"resounded" poems
Out of a **** he made Great Art
It was no ordinary **** no!
It was straight from the heart, that
****
It had lain too long in the dark
Now was it's time to start
To make its bid for freedom... and for stardom.
It flew like a dart that **** from the
heart
Like an arrow strung from Cupids
bow
Little did it know how luminous it'd
glow
Becoming one of the Greats in the
Farting Canon.
It was probably the greatest **** poem
ever written
In my own humble opinion
It was very daring and it smelt of
onion
It was certainly the fairest fartiest
poem I ever seen
If it was one of the three Musketeers
It would have to have been
D'artagoine.
It inflated like a balloon, blew up like
a great glass bubble
Then it popped and headed off
toward England
Flying further afield than any ****
had ever flown
It touched people's hearts, bewitched
every nation
Resounded around the world
Yea! was heard in every Kingdom.
It flew long, it rounded the Horn
Like a Lark, that **** it soared and
sung
It was no boring old ****
It was far fartier and fruiter than that
It was a King of Farts
Way above the fartiest of farters and
all the farting Arthurs
It was the real King Arthur
The King Arthur of all farts and
Farters.
A real Belter was that **** that came
from the heart
That had all the Angels singing in
their cloisters,
A real work of Art just like Mozart
Or remember... remember your
Shakespeare
"Hark! A **** a **** Whereforth art ?
Thou ****
It played its part, that **** yea! it
wielded its Excalibur.
O! there's nothing I'd rather do than lie here blowing sweet bubbles next
to you
You! on your little flutey flute flute and
Me! on my big Bass Trombone.
Jul 24, 2020
Jul 24, 2020 at 7:24 PM UTC
It is not punishment
if you don't feel
pain
embarrassed
humiliated
even
if there's force
anger resounded
curses pronounced.
Punitive means
can come
in the form of simplest actions,
sometimes without intentions.
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 10:24 PM UTC
the october rose is wistful and reticent
our defenses dense like sediment and sentences
love descends like a fog
and we begin as quickly to depart
our dialogue takes many turns
from staunch to raunchy in a few minutes
there is no need to be concerned
its only in our heads
our needs no longer mean anything
love is lost in forms
amidst the storms of anger and rage
imprisoning our souls
dinosaur bones roam the earth
i went out in search of chrysanthemums
and instead i found you lying on the ground
making a pillow out of superconductive fungi
to test your theories of interconnectivity
what transpired cannot be spoken about
all my doubts vanished and the words that were spoken
resounded for days in my being
as if they echoed from within some part of me
that had always longed to hear them
Apr 15, 2018
Apr 15, 2018 at 11:44 PM UTC
The world has ****** you
For your three-fold ugliness.
ugly personality, ugly appearance,
your ugly obsession,
Insanely, valiantly, I loved your smile
Against the protests that resounded.
But you loved your fantasy girls
And my love you hated like poison.
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 11:08 AM UTC
I can still remember.
That burning feeling of inspiration, bubbling up through my body.
It dominated me, defined me, led me to believe that I was my own hero.
A protagonist on a quest, a road to travel on, certainty in my bones.
Driven by love through the narration of my world, my story.
Words overflowed from my heart.
Staining the tracks, pages, and lilies of my life with my fire.
Every heartbeat resounded like the clanging of a tower's bells.
Each ring dictating time, order, purpose, place.
I can still remember.
The lingering taste of coffee on my tongue, my face sore from smiling.
Hours spent talking and listening.
The content of my life summarized like chapters of a book.
The way my heart vaulted when your eyes met mine.
It was like the moon pulling at the tides.
Giving the waves motion and momentum.
So I spilled my ink and blood, writing you into the story.
I can still remember.
What it was like when it was over.
I hadn't realized I had been living in a cell.
Scrawling my visions of the world onto every inch of those four walls.
Diagrams and diatribes, the things I considered to be myself.
Going mad in the most wonderful fashion.
As I left I saw them for what they were.
Mosaics and memorials.
Poison and poetry.
The passionate magic of first and finals, the ****** taste of loss.
But **** it was beautiful all the same.
I can still remember.
What it felt like to move on.
The taste of freedom and fresh air, an urge to defy what was.
And become something more again.
But suddenly, the bleeding in my heart slowed.
The resounding clangs of my inner bells softly faded.
It took years,
But one day I reached inside myself
Expecting to feel the fire burning inside me.
I can still remember.
The dread that came with the lack of heat.
The soul of myself, the definition of me as the hero.
Was only embers now.
The easy numbness that washed over me.
The determination and inspiration that was me had left.
I was broken, as I always was.
But I no longer knew myself as beautiful.
I was not a protagonist.
I had written myself out of my own story, slowly but surely.
There was no quest, no journey, no one to save or be saved by.
Just whatever I have become.
I hope one day to remember.
My clumsy and earnest return to form.
When my heart again bled ink and crackled with flame.
May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 3:21 PM UTC
She and I exchanged disdainful glances
across the parking lot. The verbally brash
invitation she gave me at 10:30 two nights
earlier from a low-riding car resounded
in my brain. She wanted our graduating class
to get together and sit awkwardly around
a campfire while a few reminisced
of homeroom and half days back in high
school. And as the last few embers glowed
like residence halls, she would clear
her throat and bash college. She’d denounce
the curriculum, professors, and parking spaces
then praise the days of hurrying through carpeted
hallways and freshmen traffic. To see our classmates
laughing with hands outstretched to the flames
would bring a smile to her summer-chapped lips.
But we’re no longer classmates.
We’re just seventeen people trying to live our lives
outside the confines of Galeton High School. Sure,
we’ll bite our tongues and fake smiles every now
and then, but we’ll never be more than superficial.
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 2:36 PM UTC
This tongue broadcasts
hushed tones of satanic nature
And strange snickers
resounded throughout the canyons
Chanting nocturnes as irking
as a rhino horn against a chalkboard
yet the prophecy remained clear
I had to find this beast
Sep 7, 2012
Sep 7, 2012 at 10:59 PM UTC
The day had been set,
And we were all ready--
The crunchy snow was waiting too—
The frigid sky watched us overhead.
Anticipation was building
like steam in the pit of my stomach
We leapt out of the truck
And sunk right into the snow.
After a few kids slid down
The rollercoastering hill,
I went down screaming,
Blurred colors rushed into my eyes.
My tube detached from my ****
Snow went everywhere:
In my face, down my back
My cheeks were frozen in place.
I arrived at the bottom,
Quicker than I expected,
And waited in the powder
For a snowmobile boy
The contraption roared and sped
I dropped the tube,
And held on for my life,
Then dropped myself too.
We tried again,
With the tube around my middle,
The tube a giant donut
I was the creamy center.
I made up to the top,
Triumphantly soaked from my outside in,
Cheers resounded and bounced
In the valley and off the frozen lake.
Feb 27, 2012
Feb 27, 2012 at 11:51 PM UTC
Oh! mihi præteritos referat si Jupiter annos.
VIRGIL.
Ye scenes of my childhood, whose lov’d recollection
Embitters the present, compar’d with the past;
Where science first dawn’d on the powers of reflection,
And friendships were form’d, too romantic to last;
Where fancy, yet, joys to retrace the resemblance
Of comrades, in friendship and mischief allied;
How welcome to me your ne’er fading remembrance,
Which rests in the ***** though hope is deny’d!
Again I revisit the hills where we sported,
The streams where we swam, and the fields where we fought;
The school where, loud warn’d by the bell, we resorted,
To pore o’er the precepts by Pedagogues taught.
Again I behold where for hours I have ponder’d,
As reclining, at eve, on yon tombstone I lay;
Or round the steep brow of the churchyard I wander’d,
To catch the last gleam of the sun’s setting ray.
I once more view the room, with spectators surrounded,
Where, as Zanga, I trod on Alonzo o’erthrown;
While, to swell my young pride, such applauses resounded,
I fancied that Mossop himself was outshone.
Or, as Lear, I pour’d forth the deep imprecation,
By my daughters, of kingdom and reason depriv’d;
Till, fir’d by loud plaudits and self-adulation,
I regarded myself as a Garrick reviv’d.
Ye dreams of my boyhood, how much I regret you!
Unfaded your memory dwells in my breast;
Though sad and deserted, I ne’er can forget you:
Your pleasures may still be in fancy possest.
To Ida full oft may remembrance restore me,
While Fate shall the shades of the future unroll!
Since Darkness o’ershadows the prospect before me,
More dear is the beam of the past to my soul!
But if, through the course of the years which await me,
Some new scene of pleasure should open to view,
I will say, while with rapture the thought shall elate me,
“Oh! such were the days which my infancy knew.”
1.7k
Once thin skinned like orchid petals all
frustration was mistaken for tears.
Then resilience took over so to cry
only having the feeling of no amend.
So far bones resounded metal cold,
lack of nearness is not about fears
but to save weeping for better times,
trying to roll over any sign of dead-end.
Whether eyes or not drops come from
They're salty stories and may reveal
promises made to oneself but unkept in life
like the notion tears fall not at our command.
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 5:16 AM UTC
#
***The twilight clouds
went scudding past
like witches on their brooms.
The sound of laughter
filled the night
as ghouls departed tombs.
"Trick or treat!"
resounded
as menageries filed by...
Filling up their bags with loot
while candy stores ran dry.
Dentists filled appointments books
in brisk anticipation...
Knowing that enamel
would not stand
such laceration.
Zombies stagger down the street
and vampires trip on capes.
Power Rangers, Ninja Turtles,
Frankenstein escapes!
Princesses and knights with swords,
mummies by the score...
Ghosts and goblins saunter by
and darkened homes ignore.
Masks of every shape and type
monsters and the like...
Arriving via motor pool
on foot, skateboard and bike.
Kids of every age invade
demanding tribute thus...
(Oh dear...
here comes another group
arriving on a bus.)
People donning hobo clothes
adorned in eye-holed sheets...
Wearing out the doorbells
on the darkened,
porch lit streets.
Jack o lanterns
hiss and spit
as candles soon expire.
Children head back home
to count their swag
and then retire.
At last
the tempest peters out.
The pageantry is gone.
I look out
at the candy wrappers
littering the lawn.
Another Halloween is done.
I hope they had their fill.
"Trick or treat!"
still resonates
I hear its echoes still.
But... just around the corner
as Thanksgiving season nears...
We hear the spiels and ads
of all the rabid marketeers.
Turkeys gobble restlessly
at axes sharp and keen...
For them...
this is a nightmare...
just another Halloween.***
#
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 9:43 AM UTC
i.
Thitherward to Corinth,
Thus wherein mine
Grandfather's dad
Was from. To seeith
The bards of old,
Legends of agora
Soul, mingling
With the
Aegean
Sea. O' the natural spring's
Of healing properties, a place
Of new testament biblical fact
And history. How I wouldst hath
Adored to seeith the apostle Paul,
First known as Saul of tarsus; eye's
Once sealed, then opened; By the son
Of God. Fain were the Grecians, in
Yesteryear's thought. The turquoise foam
Betwixt their homes, the beauty was told
And taught. Hither the Mediterranean center
I want to be, scribbling-scrawling, prophetically.
Breathing in the aura, mine ancestors once did.
Spirit-floating the isle's, of pious hymn's for mankind's sin.
Rendering the prognostication's, told in God's own word's,
Rouse a sleeping nation, that once resounded the laureates shores.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Prophetic poetry
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 12:01 AM UTC
The Lady Mary took to her bed
On the last of the mad March days,
She’d strained her constitution, she said
At that upstart, Shakespeare’s plays,
The ruffians at the Globe were known
To be often rotten with fleas,
‘I must have been bitten,’ Milady said
With her skirt drawn up to her knees.
The footman fastened a painted sign
‘No Visitors’ up at the door,
While one of the maids got down on her knees
And scrubbed at the parquet floor,
Milady took to her poster bed
By a window out to the square,
‘You’d best get down to the Fleet,’ she said,
‘Lord Orton is working there.’
The doctor came with his physic
Carried a nosegay close to his face,
The cane that he prodded Milady with
Would leave her with little grace,
‘The swellings down in Milady’s groin
Will have to be truly bled,
A mixture of clay and violets then
Applied to the sores,’ he said.
The mist swept in and the night came down
As the fever grew apace,
And dark black pustules grew and swarmed
At the Lady Mary’s face,
A shadow fell on the window pane
Of a man stood out in the square,
‘Who is that nightly visitant,
And what is he doing there?’
She couldn’t make out his features for
His hat was broad of brim,
Shading his face and hawk-like nose
Though he kept on looking in,
‘I have a terrible feeling that
I’ve seen that man before,
He’s come from the coffin-maker, and
He waits outside my door.’
She slipped off into unconsciousness
So the footman let him in,
To measure her with a piece of twine
From her head to below her shin,
They waited then for an hour or two
While the doctor had her bled,
She cried aloud at a fancied shroud
And she shrank from it, in dread.
Late on the second day she woke
Lord Orton at her side,
Holding a faded nosegay to
Protect him from his bride,
She heard the clatter of wheels pull up
Outside in the darkened court,
And cried, ‘My Lord, will you leave me now
That my time is running short?’
She lapsed back into a coma, but
She could feel the tremors start,
And something strange had begun to change
In the beating of her heart,
A rattle deep in her throat began
And resounded through her head,
Just as a voice, it seemed to her,
Called out, ‘Bring out your dead!’
David Lewis Paget
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 9:32 PM UTC
Shepard in a field,
crucified upon a wooden fence
Your grieving flock was scattered
worldly
Liberty's book was swiftly plunged into
the blood of bigotry
Fascism laughed in tones of red, white and blue
Land where our fathers died
Land where our bigots hide
I say to you Amen...
I love Jesus;
you must too
resounded these hollow
words
Hate is now the doctrine
intertwined morph-boiled into fear and hate,
being poured over enlightenment
in destruction of green lands
engulfing
youthful sprouts
in destructive steamy waters
The book of Leviticus
is the demise of reason
fractured from critical thinking;
allocated to the current pulped-swine,
swaying in hypnosis listeners of these pulpit-swine-beasts;
they embark with twisted trepidation's disdain
Shepard in other fields of life
into brute submissions
you will succumb being baptised
in your own red pools,
being smitten by the pulpit-swine-listners
of ancient prophets
The dirge, the slow dirge is heard
throughout our delicate land
Ooh sweet brilliant Oscar, we still suffer
as you had
my brilliant Irish lad
I love Jesus
you
must too
My country tis not for me
sweet land of bigotry
to thee I sing, to thee I sing...
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 6:57 PM UTC
A vehicle rumbled along a sorry excuse for a road,
A convoy trailing behind it
A soldier looked out his window
Watching the dust swirl up in clouds beneath the
Heavy vehicle's tires
He said nothing to his partner and they rode in silence
He, thinking of his perfect baby
Whom he had not yet gotten to feel the warmth of
In his arms
And his partner, he was sure
Had nothing but the image of his fiancée racing through his mind
She was all he ever talked about
They were close
As close as a pair of friends could possibly be
But rides were becoming increasingly more solemn
Unspoken yearning for home had become almost unbearable
These days the soldier missed home so much
And longed so badly for his wife's warm embrace
That he swore he could feel his heart aching
The solemn silence was broken as something caught the soldier's eye
"Stop!"
The convoy came to a halt
The soldier jumped from his vehicle
His boots making a hard thud on the ground below
He called to a group of Afghani children who had been
Collecting shell casings they would later exchange for food
In the middle of the convoy's path
The children looked up, alarmed
And scurried away
The rumble of the military vehicles again resounded
Through the desert
And the convoy continued on its way
Looking back
At the men in the strange uniforms
With the huge trucks,
A little Afghani girl
Caught a glimpse of the sunlight
Bouncing off of something
In the middle of the road
She rushed into the street to collect it
Thinking only of how pleased
Her mother would be
With all the money they would earn
From her painstaking hunt
The soldier saw the young girl
Dart into the path of the convoy
He shouted
And leapt from the vehicle
The girl looked up in terror
As she saw the big trucks
Getting closer
And closer
The soldier leapt into
The path
Of the oncoming sixteen-ton vehicle
Toppling the girl to the ground
As she sat up, out of the path of the convoy
Dusting her self off and
Trying to comprehend
What had just taken place
She looked into the road searching for her
Treasure
And saw it
Reflecting the desert sunlight
Just inches from the still form
Of the soldier
Who had just
Given her
His life
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 12:00 AM UTC
Mirthful sunlit chimes spoke of fondness
Ever they'd enmesh in love's binding tress
Streams of joy did gurgle with much delight
Their hearts according in rapture's notes
Bright news resounded through these totes
They'd professed to each other love's tie
Twas a pairing which would ne'er fade or die
Heavens arrayed in spangling starlight
The twosome combined so divinely
A sweet syrup bliss ringing sublimely
Love's declaration pleasantly pealing
Throughout the continents both near and wide
The turtle doves love ever to reside
These gladdest tidings truly appealing
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 1:15 AM UTC
I walked alone that afternoon, the middle of December
an unusually warm winter
65 degrees, I shed my jacket with memories
of shivers
On the playground, with the taste of slides, and foursquare, on my tongue, I
Ran through the swings and monkey bars and laughing children, I
Laughed into the wind, chest forward, hair flying, eyes invincible
Eyes like fire
Rain came without warning and your footsteps caught up with mine,
In rhythm with the beat of the drops
Our hearts beat in rhythm with the drops on the asphalt
I walked alone, but you crowded my thoughts
Brother, you haunt my mind with memories of when we fought
I’m running again, to shake off the wetness
I’m shaking off tears, I swear I’m doing my best
It’s the only thing left I can do is to cry
And breathe, sometimes, without knowing why
This moment is silly I’m thinking
A private moment like this, how
Invades this feeling
of sand, it’s sinking
And I’m waist-deep, in my own wasting speeches
And your voice is caught in between, like leeches
On my skin in the places I can’t reach
I remember orchards, and peaches, and sweetness
I am the feeling of remorse, my hands are coarse,
My throat is numb, my God, I’m done, I’m done, I’m done –
But I can’t stop
Sometimes
The walls are magnetic and they dictate my moves
Keep pulling me back and forth, back and forth,
It’s no wonder we have such problems of self-worth
and the kids these days
Have such problems with shame
I have such problems with shame
I threw your picture out the window to stop my madness
Were you serious when you said my voice meant less?
It resounded and warped “I am meaningless”
It’s replaying now, sanding down the most vulnerable places in me-
The places I told you how to reach-
to be unrecognizable
I’m wondering what will happen when I can’t recognize myself
The room is shrinking
Make a decision, says the sun
Crawl away, says the moon
The stars can’t tell you what to do
Swoon
Throw a tantrum
Throw a large, heavy object into something precious
Throw away everything material
Save your memories, and your body
Jump – somewhere beautiful
Claim your stakes somewhere uncharted
Write, write, write, write, write, write something nonsensical
Write something perplexing
Something annoying
Something you can come back to in the times you need space
(Welcome)
Feel safe; this moment is whatever you make it
Feb 13, 2012
Feb 13, 2012 at 1:31 AM UTC
And how did I slip,
Into the ecstasy of your arms;
Enveloping security,
All around me…
And how did it hypnotize me,
Into the pools of your eyes;
Piercing beyond the limits,
Of my black pupil…
And how did I learn,
A new pink shade of lips;
Feeling over mine,
Could be softer than feather…
And how did I feel,
The texture of your stubble;
Burning over my bare skin,
Could be a talisman,
Of my fantasy’s frontiers…
And how could my fingers,
Do all the talking;
Unleashing the strength,
That mesmerized me,
In an awe;
Resounded by gasping,
Pleasure…
And how did I loose,
All my way,
In the loops of sweet talk;
Until eyes took refuge,
Of sweet dreams;
I pray they shall awake true,
And be alive,
Until eternity at last!
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 7:19 AM UTC
We live in times of innovation.
Winds of change affront the nation;
wind most welcome – by a few
(the masses know not what to do
with engineered progressive change,
their morals slow to rearrange).
And thus, in ornithology
we find an apt analogy…
Phoenix-like the vulture rose
in rainbow raiment, from repose
Its plumage all askew – a freak:
a mutant with a painted beak
borne of winds but lately blown.
This strange new hybrid (yet unflown)
did twitter forth an avian boon.
It preened its plumes and croaked a tune:
“I represent that rarest fowl,
far wiser than outmoded owl…
A dazzling swan of change am I
brought forth to liberate the sky!”
(Yet more appeared a fractured emu;
fair is fowl post-op… they tried to
cross said emu with an ostrich!
(What the hell – the surgeon got rich
changing apples into – mangos;
altering the twos to tangos…)
Fresh from gender suicide
he moulted into she. Beside
herself (itself?) with grief, regarded
previous selves as false: discarded
Sir for Madam overnight;
fixed it, mixed it, made it right.
Since God was wrong the first time ‘round,
Man (or something) thus is bound
hormonally to tweak and mutate,
hastening rebirth’s freakish due-date.
A manly bass – and yet the face
was poorly paired in his/her case
Soprano ought to have resounded –
yet the voice left one confounded.
Rainbow bracelets notwithstanding
this was clearly modern branding
(on the forehead – like a beast?)
well, Jesus said the truth at least:
that angels are of neither gender
(hence no need to check the member.)
Lest we offend endangered species
I commend transgendered theses –
paired with warning and a fable
as they turn the feathered table:
We may nurture fair to foul
while nature shrieks a hideous howl
but foul to fair cannot return;
thus trapped, both Eve and Adam burn.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 9:12 PM UTC
On a brisk autumn evening
I became aware of the chorus
Of leaves as I dumped
Another bag of grass
Onto my compost pile.
The changing colors above me
Resounded like waves
Crashing on the ocean shore.
Looking at those branches
Swaying in the breeze
****** my mind to the months ahead.
I will see these same trees
Bare as a skeleton in the frigid air,
Clacking and clicking in the wind.
With that thought I realized:
Even in the dead of winter,
As long as she has breath,
Nature sings her thankful song.
Sep 29, 2016
Sep 29, 2016 at 1:41 PM UTC
Order is shattered in a strange guttural tone that resounded
among the walls of the houses, which seemed dead and deserted.
Behind the closed shutters, eyes watched the conquerors, who,
by right of war, were not masters of the city and of the lives
and fortunes of its people.
In their darkened ruins the inhabitants have given way to the
same feeling of panic which is aroused by the natural cataclysmns.
Their wisdom and strength alike are of no avail for those
devastating upheavals of the earth.
Though the same feeling is experienced whenever the established order
of things is upset, when security ceases to exist. When all that
was previously protected by the laws of man and nature is suddenly
placed at the mercy of brutal unreasoning force. This feeling of
panic and confusion, this allowance of ourselves to become dazed
in the whirlwind of abusing senses that is in its own right invasion.
An earthquake buries a whole people beneath the ruins of
their houses. The river, over-flowed by the unforgiving rains which
seemed destined to never end, runs in spite; sweeping away the
bodies of drowned peasants together with the carcasses of
cattle and rafters forn from roofs. The victorious army; slaughtering
all who resist, making prisoners of the rest, looting by right of
the sword, and thanking their god to the sound of canon.
Feb 11, 2010
Feb 11, 2010 at 6:13 AM UTC
Guinevere and Lazarus,
hiking down the forest,
following the torrential rain.
A humble squirrel makes eye contact
initiates touch
love crumbs.
Days go by,
he can't stop thinking about the humble squirrel.
What did he give him?
Lazarus,
alone.
Bearing the torrential rain.
Minute by minute by minute,
searching for the squirrel of love.
A green mist clouds a lonely house on the hill.
Who better to inhabit it, than the love squirrel.
He's there, he's there, he's there.
He knew.
Closer and closer he came,
he heard tiny steps,
a scratch of wood.
He felt his gaze on him.
But where did it come from?
Lazarus' in all grey,
His sweatshirt sticking to his skin.
He glanced forward for a second
smoothing his hair back as rain dripped off,
down to his face.
Their eyes met.
Passionately.
Closer and closer they became,
the sound of le mal du pays resounded in Lazarus' heart.
Did he feel it too?
he wondered.
magnetic,
touch.
only music to fill the space between them.
Lasting only a second,
as he opened his eyes,
the grass where the squirrel stood to hug him
had left a shape.
Not knowing his name,
he went back home.
To Guinevere.
May 30, 2019
May 30, 2019 at 8:50 PM UTC
"She's gone."
I remember the time when you said that
the day she left you.
That was the first time that I saw you cry
that hard,
that loud,
Your voice resounded the four corners
of the bathroom cubicle
that it's as if it killed me—
the sight of seeing you die partly.
*I was overjoyed
and a little disappointed.*
And
as you pour your heart out,
on my shoulder, your bitter sweet tears,
i knew exactly that the moment
she left you,
she took your soul with her.
"She's gone."
but my love, so were you.
You were gone from me too.
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 9:16 AM UTC