"proclaim" poems
Big **** The Head ********
was the head of all the ********* in the ******** Shed.
What made Big **** so skilled and keen
at dickheadedness was to be seen.
Big **** had a certain ******* flair,
for tugging at everyone's short and curly hair.
He never had an important specialty,
except for being a type-A personality.
His skills were near to nothing great.
He kinda looked like a backward ape,
with a necktie 20 years gone out of style,
and his middle-management bullshitty wiles;
"I'm better than any ******** here!"
He'd proclaim everyday with a prickish sneer.
So they put him on his own cocky shelf,
where he could reign all by himself,
and every ******** ***** or asshole-wanna-be,
would come to the ******** Shed just to see,
what they could achieve if they'd observe instead,
the ways and means of Big **** The Head ********
___________
Dedicated to every single uptight, middle-management, pain in the ****
you have ever had to work with or for.
Aug 8, 2010
Aug 8, 2010 at 1:07 PM UTC
In frames as large as rooms that face all ways
And block the ends of streets with giant loaves,
Screen graves with custard, cover slums with praise
Of motor-oil and cuts of salmon, shine
Perpetually these sharply-pictured groves
Of how life should be. High above the gutter
A silver knife sinks into golden butter,
A glass of milk stands in a meadow, and
Well-balanced families, in fine
Midsummer weather, owe their smiles, their cars,
Even their youth, to that small cube each hand
Stretches towards. These, and the deep armchairs
Aligned to cups at bedtime, radiant bars
(Gas or electric), quarter-profile cats
By slippers on warm mats,
Reflect none of the rained-on streets and squares
They dominate outdoors. Rather, they rise
Serenely to proclaim pure crust, pure foam,
Pure coldness to our live imperfect eyes
That stare beyond this world, where nothing's made
As new or washed quite clean, seeking the home
All such inhabit. There, dark raftered pubs
Are filled with white-clothed ones from tennis-clubs,
And the boy puking his heart out in the Gents
Just missed them, as the pensioner paid
A halfpenny more for Granny Graveclothes' Tea
To taste old age, and dying smokers sense
Walking towards them through some dappled park
As if on water that unfocused she
No match lit up, nor drag ever brought near,
Who now stands newly clear,
Smiling, and recognising, and going dark.
18k
Was with a salacious witch
with amazing quick silver tongue,
Confidence personified
she challenged me to chase her,
If I so wish, not in words.
Her liquid eyes and gestures,
made me mad with pleasure
by the time we reached the peacock hill.
Peacocks, big blue eyes painted on feathers,
each, was in love with her, it seemed.
Danced vying with each other,
to please her, while she winked at me.
As if to say"They'll **** each other
to get my glad eye"wouldn't I feel jealous?
Helpless, I did surrender to her spell,
like others in the line, in my front and back.
When just one touch of her index finger,
would evoke magic, I'll get
Transformed to a young peacock
of exquisite beauty, with blue green plumes
none have ever seen before,to flaunt at
others of the ilk, on seeing it they'd back out.
Such a witch is one of a kind,my mind
whispers, it's she who assures me this,
On the full moon night, due in a week
we'll fly to the far away hill where
She'll be with me helping to build a nest,
turning to a peafowl herself,
She'll lay a dozen eggs,
yes, in to my ear, she says, this is only later,
h
When, she with index finger will
gently touche me and proclaim, thus:
"This is the peacock I enticed and
with my witchcraft ,bound for life"
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 8:46 AM UTC
when i was a freshman one of my friends told me that there was a girl who was talking about me
asking why i was pretending to be straight and that everyone could tell that i was gay
my friends and i laughed it off like children and i quipped “i’m not pretending anything, just ask anyone and they’ll know”
now, i think of the rainbow socks, the only thing i own with a rainbow on it, being shoved down to the bottom of my sock drawer as if it would pop out at any minute and proclaim it’s existence if it were any higher. now, i think of the rainbow highlight that i applies in the bathroom at midnight, pausing every now and again to make sure i was alone. Now, i think of the pride nail art that i scrubbed off my nails minutes after i painted it on. now, i think of the last word in a poem that i wrote and turned in, scared i was being too obvious with the word they.
now, i think of the horrible creature sitting in my chest that simultaneously begs to never tell my secrets and to also scream them from the roof tops. i think of the sludge that lives in me and climbs up my throat, whispering safety into my ear while also ripping apart everything it touches. i think of the pain i feel whenever i say that i’m gay, because it makes things easier if the works sees me as a girl who loves other girls.
before thinking of this poem i had sat back and wondered how many bottles it would take of the various prescription medicines that my parents kept in the kitchen cabinet to **** me. when i remembered the name they would put on the tombstone i stopped and walked away. i remember the time where i couldn’t walk away and i had reached in and grabbed a full bottle of ibuprofen and i took a single one, hoping that my screaming head could be sated by the feeling of a single pill crawling down my throat.
i had a dream last night about someone called addison.
they looked me in the eyes and before i even knew what they looked like their physical form flickered until they were a bright shining star in a vaguely human form.
they sat next to me as we floated in a void on a picnic blanket and they put their arm around my shoulder which felt like a hug from someone i used to know but had forgotten
i stared at their glasses that looked too much like mine as they flickered in and out of existence and they told me i was not where i was supposed to be.
i didnt ask them where but they heard it anyways as if breaking into my thoughts. they answered that they could not tell me and when i thought why they said they didn’t want to spoil the fun of a brighter future for them and me.
i woke up with the taste of lavender on my tongue and the desire to change my name.
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 1:11 AM UTC
Ah, the season of gifting.
Antagonist of year-long thrifting.
Tradition sadistic,
Materialistic,
Four quarters in pockets worth sifting.
This year I hereby proclaim
I shan’t be consumed by the game.
Cycle of curse
Purpose perverse
The namesake, an oversight became.
Christ’s birth did in fact begin,
Holiday distracted by sin.
Misguided it be
To forget idly
The sacrifice He made for all men.
We naively regard generosity
As holiday’s behavioral piosity.
But if dollars and cents
Are the tools of offense
Over shadow favor luminosity.
Water in Africa is *****
American child in poverty.
Politics aside,
Convenient homicide,
To enable the ills of society.
In the global economy we flaunt
Wealth by comparison, bitter taunt.
First world problems abound
Pass the turkey around
Central heating and air, what a jaunt!
What if this season we decide
To extend two palms open wide?
Sacrificing ourselves
Rather than stocking our shelves
Dying whispers echo true: “we tried.”
Don’t spend your money on me this year.
Not iPhones, not tickets, not Blu-ray or beer.
Instead know you can
Distribute more than
A snort, a lie, and a tear.
(optional conclusion to assist interpretation of last line)
Snort of derision,
Lies of provision,
Tears, even true,
Hardly subdue
Anguish deprived of tradition’s revision.
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 5:25 PM UTC
Sexting Texting What a mess! Texting sexting Do you wanna have *** Flirting How about that ***** Taking naked pictures galore? How can I compete With all that meat That’s got you hooked On a fishing reel Pulling you in So you can spill All over them All the time While you’re here On my dime Resurfacing What’s going on On your phone Am I the only one you’re surfing? I think not! I doubt it a lot! No wonder I didn’t get it. Rehearsing I need a shot! For what I got, Is not enough! Working On this thing, Give me a swing, Stuck in a child. Nursing Or did you not **** the breast Big and full On your mama’s chest? Churching What happened to that spot? Not enough. You got a lot. Cursing Sexting texting Guess I’ll join the game. Texting sexting Maybe this will bring me fame. Or will I proclaim Your name?
Listen to the poetry podcast for more inspiration:
https://www.buzzsprout.com/12801/101854-sexting-and-texting-episode-of-relationship-rock-building-relationships-that-last
or listen to “Sexting and Texting” on iTunes:
https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/relationship-rock-shirah-chante/id670836453#
Watch "Sexting and Texting" on YouTube
https://www.youtube.com/edit?video_id=AQmw9N1rrKE&video;_referrer=watch
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 10:45 PM UTC
do it for the ***** Laura
yes
sore for all the reasons
because sometimes i want
a **** that destroys jeans
and all forms of pants unequivocally
feel powerful
workout the body
and rip the peanut butter lid off the jar
proclaim to the universe
i have something that you should all stare
at
i
go home
and
eat chips and salsa
and
think nothing of it
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 2:30 AM UTC
No, I don’t have a boyfriend.
I don’t have the desire to see another end;
after exhaustive months of getting to know
a fictionalised persona, fragmented, so
No, I don’t have a boyfriend.
The last one hurt and you didn’t see,
but that doesn’t proclaim the scar less prominent to me,
my feelings numb, I no longer crave the intimacy - detrimental to me.
No, I don’t have a boyfriend.
The last boys touch was for him not for me
and my body still screams cause he won’t let it be
and you’ll never understand as the trauma won’t subside
and my self esteem is diminished by his lies.
No, I don’t have a boyfriend.
I humoured a guy who gave it a try
but all I could feel was nothing inside
and when someone bumps into me sauntering by
the unwanted touch still makes me cry.
No, I don't want a boyfriend.
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 5:33 PM UTC
*Inebriated blue cloud,
I know you well enough
libertine ways you have
make you a lover of
deep thunder and meek rainbow
and also a chit of a lark
that loses itself in a song
be it is in grief or mirth.
Strange is the ways of my heart,
how much I long to fall in love with you
and proclaim this to the world scheming
to disrupt the pleasures one seeks
without any reason at all
"Look! love has no limits, no reason even
the lovely cloud, softness personified
caresses my foliage with sensuous abandon
kisses me with her wispy lips of moisture"
I know you understand, though unmindful of
my unbridled passion
making breaches in the limits,
I have no illusion about our improbable union.
True, how can we live
happily ever after?
I envy your gift of wings
though you have none visible,
you borrow it from the wayward wind,
too willing to carry your sweet load around.
I stood on the hill top,
wistfully thinking
that you will come and
take me within your soft folds
though I am a tree with deep running roots
that has become a restraining thing.
Freedom without any limit
gets you inebriated every minute,
your love for love, makes you desirable
you live in the present, suspend thoughts on time to come
as it is hypothetical, you say.
You are in a hurry to roam
wherever lovers lead you one after the other
do you have an urge to dissolve and pour-
as water, without any remorse?
Do you know my penitence for your love
on this hilltop is a true sacrifice?
My love for you doesn't bring anything
except my wilting hour after hour.
Let me be on your blue breast for moments
when my boiling love will seek
your shining center that melts, melts
we'd freeze as one, how long my darling?
Time would simply stand still
to a distance, i'd be transported,
where tree or cloud means nothing
we are an incessant rain lasting for ever.*
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 10:13 AM UTC
Beautiful and hungry,
They proclaim my fears.
They scream out of the darkness,
They whisper into my ears.
"A moment on the lips,
Adds ten pounds to your hips."
It rips into my sides,
It makes my stomach churn.
I guess I'll always think this way.
I guess I'll never learn.
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 7:47 PM UTC
The moths followed the little square
Like he was a flame
The little square wrote a book about his despair
And the moths made a proclaim
The little square didn't like us
So he told the moths to find us, "the mess"
He told them to do it without fuss
'Cause without us his garden would be flawless
The moths came out to his garden
They found me and my kind
And pulled us out with a gun
Treating us like we aren't apart of mankind
We were put on trial by them
And thrown into fire
We were shoved into a room by 'em
And gassed because it was "prior"
Occasionally the moths were bored
So they played hangman with us
This was a game that they adored
All we could do was stare at the hanging carcass
They were our friends and family
They were the only medals we had left
We were too broken to be angry
So we ignored the theft
When the moths got rid of us
They went for the most damaged weeds
That often made us anxious
Because of it some did misdeeds
Some couldn't deal with the pain and fear
So those weeds jumped to the birds
On the floor they left a smear
The smears thought jumping would send them homewards
Though we saw death so many times a day
We were still able to eat and treat people with hate
It was because from our god we have gone astray
Maybe because we were all under weight
In our stomachs prowled lions
Our hunger was so severe
If we found stray scraps we would go for the ****
If you went for the food you were a volunteer
One time we ran out of food
So we complained even more
The moths got tired of our complaining mood
So we ran to a new camp door
We were often moved
We went from camp to camp
Of course we all disapproved
On the house that was based by our stamp
On each of our wrist
Was and inky black stamp
It was on the moths checklist
It was our name in each concentration camp
When we were saved from hell
We were all broken weeds
We couldn't even sleep well
But the ones that saved us answered our needs
The ones that saved us helped end the war
And some were normal citizens
Everyday we are grateful for their loving core
Even if we had great differences
Though the Holocaust made us different
And the memories haunt us
It was kind of a movement
Because now people won't walk into war without a fuss
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 8:40 AM UTC
The Emperor left his palace
with something shiny on his shoulder
it weighed as much as an apple
but was the size of a boulder
it was the greatest weapon
his workers could build
the town awaited its appearance
even though they had foot the bill
Amazing said the scholar as the emperor passed
so much power but such little weight
this right here can save a country
what you hold will educate
we will teach people
and they will listen
and if they won't
we will show them this weapon
splendid said the old lady as the emperor trotted by
I have been waiting all my life for this
we must end all wars
that is my dying wish
now we can do that
we can fight off the opposition
and make sure peace reigns
while our leaders stay in top position
I don't get it said the kid and the emperor stopped
what could you not understand about my gun?
the boy answered this world is full of idiots
and while you are surely not one
there are people out there
who would **** for that gun
let's not act like one large weapon
can change everybody under the sun
what's more likely is that it will only amplify
the issues that should be regional
we'll proclaim "Our gun is big!"
to justify that our choice is final
the bigger the gun
the more people it could ****
and the more people that can die
the more people that will
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 4:22 PM UTC
. . . I have been seeking a new kingdom to call home and your heart, like a castle hides behind great walls,
where both the strong and weak share embarassing flaws.
Unlike just any castle, yours is not on top of a great hill,
nor in the midist of a forest beyond where the waters chill,
its right infront of everyones face who decides to pay attention,
funny that many by pass it because they never seek it, but are ever seeking attention.
Unlike in fairytales, its guarded by pride, humbleness, care and a huge ego,
it rages against anyone who tries to love and care for it, but when it loves back, it never lets go.
Like any castle out there, forcing yourself in will hurt both you and those in it,
the hours you'll take destroying can not be compared to the years you'll take rebuilding it.
So I made up my mind to stand at the gates of these great walls, perfectly built brick for brick,
to proclaim my honour and loyalty for you,to make a promise and stick to it,
because I would rather help you guard it, than play pirate to break down your walls.
So Knight me your majesty, as I report for duty to guard and protect everything that lays behind your great walls. . .
. . . let me make it my new home. . .
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 4:10 PM UTC
My generations at a hold up
Force fed lies by society
We're never gonna grow up
Preoccupied with what we need
We subconsciously become devoured by greed
Insecurity is at the bottom of consumption
"You need ____ to succeed"
We're the last of a dying breed
Materialistic makeup
Our genetics have mutated
We're no longer able to wake up
From the nightmare we've created
Identification has taken a new definition
You are what you posess
Unaware the latest trend is only repetition
Sheltered by our ignorant need
Progress is our main goal
Yet we're unsure of how to proceed
So instead we proclaim our need for change
While spending the last of our common sense
On a fee to enter this stage
Which acts as our cage
Locking us into society's game
It's the final act
Our last chance to fame
Apr 19, 2011
Apr 19, 2011 at 9:53 PM UTC
We have never had to compete.
You are so much older than I am
So much prettier
So much wittier (you have said so yourself).
You are healthy
Not very wealthy
You proclaim your wisdom.
But I don't think you are as wise as you think.
With your doctorate,
You may have book learnin'
But you never learned how to be a part of our family.
I don't live in a liberal state
I don't eat all organic things
I am not involved in as many things
as you feel I should be
But I am trying to find my way
Without destroying our mother.
Every time you come
You bring chaos
And hurtful words.
You bring blame and hate
And you spew it.
You never think of anyone except
For yourself
And you twist the truth
In your mind,
Like you lied about being kidnapped,
Until you believe that you are the wronged.
You don't feel safe?
I don't feel safe with you.
I'm glad we don't compete...
There's no way I could win,
And hurt Mom, or our sister, or our nephew...
Or anyone
As much as you do.
Jun 17, 2010
Jun 17, 2010 at 7:45 AM UTC
She has dated boys before.
Boys who beat her
Boys who ***** her
Boys who did nothing wrong at all
But still did not feel "right."
One of them made fun of her
Told her she must be some kind of lesbian
(As if that was an insult)
If she did not want to have *** with him.
She smiled something sad on the outside
To deflect
To forget
To hide behind.
She thought
And what if I am?
What does that make me?
It's a question that wanders into the unexplored ruins
Of an unkempt mind.
A boy meets boy love story is next on the list.
They both play football
And think that means they must both be "players."
Really, they're falling for each other
With one swift and concise movement.
Boy A cannot tell his parents
As he comes from a rowdy and traditional Italian line.
Boy B is getting fed up
And yet waits, patiently
For his one and only to express this flaring emotion
A love, unexpressed.
Their families, churches and culture
Thinks they can change who they are.
They use different, cruel tactics.
Beat the gay out of him
Excommunication
*Force her to have *** and she will turn straight*
You tell the world that they are an
Abomination
Atrocity
Mutation
And yet, I ask this.
If the Bible was a Holy deity's, a God's message of eternal love
As any good Christian, as I am supposed to be, would proclaim
Then how can it be used to justify
Acts of such hate and genocide?
"I tell you, on the day of judgment people will give account for every careless word they speak"
(Matthew 12:36)
I hope you are prepared for your Judgment Day.
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 7:27 PM UTC
Love triangles never work out you see.
One loves another, who simply loves someone else.
You wait to see if your love will notice you,
or you just standby and watch the love that should've been yours.
Sometimes they look at you and make you wonder,
what if they have feelings for me too and just don't know how to show it!
You talk to them and carefully drop hints, to which they never pick up.
So you decide to be aggressive, and make the first move.
You proclaim your love through letters, texts, and even posts.
Only to be denied and publicly embarrassed.
When you're the lowest you can possibly go,
you notice something out of the corner of your eye.
You turn and see someone sneaking quick glances at you.
You quickly realize that they are in the same position as you.
Stuck in the endless webs of love triangles.
You walk over, introduce yourself( even though they clearly already know)
You leave together realizing that you can't always have what you want,
but you can sure help others try.
You former lover is now single and lonely, but you no longer care.
You're with someone 10 times better than they ever were.
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 12:03 PM UTC
Because of your faithfulness
I am able to stand
On the promise of you
Not the wisdom of man
Because of your faithfulness
I can see past the pain
Of what this world has to offer
As I fall on your name
Because of your faithfulness
What tomorrow may bring
Will not weigh me down
It's your song I will sing
Because of your faithfulness
You pour out your love
On a people in need
Of the glory above
Because of your faithfulness
There is not a one
That can't come to the Father
In the name of the Son
Because of your faithfulness
I will boldly proclaim
The power and glory
Of your Holy name
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 7:38 AM UTC
The Alexandrians were gathered
to see Cleopatra's children,
Caesarion, and his little brothers,
Alexander and Ptolemy, whom for the first
time they lead out to the Gymnasium,
there to proclaim kings,
in front of the grand assembly of the soldiers.
Alexander -- they named him king
of Armenia, Media, and the Parthians.
Ptolemy -- they named him king
of Cilicia, Syria, and Phoenicia.
Caesarion stood more to the front,
dressed in rose-colored silk,
on his breast a bouquet of hyacinths,
his belt a double row of sapphires and amethysts,
his shoes fastened with white
ribbons embroidered with rose pearls.
Him they named more than the younger ones,
him they named King of Kings.
The Alexandrians of course understood
that those were theatrical words.
But the day was warm and poetic,
the sky was a light azure,
the Alexandrian Gymnasium was
a triumphant achievement of art,
the opulence of the courtiers was extraordinary,
Caesarion was full of grace and beauty
(son of Cleopatra, blood of the Lagidae);
and the Alexandrians rushed to the ceremony,
and got enthusiastic, and cheered
in greek, and egyptian, and some in hebrew,
enchanted by the beautiful spectacle --
although they full well knew what all these were worth,
what hollow words these kingships were.
6.4k
It lives in Him breathes in his vitals,
Personifies him and nets out of his veins lethargy,
It dampens what his heart has in offer,
It lays in him waste,
a bewitched rower to this boat,
Who has yet to learn to stay afloat,
His obfuscations lead him sober,
His blind eye dictates his horror,
A pearl beyond imagination he has yet to attain,
To proclaim his name with no distain.
Jun 27, 2025
Jun 27, 2025 at 11:14 PM UTC
I admire your each step,
I admire the mystery around you,
I admire each syllable of every poignant word you press to paper
and the words you do not.
I admire the love you proclaim to have for her,
and if I knew her,
I should think I'd admire her too.
I don't know you
nor shall I ever,
but I can still watch you walk the school halls
and wonder what makes you tick,
what your family does and doesn't do,
what you were like as a child
how you became like this
and how you are able to enchant the world with your writing-
making me eternally frustrated with my own-
ranking my words by whether or not you
like or comment or repost them-
which you don't,
thus I feel a failure.
You have a purpose with your words,
something to say
and you say it so strong
and with such beauty
and heartache
I crave the next time you post-
and I'll evermore continue to wonder
how you became so mighty.
Do you work on your poetry or is it natural?
is it because you read so much?
is it because you don't waste countless hours on the computer
or watch TV?
How did you become you
which is so admirable
and mysterious
and deep
and talented
and unique?
I know I don't have a right to ask these questions
and with what little I know about you
I certainly don't have the right to admire you
and I don't deserve to know your life story,
but I'd like to know anyways.
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 4:55 AM UTC
Butterflies kiss the sage, where sun drips off primrose
into mute lily horns who know but cannot say:
This is the day. In yonder Sycamore a cardinal's question
is answered from afar: This is the day. Sleep no more
fields of green. Arise and be heard all who dwell within.
The night has been, has poured out all its darkness like water
onto parched earth that cannot be gathered up again.
When with eyes as good as closed we peered into the night
what stain had we beheld? Was it ink upon our canvass,
dripping from the trees, running on the lawns and fields,
the gardens deep in slumber, staining dark foreboding hills?
"Be thou, " we cried, "a lamp unto our feet, a light unto our eyes."
What then should we have seen who could not see,
or known who could not know, what has once been made,
once beheld, once loved, what was once our own continues still?
This is the day. Let all who have a sound to make proclaim.
From among the pines, from within the thickets come. Let each one
make his song. This is the day. We shall not sleep therein.
Arrogant and proud the night, let all the living cry. Profound
the darkness. Grave the depth of night. Become a dew
for unction of the lilies who know but cannot say this:
This is the day. Let us rejoice and be glad in it.
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 4:05 PM UTC
I find myself diving inside of you where the weird dream shamans draw sketches of naked humans.
And you’re a human, and we're both naked. You’re purple, you’re just the perfect shade. I place my flag inside, to abscond us away inside of a womb where our world will open to portals to all of our favorite places. A floating haven, of cashmere. Gestating where the climate is warm and damp, and coloring me dark with wine—sweet wine of lovers, penal forgotten, and fermented anew in maternal rite, because…
This swarming melodic nectar that swims through my nostrils and rolls in my eyes cannot be drank casually. It’s the elixir of love. I love you,
And in you, I find that I love myself.
What’s more, the shamanists exclaim, “She wants to give you all of herself.” Yes, they’re right. Even what I do not love so much, I want you to have, if you’ll take it, because I have to live with it, and if you live with me, you’ll have to live with it too. And then, when you crack open your sternum to let the things in, the scribes of my life’s doing, of ancient passion proclaim! They burn their papyrus scrolls soaked in the blood that I drew from my veins to pass unto yours— and you swallow them whole like divine burritos. And then we are ready for the world to fall suddenly, if it felt so inclined. Now that our chests are pressed together, and our tongues are fused tight. We are the daughters of the prima mother. We are the goddesses of our dreams.
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 2:39 PM UTC
The word love,
Isn't even big enough.
There aren't enough stars,
enough sky-
Or even enough space between circulating planets
to desribe how much I love you.
You couldn't count the seconds that I've waited,
The lifetimes that I've lived,
Searching for something bigger than love.
No weight could ever tip this scale-
There isn't a stage big enough,
Or a mountain high enough
to proclaim my feelings for you.
Words just aren't sweet enough and
syllables get mixed up like a foreign language...
A distinguished poem or bestselling novel
would still leave me empty
and looking
For the right word.
No fight could ever be won-
because I am forever in your favor
with a word greater than love,
For my two sons.
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 6:05 PM UTC
I am a sunflower
I am not a rose -- the bloom of the rose does not need to proclaim itself loudly to the world -- its very perfume is the witness of its own sweetness.
I was a psychiatric patient for awhile. This long period of enforced inactivity induced in me a love of reading which stood me in good stead.
It made the inner life of thought and imagination intensely real to me at a very early stage.
This used to absorb my attention so much, when a book was in my hand, that I became almost oblivious to what was going on around me.
During these early days of rapid mental growth, a glorious treasure-trove suddenly opened up to me (like a flower) a whole new world of fantasy and gave me its right of entrance into fresh realms of thought. My heart feel victim to my past lovers like the drug you were supposed to leave alone for awhile cigarettes became my only companions ; Lielanie too she helped with a sunflower like conversations I was enlightened and now I must grow again for my roots are starting to rot once again - my twitter followers and friends are the reason why I'm alive for I could vent and you; subliminally listen Thank You.
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 11:20 AM UTC