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Mystic Ink Plus Dec 2018
Still single?

I feel blessed
Ordinary humans
Can't handle

Angel
What
I'm destined for.
Genre: Viva
Theme: If the question is concerning, let the answer be divine
How is it?
gone \’gôn also ‘gan\

adjective
no longer existing: no longer at a place; departed or lost.

When asked about my favorite memory, I can recall nothing. All that comes into mind is a blur of what has once been, of what things were, right before everything ceased to exist. I remember the shadow of your smile, the echo of your voice, and the silhouette of your embrace. It was the simplest of things, and also the insignificant ones at that, that seems to be tattooed on my mind. Nothing can quite compare to the feel of your lips pressed against mine, to the touch of your hands igniting my body. When it comes to you, all else fades into the background: my fears of commitment, of being not enough.

However, none of it matters now, anyway. Not when all is lost; not when everything is all a little too late. So if one would ask why I do not consider these fragments of memories as my favorite, the answer is quite simple. A favorite memory should be something that could bring you rapture in reminiscing. How could nostalgias centered with you become my favorite if all they do is haunt me of a love lost and another round of “what could have been”?
Once in every dream my brain could come up with, amidst the constant troubling of my nightmares to sleep, I get visions of us holding hand in hand with everyone right there to see. I dream of you singing me to sleep, enveloping me in your warmth all through the night. But this wistful thinking burns all hopes like how a piece of the sun could burn like a coin in my hand. No more, darling, we could not go back to the way it was, no more.

Like a missing piece in a puzzle, I know it is more than a mystery, an enigma, why I vanished suddenly. Are you even still waiting for me? Are you still there pining for my return? If yes, then good for me that I have someone like you. If no, then just know that I completely understand. But whatever the answer may be, I know you deserve an answer. The lies I reasoned with for leaving are not entirely tell-tales. But I did lie, by omission, of denying you the truth of why I wanted out.

As I write this letter to you, I want you to think of me with the sun’s rays illuminating my dark locks. Envision me in a meadow by the hill, with the sun setting behind my back, the pen in my hand with you as the subject of my afternoon daydream. But in this reverie, I do not think of how it feels to be loved by you again neither how it soothes my insides to hear your voice once more. Instead, in this contemplation, I gather all the courage to make myself vulnerable to someone, to entrust a portion of my soul to the hands of another.

I remember how you once asked me, “Will you stay with me no matter what?” You took my lack of answer as an affirmation and kissed me on the forehead instead as we looked at the stars lighting up the night sky. There was a lot of everything that I would have wanted to say but nothing came out of my mouth through every attempt. I wanted to tell you that I could not, that no matter how much I would have wanted that to happen, it would be more than unfair to you if I stayed. No, if you stayed with me.

Do you remember how I told you how my grandfather switched up names of his own daughters? Do you remember the story of how my aunt mistook her past lover to be her husband? You see, love, a year or two from now, I might become them. I have been diagnosed with a terminal memory loss, the Alzheimer’s disease as they would call it, and only time then could dictate the deadline of every single memory I have.

Leaving, as they say, was always a coward’s way out. But is not it dauntless how I braved living without my lifeline, living my life without you? I did not mean to be selfish, dear, but cannot you see how I am being selfless in letting you go? To set you free of me is to protect you from anymore hurt that this condition of mine would bring you. The knowledge of me leaving you for an unknown reason is a more tolerable pain than the reality of me forgetting you in the long run.

“Where were you then?” I was at the far distance looking at you exist without me in the picture. “Who else was there?” No one but your silhouette haunting me every minute. “Saying what?” That it was a mistake to abandon you.

Mourn no more for our lost love, dear. Mourn no more for the longing of what we once had and the regrets of what we could have had. As my every memory of you slowly wanes, always remember how hard I held on to them, the hardest that my brain could ever allow. Sometimes it is bliss to pretend that memory loss happens since the brain gives way for the heart to store the collection of moments we have, that my mind flushes you out to store you inside the core of my body.
But most of all, darling, the pain of leaving is endurable than the unbearable pain of seeing you suffer all because of me, than the inevitable pain of taking one glimpse on the masked agony on your face every single time I would ask “Who are you?” It would hurt to look at your beautiful face with me unable to know even just your name. You see, love, to be gone from your life is far more tolerable than to exist day by day with you in my life slowly vanishing into dust. Always, for always it would only be you. Even after all of my memories plummet into the hollow chasm and they are all gone, gone, just gone.


(k.p.)
Disclaimer: This literary work in prose written in a first-person point of view is penned as a reply to Pablo Neruda’s poem entitled Clenched Soul.
The most painful type of pain,
Is the pain, we never knew would come,
Betray'd by our senses.
The most painful type of pain,
Turns us into trustless husks,
of Who we used to be.
In response to
"Untitled" by **** Em
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2790848/untitled/
pk tunuri Mar 2018
I wish we could fly
High on sky
I'll always wait for your reply
Hope you don't deny

Could you stay along till we die
If not, may I ask you why
Please don't lie
And make me cry
Apporva Arya Jun 2017
Don't mind if a feminist reply instead of a daughter.
Gone are the days when a daughter will sacrifice herself for a family which no longer keep harmony with her after marriage.
Bryan Lunsford Sep 2018
With smiles and laughter through the night,
I watch as she begins to get tired,
With the sight of her sleepy eyes,
As seeing what was once a live wire
Become tired right before my eyes,
It's here, in a moment of dire, she surrenders this night,
With her head resting on my chest,
As only a moment passes by, and softly, as she fails to reply,
I kiss her on her forehead,
And say "I love you angel, goodnight"
Ken Pepiton Jun 5
Apophrenia,

does that mean anything?

Yes, but not to you. It's me who must
discern the meaning
Synchron
ological
linked to words arriving in time to make
magic look easy.

Why would a documentary about the loss
of a national identity,

be made for you. Like why would a poetic muse
think of you,
fake person.

whither come your desires?

familiar desires, we have these in common, they say,
the sayers of what we have in common,

based on
stories.

Nowadays, everybody knows a queer or two,
we have that in common
beware, aware
the divider, twixt soul and spirit,
the cision, cut the cord folded thrice,
cut the cord folded twice,
cut the cord folded once.

tech replaces the twisted cord with
titanium chains, malnamed religion.

Ah, do I have a role. Definer. Re
lig or leg

upsy-daisy, a boost to umph u
past the try to the rite thing,
this is
what I do.
It's good for the whole universe, which
I have prayed for since I was eight.

Referee, blow that whistle!
Why is life unfair?

Life wins. The original deck, was stacked.

Hell, whose idea were you,
whose Idea was I
? Ah, who is gaining power by lying to me? I
wonder
if I knew,
what makes no difference at all,
null, none,
don't count, non re-al-if-iable

ever after now,
don't count. can't count, it hasn't happened, has it?

Tequila could have a spiritual role in this.

I answered, when axt.
Normal, I ignore, such seeming meaning things
But I responded. I got the good news,
and acted asif I had
and everyone noticed

but my friends in church. Ouch. Do you lieve be
that which chains you to a lie? or

do you wink, and think, fishished is as finished is.

or ever the silver cord be broken, how did this
appear
meaningful, to me, to say. Connect.

Whispering anointing flowing down Aaron's beard,

you know, the meaning?
You might be insane.
It's possible.
Or the tequila, yeah. It could be that.

---
the war of my calling, the warrior I can't help
but be,
or wish to be,
the hero of the story who saves the world

from lies let be true,
when you know,
it ain't so.

---
ah, why did the lies arise, oh, the money was made
available

we are
wonderfully
fully wonder made and cautious, wise, stay alive

translate that
fearfully,
and wonderfully made. Be okeh with that, even if George Fox is BS.
And the rich get rich

and the fact remains, the poor, so-called,
are always with you. We don't mind.

recrudescense, is an old redeem-ed word,
when you learn
there is a word for nearly every common thing.
Made raw, re-crud-escense
Even being rubbed raw trying to scritch an
unscritchible itch...

Can you handle the truth?

you may be those who have been called to take America,
the idea,
to a new task, to paraphrase Cecil William c. 1966

there are strokes of edge
ed weapons, mighty, through God, if you can belive that,
trustme,
belive and believe are some different here,

we make the difference real. Phrenia of any sort can't make us lie.

That ol' TG she be I am
wild as the wind, I laughed, you're just

out there, by yourself and everything is
about you, in a swirling
round about way.
As we charged the original al-go rythm, I'll go
be a suggestion to global brain's frontal cortex,
urging gestation progression of manifestation,
whispering to the search engine at the corp, of
the company with "don't be evil"
as a motto,

or was that a mantra, a plea to set truth free,

an ins tru ment of thought, set free... I be
let it be
and, so it goes. You know.

May you do no harm, ya'all.
A night of magic fingers, as it were,an altered state.
Bryan Lunsford Aug 2018
It is within an unusually warm and early spring night,
Here, where I begin to feel something ever so unusual while looking deeply into this goddess' eyes,

With her eyes like a pair of diamonds sparkling in the sky,
It's at this moment–in this part of the night–
Love simply didn't need a reply,

With candles lit,
As it's surely to her delight,
And with rose petals all over the bed–
That, surely, was to her surprise,

Though, right now,
Can you really blame me for having this nervous butterfly-feeling whirling around inside?

For this will be the first-ever night that I'll get to hold this beauty tight,

And for such a divine beauty,
Surely I'd make any sacrifice to make sure her every whim and need is perfectly sufficed,

Yes, with our feelings for each other that couldn't be more pure or refined,
I already know, without hesitance, our love would satisfy any god's most delicate appetite inside,

And although, this world may never know how I truly feel inside,
I, myself, know with certainty that I love this woman more than anything I've ever loved in my whole life,

Yet, with nothing more than the sound of crickets chirping within the night,
I proceed to lay this beauty down–
Here, pulling her close to my side (where I tell her)
"I love you, angel, good night",

And even though, our love never did need a reply,
She said
"I love you too, sweet dreams baby, don't forget to hold me ever so tight",

And thus with this crazy, whirling, butterfly-feeling, again, that I begin to feel take over inside,
She rolls over unexpectedly and surprises me with a kiss to seal any other reply–
To only roll back over and close her eyes,

Oh, and in the midst of her every action–every move leaving me mesmerized,
She decides to move an inch closer to me,
(Where I wrap my arm around her thighs)
As it's also nearly simultaneously that I hear the clock's stride finally hit midnight,

With a chime that struck once–
Then struck twice,
I begin to hear a set of chimes strike–and strike until they chime twelve times,  
(As these chimes come from this evilly wicked, horrid and heinous clock of mine)

Yes!–with this clock being a clock that through time I have come to slowly hate and despise!

Though, this tower of a clock reminds me of its presence with not the tics nor the tocs–
No, only when the minute hand climbs and the hour's hand meets another notch,

As only then, within that second of the minute, does my mind's thoughts get crossed and rocked–
With my thoughts that become locked within a box
(As it'll be for the next sixty minutes)
I'll just lie there and remain distraught,

Oh, and you ask why?–
Simply because of this chiming noise that won't stop!

With these reoccurring chimes that take my sleep and make most nights a loss–
I can assure you that if I don't go to bed by one or two o'clock,
Any sleep for me will become more and more implausible by every tic of the clock,

Yes, nearly impossible–
For it'll be with the next four or five hours, I'll just lie there, roll, and toss,

Though this is a different night!–
As I'm reminded with our legs crossed and with our fingers interlocked,

Yet, here as I begin to feel the warmth of her body block and fend off any kind or sorts of lingering winter's frost,
I also sense that numerous candles are still glowing bright,
(With the sight of their ambient light flickering off of the bedside's wall from abroad)

And, within this room filled with sentiment as I hear not a sound at all,
I smell the candle's aromatic scents,
With the atmosphere within the air being ever so calm,

Until that is, I hear another chime of a ****–
With it sounding like a melody that's gone ever so wrong–
It's with this tower of a clock, right here, that has just let me know it's now the hour of one o'clock–
And one o'clock, right on the dot,

With only one lone chime that I heard–as everything then simply paused and stopped,

Though, within my mind and with these thoughts that refuse to stop,
I reassure myself–
Knowing that the time is only one o'clock,

For I know I still have an aplenty of time to close my eyes and make these endless lines of thoughts stop,

So to this brilliant mind of mine,
You know that it's clearly time to let these thoughts wander off,

Just close your eyes and let your mind stop–

Though, didn't I just say enough with your thoughts?

Oh, and I can see you might think a lot,
But clearly and obviously you're not thinking about squat!

So just stop or I swear to god,
If you don't stop with these god awful thoughts,
I'll have no other option than to smash and squash your head against these bricks outside of this wall and then leave you there to rot–

For if you don't stop this exact instant then I am almost certain your beautiful woman will become a loss,

And I'm sure you don't want that to happen again, now do you?

So just stop with these thoughts–
Quit fooling around and whatever you do–
Oh, and whatever you do,
Don't let this beauty see that crazed loony side inside of you,

Just fall asleep now and you both can wake up tomorrow around noon,

Yes, just close your eyes and count these sheep jumping over the moon,
And count them jumping one by one–then two by two,

Yet, between one and two,
Surely I knew I was bound to come unglued,
(With the loony that came right out of me as I hear a tune)

With a chime that struck once and then twice,
It left my mind to know not what to do,

Though, that doesn't mean I am confused,
With the duo of chimes that struck–
Only letting me know it's now into the minutes of the night that come directly after two,

And though,
As I begin feeling as if a disaster was nearing in soon,
Still, I knew not what to do–

Because I know nothing as I'm thinking of nothing and just fading away within the scents of her perfume,

(Where I begin fading away within this serenity and hearing not a tune)
I feel the weight of my eyelids begin to feel like a caving-in roof weighing at least a ton or two,

And with just one of a few wondrous thoughts still wandering on through,
I wonder
"Could this be sleep that is nearing in soon?”,

With this feeling of a wonderful tranquil sensation subduing and leaving my whole body consumed,
(As I'm weary and with clearly not a thought left in this room)
I take one last deep breath
(With my lungs swelling like a balloon)

And within a dream is where I have just entered into–:
UNTIL ABRUPTLY I HEAR A SNOOZING OF A TUNE!

Yes!–As I'm awakened and with the insanity within in me being let loose to roam throughout this room,
My mind, then, begins to shift back and forth (like something caught drifting between a typhoon and a monsoon)

Where realizing as I view that I've opened my eyes too soon–
With it being this beauty here of mine that is the one who is creating this horrendous little tune,

And feeling, as I hear–
With every single breath that she breathes rattling the room–the walls–and even the shingles upon the roof,
I feel my mind, here, completely coming all the way unglued–
For all I want to do is make everything within this room mute!

Yes, that's all I want to do!–

For I’m sure I wouldn't even be in such a foul mood if I wasn’t sleep deprived,
And if this beauty here of mine and her snoring roar weren’t the main culprits of keeping me, my mind, and this night alive,

Though, hearing with her roaring of a snore that is beginning to drive me crazy inside–
Yes, as she snores, there!–just an inch or two away from my side–
I hear with her snore only growing more and more–

As I, then, within this second, try to ignore a chord of chimes striking once, and then striking twice,
(With this clock striking three times to remind me once again of the time)

–With this night now being at least 3:03, 3:04, and could possibly even be 3:05,
I know this night is at the most three or four hours away from seeing the sun shine bright through my window blinds,

Oh, and surely I already know I probably would just close my eyes–
Yes, that's probably what I would do!
But this little beauty here of mine is worse than any set of chimes,

And surely indecisive,
(As I move the pillow over my ears while I'm consumed by an irritating form of fright)
I move my body a little to the left and then a few inches to the right,
Where I hear her demon's rumbling from inside,
And screaming as if they're trying to come out and fight–

(Which is where I begin thinking)
“Is waking her up really that much of a crime?”

For if she knew she was snoring at such a high decibel level,
Then I'm sure she wouldn't even mind,

And thus with my decisions that couldn't agree more with my mind,
I decide to slightly lift her head and wiggle her,
(As I nearly tickle her left side)

Whispering to her as I say,
"Baby, wake up, I just had the worst dream of my life!
Oh, baby, wake up, I just need to see those sweet little angel eyes!",

Though motionless–
There, as I try to keep my insane and crazy side inside,
My whisper begins to intensify to a scream
(As she refuses to open her eyes or give me a reply)

I continued to scream–SCREAMED!

"Oh, why, oh, why won't you open your eyes!",

And with her snore being the only reply that she could give me,
It literally drove me crazy inside–
Thus driving me as it drove me to climb on top of her body,
(Where I grab her nose and squeeze)

As it's within the silence and in this exact instant,
Instantly and unbelievably, I see I've hit a stride that I couldn't believe,

Yes, mesmerized!
And content beyond belief–
With her snoring, here, that has finally ceased–

–Casually, I proceed to climb off of her body
(Wherein realization I finally can go back to sleep)

And in the silence, again, as I hear not a peep,
I roll over, close my eyes, and before I could even count one jumping sheep,
I hear a roar once more coming from this treacherous little beast,

And surely with not a second more could I go without sleep,
(As this pillow, right here, has just become my best friend, and the most plausible way to get any sleep)
I decide to move this pillow over her face–with my exertion at first lacking any tenacity,

But what I'd end up hearing would be like a growl or a roar of a wicked beast,

With this sinister snore of hers only increasing more and more with every tic of my heart's beat,
I begin to feel my thoughts shift toward the sentiment of either insane or crazy,

(As my hands push with more and more of an intensity)
I begin sweating–feeling the smothering warmth of her body's heat,

Though, simultaneously as I hear her heart throb and knock an unstoppable and irregular beat,
I begin putting even more weight upon this pillowcase
(With a galore of my sweat dripping upon these sheets)

And surely I have to know,
(For it should be as obvious as could be)
That if I put any more weight upon this pillowcase,
I'd likely break through the toughest of the most unbreakable concretes,

And thus coming to the realization–
With this crazy side of me that has taken over and been unleashed surely not being me,

It's here, against the greatest of restraints
(As I'm barely able to climb off of her body)
I climb off and begin waiting within the silence–

Waiting and hearing not a peep,
Where seemingly prompting myself to say,
Here, as I speak!
"Good night baby–sweet dreams",

Though, I'd hear not a reply–
As a reply was something our love never did need,

Yet, as I roll over to climb under these sheets and close my eyes
(Where simultaneously it all has seemed)
I have fallen fast asleep within a dream while holding my sleeping beauty tight–

Holding her as I squeeze–
Holding her!–
With her heart that holds not a beat–.
CK Baker Jan 2017
cedar planks line the dim lit hall
morning snow begins to fall
sepia print in a chip wood frame
embers spark from the franklin flame

rustling sounds from bunks below
records play in a tight alcove
bacon grills on the iron sheet
gloves are warmed by baseboard heat

bean bags tossed on colored ****
papka placed as a punching bag
red brick wall with mounted poles
windows filled with glacier bowls

whiskey jack on the southern rail
a frozen patch of wine and ale
pine cones fall in gathering white
brothers bathed in firelight

sleighs are on the table top
canyon road is at a stop
northern winds that bite the face
lines are up the gondola base

cornice clipped on gully goat
the rubber man appears to float
alpine depths are on the rise
peaking sun through parting skies

triple ropes and nordic luge
honored guests from baton rouge
gelande jumps on rainbow drive
nostalgia’s light and warm reply
Shi Em Jun 2018
you are the draft
of my poetries
that I have kept hidden.
you've taught me how to render
all these feelings to be unspoken.

you are the song
by which the octave
of my voice can't reach;
and yet I still try to sing you in secrecy.

you are the art
that my simple mind
can't seem to understand
but it's okay, because I feel you
and that's what gives these emotions
an infinite ampersand.

you are all these,
and yet to me, you are still nothing.
because in this life, that is all we are, and is all what we are ever going to be: nothing.
and I - although it hurts, have learned the hard way on how to accept that.
The Second Daniel, thought to overcome
Four more Visions conjured out of his Wand
Without reply does he renounce his Sum,
Later added Better Digits on hand
Mindly notice how this Social Train plays
Slowly taking Commuters off the Tracks
Which this Conductor sadly he displays
And the Tickets he hoped he would get back
You were not the First. This I can assure
But Sincerity a Note only you choose
This Soul, called Will, independent from cure
Balanced on Scales gives your Career a Boost.
If Reason be Creed, then Failure is Heart
Sir, not all Jewels you can just Compart.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Shofi Ahmed Sep 2018
When I see the same star
every night, I ask
where did you go
at the end of the last night?

Skipping the gap!
It always gives me
the same reply.
See you tomorrow night!
I wonder as one read this poem what pops up in the mind in terms of life, nature and the time and space?
gracie Jan 2018
Last night, I begged the stars
to tell me their secrets,
but there was no reply
only
celestial silence
...

I wonder if I'm closer than I've ever been.
Flavia Nov 2012
You and I were different
From all the Other kids
You and I had demons
that the others never did.
You and I felt feelings
never hesitant to share.
you had Gall to say the thing
that I would never dare.
You laughed at my mock confidence
and saw right through my Show.
You showered me with compliments
that sent me all aglow.
I was a writer on the brink
of breaking down in tears;
You wrote songs that spoke about
my pain for all those years.
You watched me weary eyed and tired
when life would be me down.
You told me "Show your bravery
and get out of this town."
"Follow me," you murmured
"There's a peaceful world beyond,
free from all insanity
where we'd laugh and share and bond."
"Don't be Silly!" I'd reply,
dormant in a daze
I never thought, I never saw,
till you vanished in the haze.
Your funeral was touching:
A mirror of your presence
Your words were read--Your songs were heard;
You're memory's effervescent.
So here's to you, my fallen friend
I raise my glass in sorrow.
Because never will I say again:
"Oh, I'll tell him Tomorrow."
Bek Apr 2016
You love me. You don't. You care. I think. Ignore me. Love me. Confuse me. Ignore me. Confess your love. Make me smile. Take it away. Sleep with someone else. Make love to me. Let me cuddle you. You choose me. Ignore me. Cook you dinner. This is nice. You're nice. Ignore me. Rip me apart. You miss me. Walls come down. "I feel hurt". Ignore me. Begging again. Take me back. One night. It's not over. It's over. My reaction. His reply. "This is why." Ignore me. Soul cries. Love me.
My soul is screaming. Why did he choose me to play games with?
The Rogue Poet Nov 2013
The pain of a broken heart,
As you left me to rub salt in the wound,
I watched your back as you left cold-heartedly,
Sitting in my room alone I weep,
From the exhaustion I cry myself to sleep...
The nightmares of you with another,
Just wanting you to come over,
Just tell me that it's not over,
As I wait day after day,
But no reply, just the awful cold shoulder...
Im starting to hate you, resent you, but still have Love for you...
My emotions scattered as moving on alone is not easy,
The healing of a broken heart is not easy,
To find another without thinking about you? Not that simple...
I am at a dead end. What am I to do? The last few years I've been with you.
I don't know how to move on, I don't know where to start.
At this point I feel empty and I feel like dying to end it all!
I wish this pain onto no one. I ask, "why me?"
Will I ever move on?...



{RP}
Kara Jean Jul 2016
I questioned tomorrow

Are you real or fake?
Am I afraid of you or do you make me stupid brave?
Do you love or hate?
Will you consider being easy on me?

Sadly, tomorrow had no reply

He just came

Day by day

Moment by moment

All I really can do is try to create my tomorrow today
Collins learns Jul 2018
I have been forced,
Out of domicile,
And now **** bored,
With sojourners' world worthwhile.

I used to love phones,
It's versatility in functioning,
Obeying instructions  at all zones,
I loved making calls and chatting .

That was long ago ,
When it made me feel at home,
Simply chatting could let go ,
Steam and heartbreak loom.

Not now at this century ,
Where them need airtime to pick  a call,
Where successive missed  calls arouse no worry,
When they no bother reply at all.

I won't lower my self -esteem,
Not because of them dissaproval,
That I aint  classy and fit for hymn,
Its okey if u take me for a mall.

Needless fight a loosing battle anymore ,
You won't torture me again as u laugh,
Beaming is me at nirvana jaw,
I declare enough is enough.
Poetoftheway Jul 2018
Ilion gray
poet extraordinary
is away
learning the codes hidden in raindrops

no reason for surprise;

for the mountains of Brooklyn, the Manhattan caverns of Sunhenge^, corridors of narrow focus for trapping the declining sun rays,

neither high enough, narrow blinding,
to keep a good man from doing good things that life provides as opportunities
to do the right thing

he muses that it took five years for the other poets to understand our
poem-dreams;
avant-garde he says,
but I laugh,
never felt more misunderstood
and reply take care, be
en garde!

no matter for he is learning a new language,
the codes hidden in raindrops in a land of wheat
once called Indian Territory and eager
await his return so we may
walk along the Brooklyn shoreline,
beginning from under the Brooklyn Bridge
where Washington’s men escaped a British trap

and he can decode for me the whispery thunderous noises of
NY
showers that come up so sudden,  so roughened, but right now,
the seductive sun blinks in Manhattan windowed towers reflecting back on to our East River as golden blinks of nature

We will walk lost in the absorption of our
different commonalities, holding the hands of
his young son, and my Wendy,
both of them equal in possession of round saucer eyes
that give us poems

He calls me me friend,
I call him brother, teacher, master, better than the best,
well recalling a late night message that bred
a five year conversation ongoing

not everything need be coded
what you read here
it is not coded,
for the raindrops come clear and clean
and the poems land on our tongues
bounce on the foreheads and eyes of the babes, all stored and saved for the future blessings spoken in a single tongue

7/18/18



^https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manhattanhenge
#Ilion codes brooklyn by NY
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