the law.
O joy to him in this retreat,
Immantled in ambrosial dark,
To drink the cooler air, and mark
The landscape winking thro' the heat:
O sound to rout the brood of cares,
The sweep of scythe in morning dew,
The gust that round the garden flew,
And tumbled half the mellowing pears!
O bliss, when all in circle drawn
About him, heart and ear were fed
To hear him, as he lay and read
The Tuscan poets on the lawn:
Or in the all-golden afternoon
A guest, or happy sister, sung,
Or here she brought the harp and flung
A ballad to the brightening moon:
Nor less it pleased in livelier moods,
Beyond the bounding hill to stray,
And break the livelong summer day
With banquet in the distant woods;
Whereat we glanced from theme to theme,
Discuss'd the books to love or hate,
Or touch'd the changes of the state,
Or threaded some Socratic dream;
But if I praised the busy town,
He loved to rail against it still,
For 'ground in yonder social mill
We rub each other's angles down,
'And merge' he said 'in form and gloss
The picturesque of man and man.'
We talk'd: the stream beneath us ran,
The wine-flask lying couch'd in moss,
Or cool'd within the glooming wave;
And last, returning from afar,
Before the crimson-circled star
Had fall'n into her father's grave,
And brushing ankle-deep in flowers,
We heard behind the woodbine veil
The milk that bubbled in the pail,
And buzzings of the honied hours.
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Hearts sparse in this carpark,
the wind feeling rowdy, biting like a
small rabid animal with no collar
wandering the city alone at night.
The car is making me claustrophobic,
I've spent far too much time with the heat,
too many minutes burning cigarettes and
my hands near-numb from the caffeine.
Poems are less like action movies and
more like action paintings exploding
in suspended motion. I'm sure we all
remember when art felt new. I can't
recall when it didn't feel so lived-in.
(*And of course this poem is merely
a memory of feelings, which is not much
of anything to me or you because the past
is dry and done and does not intrude.*)
Lincoln, Nebraska is a livelier city
than one expects. It is like going to an
art exhibit expecting Rothko and getting
Basquiat, bombast and immediacy.
My favorite poet is Craig Morgan Teicher
because he and I may ramble but he is not
afraid to sacrifice accessibility for
feeling. He could find the beauty in the
image of Lincoln, Nebraska in January.
I will soon need to devise another way
to keep myself entertained so let us
say this CD spins one more time and
maybe I can go for a walk, clear my head.
I do not intend this to be wrought with
sentiment, but there are times I am not
as cold as this city. There are times
the mind must scream
so the heart stays safe.
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 2:07 AM UTC
Oh, wast thou with me, dearest, then,
While I rose up against my doom,
And yearn'd to burst the folded gloom,
To bare the eternal Heavens again,
To feel once more, in placid awe,
The strong imagination roll
A sphere of stars about my soul,
In all her motion one with law;
If thou wert with me, and the grave
Divide us not, be with me now,
And enter in at breast and brow,
Till all my blood, a fuller wave,
Be quicken'd with a livelier breath,
And like an inconsiderate boy,
As in the former flash of joy,
I slip the thoughts of life and death;
And all the breeze of Fancy blows,
And every dew-drop paints a bow,
The wizard lightnings deeply glow,
And every thought breaks out a rose.
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They said she'd never walk again
That she'd never be the same
To a wheelchair her world confined
But my faith lies otherwise
They said she'd never walk again
But I know she'll do much more
She'll dance and leap and sing
And shout with endless joy
They said she'd never walk again
But boy were they wrong
She's as lively as a mockingbird
And sings even livelier songs
They said she'd never walk again
But I push them off with a shrug
I dream at night and I see her
Swinging, waltzing and doing the jitterbug
They said she'd never walk again
And swore it on their graves too
But I swear now on the whole wide world
Grandma: I Love You
Dec 31, 2011
Dec 31, 2011 at 10:12 AM UTC
I love seeing you in colors.
You don't notice me at all. You've never noticed me. Heck, you probably don't know me. But I know you, and I know that I love seeing you in colors.
You were wearing yellow the first time I saw you. The sun was hot and shining in the sky, and you were leaning against the brick wall our school, your shirt standing out against the the dull brown background. I especially loved how the yellow complimented your green eyes, how it made them seem brighter, livelier.
When it rains, I find that you wear blue. Every single time. I imagine you are friends with the weather gods and coordinate with the rain so that you can wear something blue. It's endearing, seeing you fiddle the blue buttons of your blue shirt as you gaze outside, then softly closing your eyes as you listen to the pitter patter of the rain.
When someone from school died you didn't wear black. Instead, you wore red. More than half of the school wore black that day but you wore red. It made your skin shine, and your lips looked even more red. I heard someone ask why you wore red and you answered it was the dead's favorite color. You were always beautiful, especially inside, and I loved that.
You look so good in color. The world could go dark but I bet you'd shine. It doesn't matter what color you were wearing, it will always look good on you. To top it off, you were also kind, gentle, loving. You have a beautiful soul, so beautiful. Maybe that's why all colors look good on you, because they're reflecting your kind heart.
Soon, I found that it didn't matter to me what color you were wearing. Because out of all colors, the brightest and most beautiful was you.
Apr 16, 2017
Apr 16, 2017 at 1:44 PM UTC
It wouldn't matter now, would it?
Anything, anyone
Empty heart with a cluttered brain
Deadlier than the history
Livelier than the memory
I wish and wish if only I could hope
The float of the bubble , nowhere to go
Stuck in a limbo
In the casket , about to dig the grave
Empty, so empty i am, this is vain.
Nov 28, 2021
Nov 28, 2021 at 3:21 AM UTC
-
*How could I see the fire in your soul?
And let hidden from their eyes
How could I hear your emotion?
Like whispering wind
And kept silent from their ears
I wonder how I feel you,
Why your ghost feels so alive to me?
Your melody twirls livelier than a young girl
Skin glows brighter than a new-born
Breathe warmer than a summer sun
So young but so old to caress me expertly
Like you’re dwelling inside eternally,
Moving from time to time
From one body to another,
Like an endless poetry
That saves every lonely person
Stuck under the blank night
With no moon and no stars
Merely looking to an end...
a light,
a hope,
or death*
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 1:52 PM UTC
Summer's webs remain behind.
They are tucked between an air conditioner
who is leaving for vacation on a shelf in the laundry room downstairs
and the window frame that faces a lonely winter
tucked out of view on a short wall staring at the pond next door
which has been emptied by this Autumn's drought.
And like that old mottled and greyed lace dress I saw hanging limply in a thrift shop once,
they speak of livelier times.
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 11:24 PM UTC
You're a myth, a product of a playful imagination,
A beauty with no trace of imperfection.
You are an angel, disguised as a human sent from above.
Within your presence, I never felt like a flightless dove.
Your character is filled with gallant bravery,
And while in your arms, I feel serenity.
You are magnificent in every single way,
Without you in this world, I have no reasons to stay.
Despite your admirable grandiloquence,
You noticed me when the world was oblivious to my absence.
You ended my lamentations when my world seems blue,
And made it livelier along with numerous vibrant hues.
You are my knight in shining armor,
The love of my life forevermore.
You are my protector, my heart's fervor.
For you are an angel and I'm only human, nothing more.
In this world full of hurt and pain,
You're the one who helped me through the rain.
Slowly as time passed by, a love like a blooming rose began.
No one knew how or why, but to me you're like no other man.
For you are my angel and I, your human.
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 7:02 AM UTC