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b e mccomb Aug 2018
i dread the day you learn
for the first time that
you can't just love all
the darkness in me away

and no matter how much
you care i will still toss
and turn at night and scars
might still appear on my skin

i dread the day you realize
that you can't cure me
and sometimes all you can do
is stand next to me and
hold my hand through fog
pouring out of my ears so black
and thick we can't even see
each other's faces

i dread the days i can't
get out of bed
the days you want to
take me out and all
i can manage is a prettified
shell of myself

i dread the day you learn
that sometimes no matter
how hard i try i still can't
pull myself together

the day you learn that
there isn't an answer
you can give that will
save me from my fears

you aren't the first person
who has tried to love the
darkness inside away
my family and friends
have given it their all
but someday you too will learn
that if love could
cure mental illness
the world would be
a much better place
copyright 8/6/18 b. e. mccomb
Nothing but symbol
come and leave
or flash inside my pupil

Prettified, purified, sanctified,
once integrated,
now estranged.

Marching reluctantly,
Recalling expectantly,
Retreating helplessly.

Under sunlight burning,
behind shadows rotting,
meanwhile for both, I longing.
Harley Oliver Mar 2014
half a cup of
perfectly sculpted hair
yeilds a quarter
of a suburban style
& a tragic obsession
with the american flag
stirred in with a dash of
unquestionably good shoes-
a hint of stripes
adorned with a
a scruffy flannel armor-
blended of color palettes
mixed in with
your matching blacks,
& a quarter dozen
ankle boots with
banded legwarmers to match.
toss in a pair of leggings
a couple of two cent beanies
and plaid button downs
thoroughly wrapped around
your nether bottom &
a fanciful coffee
in hand prettified
with a binding bracelet
telling me
to creatively and
elusively
*******
Bows N' Arrows May 2015
Willows in summer, snapshots by pools;
Mittens In winter, sweaters with checkers.
Windshield wipers swaying in spring;
The crunchy tsssk of golden leaves in autumn.

Lunar eclipses, Solar plexus;
Cave paintings on rocky crimson walls and
Balconies, I sit comfortably on.

Lust for linen, Greed for grunge.
Mirrors I look through.
Cigarette buts from scents I packed you.

The signatures and smiles on our sneakers;
Sunlight shining through long square windows
In such a way...

Strange, foreboding fences on streets;
The scent of honeysuckle hanging still In the breeze.
Missing prettified posters of Hendrix and Poe,
And the hood of your beat up car in the snow.


Carnivals with cotton-candy and
Ferris wheels;
Discarded scratch tickets abandoned on the ground.

Cuckoo clocks, In shades of shelter,
Fireworks on the 4th of July;
I was a pierced, tattooed child of Wednesday.

Bonfires and whistles at the mountain party;
Topaz,
And opal rings.
Remembering swaying on tire swings...
VW buses and fireflies;
Pictures In clouds under azure tempered skies....
Bows N' Arrows Jul 2016
Can artist's be beautiful, Frida Kahlo?
Can we be glorified not for our duty
as angelos, but for our
physicality?
Our fierce thighs
and not our mood swings, Lou Reed?
Painted canvas', strumming guitar strings
Prettified under the neon fixtures
We are more like the trench-coat souls
slipping away with tobacco pipes into
the night,
not golden, but starry-eyed off of laudanum potions
Is that simplistic Jack Kerouac?
To be dignified in wine stained ramblings
too large for one to comprehend alone
In snapshots or albums of Led Zeppelin

Did we curse the false idols while lacking sincerity?

Because we are only human beings and can't reach that state
No Buddha's have I gazed the face of in
hostels or busy streets,
neither in dens or marble coves
Saturated in meaning but an image
that dies in the dark
Is it ugly to find the fountain of immortality?
To have lived as a martyr
No one celebrated Van Gogh or
understood mania
It's in our nature to breathe meaning
into something spectral
some nothing you cant kiss on the mouth
Naomi Firestone Feb 2019
So you are Death
a scavenger of breath
a vulture for pleasure
Preying on life's treasure
Each heart beat you measure...
You, have prettified me to my core
But no more!  
Fear will no longer keep score
Today I welcome you at my door
Come in!
Leave your footprints on my floor
To remind me never to crawl
Join me on this journey
drown in my ecstasy
******* sexuality
Lose control in my fantasies....
Penetrate deep into my darkness
I have nothing to hide
Come along and alight upon this ride
Just for once jive on this other side
Be alive like a bee hive
Observe and find your mind
Transfixed on love and lust
and bodies entwined
Listen to my excitement mount
as you choke yourself
on my account

Oh Death,
What a mistake I have made!
A coward to my bursting urges to be free
Afraid of your ever presence to be ME
I've been a prisoner of my own judiciary
But now I see like the blind
who sees for the first time
And I accept your crime
I embrace your truth!
I invite you to share the joys of my youth
And beyond
where boundaries no longer bond
Live vicariously through me and persist
Inhale every moment to fully exist!
And when you decide my time is up,
feel the emptiness of this bottomless cup
The excruciating sadness that fills it up
to leave this journey we are on
I want you to forever remember
that once you lived as a contender  
Not as a lifeless tree in December
But in full bloom
Fresh from the womb
Life! the greatest gift to be given
Ah to give! and NOT to be taken!
But alas, even you have no jurisdiction
Caleigh Oct 2014
Your words carved into me like an artist carves a beautiful statue into marble. But the difference is that you're not an artist nor am I a beautiful statue.
Your hands molded me into something I can no longer recognize. Black diamonds for eyes. Black hole for a heart and prettified tree branches as limbs.
I haven't been able to love since you touched your paint brush to my clean canvas. You shredded every ounce of self worth I could muster with every lie that you could spew. You ruined my trust with every ****** into her and you ruined my life every time you looked at me.
There's no beautiful or clever way to end such a sad story like this other than in the middle of a
Beaucy Faith Feb 2014
U've prettified my path with Amazing Love.
U're amplified voice attracts all human
Your steps are not just ordinary ones
But full of with one thing
that captures my mind.
You are the key, way, reason, source
of my happiness!
the room, she once decorated with passion and love
she prettified with trust and honesty
she used to leave the door unlocked
or leave the key hanging

the room, she once believed was a home to somebody

but as the time goes by
she closed and locked it
threw the key away
and then she leaned back on it
so he wouldn’t go

but still
he found a gap between the door and the walls or the windowpane
as a chance
to escape the kind of love
he didn’t deserve
Ron Sanders Jan 8
I AM THE WEDGE

O blackguard or fellow. Arise!
Nay.
Bridge that light that bridges all.
Nay! Peace…
What peace!
In sleep’s blue rictus, borne naked, supine—I am…roused.
Opine!
I exhort ye:  know thy fine.
Be bold or benign, be ****** or divine.
But know thy fine.
Exhort? Harbinger:  we are One!
Ye are cloven! And these be your bridges:
Worms.
Sss!
Maggots.
Sss!
Bigots, charlatans, sycophants, thieves…
Ignominious leeches all!
Ssssss! Ssssss! Ssssss!
Yes, yes, yes—ye art ethos without sinew,
Eloquence without spine, witting captives of World’s design.
Ye are carnal, mundane:  ye are sane, sane, sane—
Sane beyond redemption, sane beyond profane!
Prithee peep, prostrate. Now behold:  ye are Mine.
O piercer of nights!
I am he.
O dasher of dreams!
I am he.
Truther! Augur!
I am, I am.
I am all ye allege.
Be still!
Nay. I am the wedge.
And ye shall labor and love with accountability!
Ye who menace the frail shall burn.
Sss!
Ye who lie with same shall burn.
Sssss!
Ye thick, arrogant, groping,
Proliferating plumes of flesh…
All conformists shall burn! And burn and burn
And burn afresh. Within thine own World, where Virtue rots—
Miscarried, misnamed, unrealized, unborn—Nay!
Do not cosset possessions, nor flatter the beast!
They are myth, they are illusion. They are soulless.
It is not death…it is soullessness I scorn.
O be caring. O be kind.
That one egg might bind, all sons must bleed.
Womb and grave lie equidistant.
******, madness, sorrow, sickness, are seed.
And I am fecund.
O Life!
Hypocrites.
Ah Love!
Hypocrites!
Peace! Peace!
Hypocrites all! Blind as cadavers are ye,
Running in lockstep, sniffing thy self-serving,
Snuffling peers’ rears; disdaining the night,
Succumbing to light. And I? I?
I am Neutral. I am Gray.
Then name thy vein.
I am he who severs One; soldier’s specter, specter’s son.
Of faith and compassion mine fibers art wrung.
Ye living die a thousand deaths, yet remain in arrears.
Let thy live corpses lie a low while longer.
Sweet coma, black drug—
Beware thy Pale Master’s tongue!
Blasphemer! Vigilante!
Vengeance is poetry. Vigilance is mine.
I am he who doth sunder, to center from edge.
Thou art…Comeuppance!
I am the wedge.
And this blade ye ride be thine own design!
O Sunlight save us!
Save? To cling to the light, heaping woe upon woe,
Forever hurtling downward, smashed outright, yet still crawling?
Broken beggars bleeding, drowning heartless, gutless…
To, on dying’s cue, lift thy shattered fingers in brine
And be born anew?
Assassin, then!
Thy logic is *******. Have the greatness to be mute,
Suffering seaward, to that brave expanse where all salts art borne.
But we—
Unwitting? Never be!
The same tide shall return for ye:
Aweigh, forlorn, into the ravening
Tempest torn; a million billion testaments—
Defrauder!
Am I? Consider the beast:  electric pastors preaching,
Merchants plump, in line, beseeching.
Still ye puppets slumber, too rife to number,
Too fay to vie; strutting for thy hollow “Maker’s” eye.
Whirling, jumping, twirling, pumping;
******* random shapes and shadows,
Prancing in tandem, dancing solely to die.
Nay. I am the wedge, both hawk and dove;
Neither This nor That, neither Either nor Each.
Descending, I rise, thy facade to breach,
Mine soul well-bled of light’s lovely lies.
To the vortex, then! From one whose essence
Waives assimilation.
No grace! No peace shall ye posers reap!
Lash thine ears, thine eyes—Run, lemmings! Leap!
Preen thy prettified husks, let Inspiration go!
Or rip out thy roots and…Grow!
Sacrilege! Make public thy shame!
Shame? Shame? Ah…Ash, conceive us!
Brief spirit cede, sweet Flame relieve us,
Sunlight leave us lie.
May ye ****** and ye wicked
Fall to thy knees and cry.
Through gates of naught I lead ye,
Bleak day, bright night, precede ye.
Butcher!
There is black! And there is white!
Between extremes lies only gray.
Nay!
Said stain bleeds left and right:  less black, less white,
On that stage too deep to fathom,
One dapple distant, one ripple wide.
Outrageous!
’Twixt solace and horror,’tween torment and balm,
There ye will find me, in rages of calm.
The wise man hath his discipline, the lunatic his ledge.
And I? I am he who doth sever, I am he who doth cleave.
I am the wedge.




(Sorry about the missing italics and indents. I don't run this site.)

Copyright 2019
contact Ron Sanders at:

ronsandersartofprose(at)yahoo(dot)com

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