"outlasting" poems
the grass, leaning in the south wind , seeming
as if emeralds, had sent tendrils up
to suckle at the yellow breast, now, high above inflamed....
over soft new
grass
like
strands of green gemstone,
as delicate as humming-bird tongues
teasing nectar
from a titan,
in the sky
triumphant in the void,
a golden bead in the baffling blue !
cattails, curling in sway...and two brown eyes bob upon the surface
of a myriad fertilities.
as if
nature itself had known, one day
a poet would come ~
to roam the rambling renascence of these remote ramparts
in awesome humility ~ and so prepared
a path afflux
that ambled near
and yes !
an
anonymous nomad
with nicotine skin and a scabbard of scandalous quills
would indeed
stumble in as if returning home
to a mansion restored to glory
and seraphic randomness....
a place
that in youth, sustained a quiet, soulful troubadour
by gospels of granite and grain, grass finch
and faun - ennobling an oracle ... but now
enticed a scholar from his cot
to jot ephemera
of outlasting spark
before dark-fall
and so... there
amid all allurement and soft machines
a word-smith gathered
poesy and prose.
muse-driven
this one served
an invisible
sovereign
one
of unsurpassed virility
who charms kaleidoscopes
with offhand sketches
rescued
from
a landfill
a basket weaver,
that unravels to
achieve pure
forms
a wineskin was decanted in dianthus and hollies -
as ampules of anagrams
were sold unscrambled, to dyslexics
without hope
a falcon frolicked above the lowborn lilies...
with eyes
too keen
to see a
blur
as the hand
of god
or a vole
as a lifeline
on his
palm.
Sep 8, 2012
Sep 8, 2012 at 6:15 PM UTC
I have suicidal depression--
and no, I don't want to tell you about it.
I'd rather hide it from you (if I could)
And bury it the way you might do with someone you once loved
Maybe sharing their pain if only just for the moment...
I don't want you to sympathize with me either. It's not that kind of sad I'm afraid..
I need this to hurt me, because if it doesn't I won't learn that it isn't okay to feel this way.
A long and outlasting life will be my punishment for this. I will die in valour and bury this axe where cessation lies dormant
Never to be shared with you
My sickness fully contained. I will vanquish this demon inside myself.
I will starve before it feeds. I solemnly swear this exorcism on your behalf.
You will never know
My pain.
Sep 24, 2017
Sep 24, 2017 at 11:42 PM UTC
GUNS
Tanning
Karate
Outrunning storms on 40
Outlasting my compatriots full of toxins
Yawning after afternoon
Delight and coffees.
I'm going to miss her like hell
When I expatriate,
Her and these simple road signs.
Dec 22, 2011
Dec 22, 2011 at 2:40 AM UTC
the grass, leaning in the south wind , seeming
as if emeralds, had sent tendrils up
to suckle at the yellow breast, now, high above inflamed....
over soft new
grass
like
strands of green gemstone,
as delicate as humming-bird tongues
teasing nectar
from a titan,
in the sky
triumphant in the void,
a golden bead in the baffling blue !
cattails, curling in sway...and two brown eyes bob upon the surface
of a myriad fertilities.
as if
nature itself had known, one day
a poet would come ~
to roam the rambling renascence of these remote ramparts
in awesome humility ~ and so prepared
a path afflux
that ambled near
and yes !
an
anonymous nomad
with nicotine skin and a scabbard of scandalous quills
would indeed
stumble in as if returning home
to a mansion restored to glory
and seraphic randomness....
a place
that in youth, sustained a quiet, soulful troubadour
by gospels of granite and grain, grass finch
and faun - ennobling an oracle ... but now
enticed a scholar from his cot
to jot ephemera
of outlasting spark
before darkfall
and so... there
amid all allurement and soft machines
a word-smith gathered
poesy and prose.
muse-driven
this one served
an invisible
sovereign
one
of unsurpassed virility
who charms kaleidoscopes
with offhand sketches
rescued
from
a landfill
a basket weaver,
that unravels to
achieve pure
forms
a wineskin was decanted in dianthus and hollies -
as ampules of anagrams
were sold unscrambled, to dyslexics
without hope
a falcon frolicked above the lowborn lilies...
with eyes
too keen
to see a
blur
as the hand
of god
or a vole
as a lifeline
on his
palm.
Sep 27, 2011
Sep 27, 2011 at 5:51 PM UTC
we leave by passing through.
by outlasting
roots.
by grooming deep runes
like arabian
horses....
mountainous [ pontoons ]
spine crack
liqueur
of soft doom
and true Orchids...
the ******** aftermath of covenants
at half mast
a limp flag of jolly rogers
pettifogging
dull noggins.
we pass through, phantom roosters
ante-Bantam
in the Bedlam....
Conscience
Chauntecleer
as
Opaque.
our blood has new boots
and now our hearts
can Mussolini
{ you strangle The Headless Horseman; as i lust for your Ichabod }
no cranes.
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 8:54 AM UTC
T'was a myriad of emotions that had overcome,
Of life, love, and laughter, with happiness for some.
Years will have passed, but this love shall remain true,
Outlasting time that pales in comparison, to the bond I have with you.
Under dreamy night skies, star-crossed lovers shall wait.
Withstanding the distances, unyielding to their fate.
Hope burns anew like a living and kindred fire,
Only because of you, the one I truly desire.
I was once in pain, and had gone astray.
And then you came along, and took it all away.
During the nights that you shared with me your stories,
Oh, I miss you so, you had taken all my worries.
Remember, my love, for I wrote this because of you.
Even if we are to be apart, I will always love you.
So much so, that nothing can ever replace,
The warmth of your presence, your candid embrace.
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 4:09 AM UTC
As i stood
under the moon’s and stars’ and planets’ light,
i checked my watch,
but felt distant from
the time of day,
or time at all.
For i connected to these outlying rocks
not as lights in the skies,
but distant eternities
outlasting i.
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 7:45 PM UTC
He was climbing a mountain.
There was, but a moment ago, the soft sound of summer thunder,
And the tender drift of curling winds.
A voice, that knew no constraint of time or place.
It spoke as if it had always done so, as if it were all at once memory and potential.
Its sentence had no end, its syllables outlasting empires.
It made him pang for the world he once new.
But it was far away, for now,
He was climbing a mountain.
Upon the way, one traveler found another
One took refuge from the climb, his hands bloodied, his will broken
The other sat perched on a cliff edge, never facing his cohort, never truly meeting
The climb is far from easy, called the ****** man.
Come, let us eat together and tend our wounds.
The man of the cliff did not answer, not immediately.
His gaze was fixed upon the implacable horizon,
Its forms were grains of reality, blowing across the plains of perception
To look at one was to see no other, for this is how it is.
"We do not wound," he answered at the last.
Will you not face me, called the man with bandaged hands
That shifting sky is nothing but the wastes of life
The knowledge it holds is not for us to know
For we are the ones who climb.
The cliff's man remained silent, for he grew weary of climbers
You are not the first he thought, and you surely will not be the last
For the climbers had minds for not but the mountain
They are born to seek its peak.
Before him were the storms of life
Where beings of light roared across the world
Their lives ended within a blink
Each one, shimmering like unclouded stars against the silky black of night
Each a triumph of failure, for even in death no fall awaited them
They knew only ascent
Perhaps that was what the climbers sought?
Perhaps they wished to be as they?
But the cliff, he knew, was the end of all things
Its precipice, the boundary of the divine
It was the only true ascent, it was all that he could crave.
The climber had lingered here long enough
And it was time to send him on his way
"We do not hear the Nightingale."
The man with the mended will had no time for puzzles
To the sands with you, may the winds take you to your beloved rifts of chance
There's a mountain that needs climbing, for why else is it here?
Whilst you are betroth to destiny's stir, to the sky's delight,
I have known the beauty of her touch, the loving warmth of her breath
She is not to be watched, she is to be held, to be kissed, to be yours.
He turned his back to the cliff and its watchman
He had been sated by his stay, but it would be folly to remain
He was climbing a mountain
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 6:23 AM UTC
a dead trumpet, resting on the desiccated lips of a fallen angel, a desolate scorch of hemispheres
blasted and puerile...
primal dross from the furnace of all agonies and heaps of time, hoarding hours in pain to multiply the bias to ill fates as a happiness, her madness has never known
[ on the inside ]
a dread comet, branding the optic nerve of a blank stare
into oblivion
in a closed loop of integrals of self hatred
outlasting the venom of god's scorn, by an order of magnitude
her blight, dwarfing the locust swarm of dead suns
bleeding black ink in journals that document her heart's delirium, in crude states -of silent rage at a billion decibels
[ on the white page ]
a barn door, torn from the hinges of a tempest and marble goats, chiseled from a monolith of dark thoughts
to be sacrificed on the altar of pitch dark
there are sigils that burn in the dense fog, and everywhere a banshee of rogue hope and a siren of fine dreams....
and here there be oceans
[ and no map ]
legions of invisible hornets living in every atom of two red lips
lips that would kiss and be kissed
but seldom disembark from tar pits and windswept tragedies
and fell words that plunder her true thoughts for anything
toxic enough to **** the conversation with a lost god...
bilious fountains of lost joy
sterilize a pregnant pause. and yes
aborts the spirit
[ from no throne ]
Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 11:50 AM UTC
I know love not as an arm around a waist,
nor fingers teasing hair and running down a neck--
but as a temporary tattoo,
and the fleeting taste of Zebra Fruit Stripe Gum.
And just like Da Vinci never slept,
but took several naps a day--
So do I fall in love daily,
but tenfold!
The deep yearning that wells within my soul
and sits as the lump lodged within my aching throat,
I stumble through the day tripping over my enamoredness
towards any kind soul who dares to look my way,
or speak my name,
or touch my hand--
and I want to set up a kissing booth
in the middle of a shopping center
or my college campus,
and solicit others to grant me a taste of their humanity
in the holiest of ways,
man or woman,
young or old,
to but press their lips against mine for a second
and I would become illuminated,
rejuvenated,
and I would leap from my weary mental confines
like a grasshopper springing out of tall grass,
and love would well up within me--
Not as a transient fix,
but an anchor in these uncharted waters,
a cool glass of milk to a parched throat in a late night hour,
outlasting any cheap ****** or content stomach,
and shying away the facade of complacency.
I would burst forth like a battering ram
through the prison cell doors I weep and wallow behind,
and I'd have a skip in my step
that would ferry me across every pond and great lake.
For these hands do not pray,
but they tremble, and they ache.
And these lips do as hands do,
as they rest upon a placid face
that looks in the mirror and reads
of the anguish seeping out of inflamed pores
and burrowing between the creases
alluding a furrowed brow,
and if but a kiss could render one free
from such odious palpations,
then I'll gladly set mine to the liberator,
whomever it may be--
And how many lips does it take
to get to the center of my frozen aching heart?
The world may never know.
Sep 13, 2016
Sep 13, 2016 at 11:12 PM UTC
Im gone Mami!
And I won’t be back.
Tie me to your hip driving up the strip
Like a strap stab me
Into Alrvarius’ brain
Extract like a syringe,
Mental sirens slip-slap
Fabricate below the cap,
I feel, metal outlasting
Clashing the nevera of my lower back.
I’m gone Mami!
And I won’t be back,
‘Til the heavens send me a message
Of the sins in my souls possession
Mixed with gusts of Ninole’s winds
And my “why”
I say farewell to our memories,
Now, scoundrels of immense value,
Lost in the cracks of our times together.
Now, I say goodbye,
And hello to where the sun sets.
My mother wrapped her arms around me,
Kissed
My
Cheek,
And told me I’ll be back.
Who knew the hardest goodbye
Would be in disguise,
Who knew the hardest goodbye
Would be in disguise.
Jan 3, 2023
Jan 3, 2023 at 12:28 AM UTC
no creativity, accepting to resolve
structure, as fitting inside this pattern
of no distractions and no instructions
and the promise of a plan tomorrow
no affection, except in the fruitless
domestic ambitions of making love
look like it is outlasting the neighbors
and saving the children from our future
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 8:26 PM UTC
There stands an important man,
Made immortal by the bronze and gold that laces his structure.
Firm, aged and full of intellect,
He stands pointing toward the western sun.
Tie worn tight as his suit lays motionless in the wind.
Crass, hopeful, he is not without scandal,
A man who lives with his past open for all interpretation.
Those who stroll past look up,
Thoughts lingering on his works.
Eternal, when all else crumbles to
Dust and scatters the raging sea,
He will stand steady, pointing, outlasting
All he should be remembered for.
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 2:03 AM UTC
the grass, leaning in the south wind , seeming
as if emeralds, had sent tendrils up
to suckle at the yellow breast, now, high above inflamed...
over soft new grass
like
strands of green gemstone,
as delicate as humming-bird tongues
teasing nectar
from a titan,
in the sky
triumphant in the void,
a golden bead in the baffling blue !
cattails, curling in sway...and two brown eyes bob upon the surface
of a myriad fertilities.
as if
nature itself had known, one day
a poet would come ~
to roam the rambling renascence of these remote ramparts
in awesome humility ~ and so prepared
a path afflux
that ambled near
and yes !
an anonymous nomad
with nicotine skin and a scabbard of scandalous quills
would indeed
stumble in as if returning home
to a mansion restored to glory
and seraphic randomness....
a place
that in youth, sustained a quiet, soulful troubadour
by gospels of granite and grain, grass finch
and faun - ennobling an oracle ... but now
enticed a scholar from his cot
to jot ephemera
of outlasting spark
before dark-fall
and so... there
amid all allurement and soft machines
a word-smith gathered
poesy and prose.
muse-driven
this one served
an invisible
sovereign
one
of unsurpassed virility
who charms kaleidoscopes
with offhand sketches
rescued
from
a landfill
a basket weaver,
that unravels to
achieve pure
forms
a wineskin was decanted in dianthus and hollies -
as ampules of anagrams
were sold unscrambled, to dyslexics
without hope
a falcon frolicked above the lowborn lilies...
with eyes
too keen
to see a
blur
as the hand
of god
or a vole
as a lifeline
on his
palm.
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 1:04 AM UTC
Peace in emptiness
The pale scope this circle is,
Like a shawl draped tightly on my neck
The sky hangs with intimacy
And yet so distant and emotionally raw
Its biting breath attests
Confined to converse with a babbling stream
And speak so vapidly
One can see, so peacefully
Thin veins, they creep on water’s top
Its vitals miserably languid, slow
And the fish condemned to stop
The sounds, the scene consume in silence
And make the world one
Because I sit here in defiance
To its outside I am numb.
Is this Peace? Perhaps, perhaps.
If it’s all alone
Because this is kind of lovely peace
The world does bemoan
I wish its concrete impermanence
Their busy lives atone,
For subtle sanctuary and plot for one’s high throne
I say to you, that you can find
Here, with me, all alone.
The leaves can be our wallpaper
The grass, exquisite rug
These stones, china of antiquity
Carved in Orient fashion
The moss will be our bedding
The hills our occupation
The fields will be our sustenance
The pond, couples' libation
I’ll christen this house, and you my bride
With gems of pretty ether
We’ll be each other’s sole possession
My hand will rest beneath her
Love the world, our home, our home
You and I, our love outlasting
Here, at Peace, and all alone.
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 7:25 PM UTC
Floating through the ocean of life a
Tale at times to be a ferocious Journey through a turbulent current
Filled with pain and strife
Mariners who I thought would always
Be with me have not survived
Times of weakness my heart wanders and loses faith
That one day I too will be where they have arrived
The Seafarer is who I became
Feeling lost in the choppiness of life's shifting ocean
The waves swell through the night
To and fro with immense commotion
Realization hits me, I have no control,
I fall to my knees and give The Lord my devotion
Waking after outlasting the tumultuous waves
Sun glistening, oceanic seabirds squawking in praise
A restful, serene state
The stream now has become a quiet, vision of peacefulness
Preparation to guide me through life's immeasurable distress
Next time I know I will never again be alone
He is always with me
Through the tempestuous waters
To calm my storms
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 10:25 PM UTC
I'm smoking solid cancer.
Wind in an uproar. Enraged.
I vowed to never let anything push me.
I lied.
Eyes travel from branch to trunk.
Veins run up the bark and collide.
Solid forms of nature, far outlasting Her prime predator.
I'm convinced memories are incomprehensible.
How does it work?
I'm intrigued by an object of no relevance,
and suddenly you're smile confronts me.
Strange.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Unimportant reveries is what they seem.
One who thinks the world is black and white is colorblind.
Ignorant.
Standing here, on this plateau.
How many lives have walked across it?
Rust - like skids paint the ground where I stand.
Butts scattered and running into the grass.
Predator?
Of violent and malicious intent.
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 5:00 PM UTC
Do you feel the desert sun
As it pulls
All the moisture from your skin
You barter for each breath
Lest it escape between your lips
There is smoke in the night
It stings your eyes
Full bodied in your chest
The sand is warm between your toes
It burns with the heat of the day
Although the sun
Barely laid to rest
In her bashfulness
Looking for her stamina
To wear tomorrow
One would not think
Gravity would pull so hard
It does not seem fair
When the stars
Look so beautiful
Call so close
I shudder in the dunes
Oh that dreams were a grain of sand
That they were as weightless
It is not such
I cannot bury the tears
Even still they fall into the earth
A kiss that becomes a vapor
I will water the earth
Pouring into her
My pores vacant
My spirit follows
She makes me toil
I am not above my humanity
It humbles me
Staircase of pride
Stumbling block
How does one face a new day
I bite my tongue
To spit in the face of destiny
Is a fools errand
Yet she has done me no favors
I owe her no respect
A token slipped between hand
A bet and a wager
That will not be paid
Unless blood is spilt
Earth claims all, as she bore all
Sand in the desert, burying secrets
The ground knows so much
She does not taste
But swallows up
She is a scholar of sinners
Outlasting the shudders of your spine
Patient is she
It costs her nothing to wait
Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 1:03 AM UTC
Take this seeing with thee--
paw it over...the beau-tifying Void.
Capable magick--drop...
of daub-n-be...beau-tifyingly so.
Note to All: what's outlasting
coasts... to still the aesthetical shock
o' yore.
Biding a time driven out of itself...
for the valiance of life-swap...so
pronounced with open arms...
Oneness, and all that jazz.
Bid you as I do...form's due...adieu...
beau-tifying The Void.
Konstantinos Mark
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 12:50 PM UTC
On THIS day,
Without regret,
Without fear,
Paying my debt,
To the universe or destiny,
Whichever saw fit,
To have me like your comment,
As I sat to **** (Lol. Not really, but needed rhyme bahahaha;)
I give thanks,
To whatever it be,
That allowed me to view,
And actually see,
Your most beautiful soul,
Built from the stars,
Outlasting relationships
And materialistic cars.
I am not a poet.
These words are not mine;
But left upon my being
Across all space and time.
To send out to you,
To confirm you know well,
There is only the heavens,
There is no fiery hell.
Only the one ****** upon us,
On this rock we now stand,
Fashioned by ignorance,
Of a far lesser man.
Whom can't see your beauty,
Your sparkle, your shine.
Whom fate has put in the distance
Kissing his own behind.
You'll stretch now.
You'll glow.
You'll see what I see.
You'll fashion your future
With support and "yippie's" from me.
Dr Suess, another ENTP,
Will be quite jealous
Of our friendship, and me.
He'll yell "What is THIS; That I see?
As The Cat in the Hat goes flat splat
Wondering of you and me.
"How CAN this BEEEEEE??!?!??
That from 100 INFJs,
He chose only YOU
To build a friendship
And build you less blue?"
We will not answer,
But leave it to the stars,
To light our paths,
Raising our bars;
To not accept,
Less than we deserve,
To remind each other of that,
When life throws us curves.
I'll be your shoulder,
From this day own,
To love you as you'll allow,
While your off the ****
I'll be your support,
If only as friend,
That is my promise
Until the very end.
Until the stars burn out, with a kiss, goodnight.
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 12:54 AM UTC
See
by Michael R. Burch
See how her hair has thinned: it doesn’t seem
like hair at all, but like the airy moult
of emus who outraced the wind and left
soft plumage in their wake. See how her eyes
are gentler now; see how each wrinkle laughs,
and deepens on itself, as though mirth took
some comfort there, then burrowed deeply in,
outlasting winter. See how very thin
her features are—that time has made more spare,
so that each bone shows, elegant and rare.
For life remains undimmed in her grave eyes,
and courage in her still-delighted looks:
each face presented like a picture book’s.
Bemused, she blows us undismayed goodbyes.
Keywords/Tags: Elderly, woman, grandmother, thin, thinning, hair, airy, emu, moult, soft, plumage, wrinkles, laugh lines, frail, gaunt, bones, winter, grave, eyes, courage, laughter, family, gathered, bedside, kisses, hugs, goodbyes, farewells, life, death, photo album, pictures, photos, photographs
Published by The Eclectic Muse, Love Me Knots (an anthology of the top 100 contemporary love poems), Nutty Stories (South Africa), Black Medina, The New Formalist, Better Than Starbucks, Potcake Chapbooks, Strange Roads, Sonnetto Poesia, Litera (UK), Poems About, Poetry Life & Times, MahMag (in a Farsi translation by Dr. Mahnaz Badihian), Somewhere Along The Beaten Path (Anthology), Freshet, Life & Legends, Famous Poets & Poems, Short Quotes & Poems (listed in the top 10 short poems) and Victorian Violet Press. “See” won 3rd place in the 2003 Writer’s Digest Rhyming Poetry contest, out of over 18,000 overall entries, and was published in Writer’s Digest’s The Year’s Best Writing.
Mar 6, 2020
Mar 6, 2020 at 4:44 AM UTC
our cry of war;
peace
the streets, O, how they testify
accused of false prophecy.
but a people's truth
known best by
them who walk it.
weapons,
bluebird hashtags,
palm portals broadcast high definition.
hands of pacifism write a
play of sunken morals
a stage—the world
capturing heart;
caging it beside mind
no longer abiding forced compliance
to the dollar,
and the jester king's control
making mockery of the throne they sit—
unrighteous fools.
we refuse a subject's posture.
they deem a mask cowardice,
fickle and shallow understanding
an insult of fear.
a brotherhood of belief to represent—
uniformity
together
by rank and by file,
stalwart to stem the loss of blood;
against greed.
independence
from them—from one another,
from the cookie cutter's imposition
advertisement imprisonment
once thought killed
succeeding only, they
made his cause indefinite
made message
immortal.
forever grinning,
lips curled across porcelain visage
on asphalt battleground
a rose outstretched,
the bearer beaten with sticks
put in chains.
soaring cans noxious,
tears not their result,
but of sorrow
for them, and
their acceptance of bribe white picket, the
Judas price.
hypocritical perpetrators
betray hollow oath,
smashing split fingers
the unspoken message portrayed
outlasting beating's bruises
heftier and more distant in reach, than strike.
hands cut by thorn whilst seeking to tear down
rose
regretful tears of power's illusion
wash the ground
but freed of blood impossible.
power's impotence seen,
the world's future bearing witness to
false truth.
a promise greater
a seed planted
generations to grow, in time
shading all mankind
when children lead men,
the mask removed
unveiling equality in our difference
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 11:21 PM UTC
A response is what he needed
To rest serenely
Strong-minded as if
He called her constantly,
Texted ceaselessly
Formulated a poem
To portray what he discerned
Desiring to identify her
"Tell me your name so I can
thank you how you deserve."
Her sight wandered all over her dorm
Was she really thinking of
Unveiling her storm?
Her lips arched straight-up
"There's nothing to lose"
Is what she naively thought
Her name now appearing on screen
Along with her heart, mind and peace
She knew it was the end
To a never being fairy dream
"A friend would of been great back then"
Who said there's nothing
We can do nowadays
Now her secret is out
Million questions pending
He knows her name now
The shield is now below her vow
He seemed thrilled at first
He's no longer captivated
He didn't like what it displayed
"Thank you for the poem"
That's all he said
No more texts were sent
He used to reply without saying mer
Now he's no longer immediate
Nodding he lowered his sight
Deciding not to move forward
But to leave all this situation burried
Along with her light
He ached to find someone who cared
She was available at all hours of the day
What made him so blind
What prevented him to realize
She was someone to confide
She didn't shed a single tear
She knew there were risks
Not a propitious ending
But at least she now knows
He wasn't worth it
Outlasting her thoughts
She pursued a goodbye
Their houses not being faraway
She requested a meeting to amalgamate
Unbiased to encounter his neighbor
He elected to party out
She waited for him all night
Counted every single star
Drank her pain aside
Until her stinging expired
She can now move on
She is now determined
She now knows affection isn't eternal
Closing her eyes she guaranteed
Never letting her feelings
Slip off her finger tips
She's not allowing anybody into
Her now coldhearted spirit
Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 12:15 PM UTC