"rifts" poems
I love you,
The best is yet to come.
Don't scramble,
Let us plan our lives.
We have it in our hands,
Luck and destiny will bend before us.
Yes we toil for it,
Both of us will put efforts.
Don't be scared dear,
Just hold my hand firmly.
What we can't individually do,
Together we will manage it all.
The sun in our sky has risen,
It will reach higher up above.
Not burning it will emblazon,
Just shining away all darkness.
How differences of ours remain,
We won't let them become large.
And yes, today I tell you darling,
Two different individuals we are.
So many of differences will ripen,
But how we treat them is unto us.
We can't let them become so large,
The love we share is much bigger.
Just practice perseverance my love,
Stay strong & toil hard we both will.
Not breaking mountains we must be,
Still challenging stay all our methods.
Zest of ours must not fail in this spirit,
Zealous we voyage on in the sea of life.
We both have that passion in ourselves,
Helping people parry off all the dangers.
Never would we worry about our past,
For we both cherish the lessons learnt.
Odds will often rise between both of us,
We won't let them disunite us any day.
This love I feel is a bit experienced,
And my experience tells me a lot.
We must never fall out separate,
Because together we're happy.
Differences do not invite rifts,
Neither should we let them...
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 1:58 AM UTC
It been a while now I'm back,
playing the beat on a track,
Lyrically I attack,
I'm an M C,
So naturally,
That's how I react,
You might not get my psych,
goin ape shyte crazy,
chasin these monkeys of my back,
I guess opposites still attract.
Rapidly rapping raps,
spitting facts,
I'm what these other cats lack,
cut from another cloth,
Can't cut'em no slack,
This rifts, rat,
I'm way better than that
I master my craft
Like captain kirk taking a bath
higher than an aircraft
Plotting my path
like a hovercraft
Fully prepared for the crash.
These other guys, think they fly,
I just laugh. They get puff up,
While I pass by, getting
Roughed up, crossing my path
Iooking like ironman with this mic in my hand,
Feels like I'm hold a staff.
Like a titan, I clash.
I am the better man,
check my clasp,
I got a better plan,
Better lyrical grasp,
I'm so smooth,
These other rappers, rap sound like ***
I land minds, no gymnastic class
my geographic quadgraphics better than a veteran
with a can of V8 in his hand
Still crazy from the war,
tasted the blood of a warrior,
Now I'm thirsty for more.
I'm dropping bombs like the army core in 94
With more confidence than Al b sure on tour
Finding common sense scattered all over the floor
Picking up feed back on channel 4
Turning the microphones up,
Then slam it to the floor,
Cause I don't want to rap anymore,
Back and forth I go,
It's all a part of the flow,
I'm just putting on a show,
rhythm book, pinned up,
It's a wrap, flow after flow,
Pulling up, getting my spins up,
The treble and bass doing chin ups,
While I'm spitting rhythms galore,
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 8:09 AM UTC
Unguarded fool! Know this,
Thy kind words and thy gifts
Had bought for thee a mortal bliss,
Yet never healed the rifts
Within; no love redacts
The balance unredressed,
Despite thy wanton saintly acts
Thy remnants lay unblessed
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 9:02 PM UTC
What She Look Like?
…Like one
tenderly hushing
water in her lap
Elemental peace
No place to go
No more to be
…Like the ocean
in the background
of a photo on a warm spring day
belying
rage
and the random possible
thrash--
out!
at all guilty ******** in her path
Toss in the next sentient soul
who should happen to pass
within range
who should have seen
who should have known
what a storm could do….
Moody in the aftermath
and sorrier than rain
With the tide in retreat
grumbling excuses
Hiding out waist-deep in dusk’s Merlot
Waiting for night to sleep it off
to heal the rifts
cleanse the shame
Rising
yellow, bright— and
“What the hell happened, here?!”
_______________
Her hair
a winter’s tragedy of trees
upside down—
No wait— the wind has put her right
to ragged random branches
swaying, wet with intermittent hues
of dark and silver
caught in collar, flying inelegant and free
at the shoulders of the levee
tossed and softening shyly
sagging jaw and nose a stump of tree
All perspective changes…
if you watch a while—
She’ll raise her eyes
into the sunset
to catch an eagle
entering
flight
…and then you might…
______________
She looks like—
a pudgy robin
querying grass
mud soaked
that hides the fire of her breast
tugging at a worm
more than half her length
“I will feed them, **** you!
Give it up, you son of a snake!”
_______________
...Don’t miss her hour of music though
for anything
Encroaching darkness
from the rooftops
she listens to the hearts she breaks
Remember this in winter
she can give but she will take
it out on February
when you’re longing
for her
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 7:57 PM UTC
Every morning I would hear the metal wheels grind against the rails as the garage door opened
Leave for school as you were under the hood staring at horse power repairing every engine that was broken
Returned home and now you’re underneath a different car, your face blackened from the dirt, oil and debris
And at night sometimes I’d hold the flashlight for you, pointing the light at the wrong spots of the engine, I’d help to some degree
Rarely spoke but wrenches clanked, ratchets ticked, screws and bolts rattled and power tools revved
It’s the language that I never understood but it’s the language I know you’ve said
The garage doors would close, I’d smell the scent of Mary Jane coming from your room, swear the odor was limitless
Then I would hear the rifts and solos from the guitar strings that were plucked by your fingertips
Life as a grease monkey and a rockstar but you loved every second of it, you love everything you do
I wish one day I could find my own love and become something just like you
I see why my mother loves you
You called me your son though we’re not blood I swear I miss you in every way
You’ve alwayz told me to look out for my sister and to protect her everyday
Happy birthday
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 3:55 AM UTC
Anger. Anxiety. Depression. Fear.
Imagine these feelings
Are a natural disaster.
What would they be?
Would they be an earthquake?
Making it feel hard to stay upright?
Do they create rifts
that drive you apart from loved ones?
Are they a tsunami?
Building up until one day, they burst, drowning you?
Or are they a tornado?
Just destroying everything in its path?
If you can find a way to explain what it feels like
When you're angry, anxious, depressed, or afraid,
it can be a good start to managing it.
Nov 15, 2020
Nov 15, 2020 at 8:12 PM UTC
C'mon out to the rattled caves
the deep-sea malaise
rested in the grey metamorphs
of an ancient coastal chain
Where Sisyphean slips of tectonic rifts
pull the molding clay
like play-dough
and old rock that turns anew
churned into
great catacomb stele
Babylonian towers far away
from the great
Mesopotamic
interstate
Surrounded by the immumerous trees
the military sharpness of their pine
quills writing their mark in the dirt
for a hundred turns or so
only to be rearranged
into the great intercontinental soil
Truly
multisolipsistual
And on the aggregate
held open the mists
of the vast expanse of ocean
beyond L.A
and stole the fruits of the tiny parceled condominium rainwater
from distance far away
angry men shouting--
"Give us back our life blood, GOD **** YOU!"
Filling the tanks of their fleshomobiles
running around and sweating it out
trading it for cloth and wiping their brow on
brown shirts
perturbed and disobeyed
But that great man with the chin muscatche
brought the rough riders out of their dome
into the frontier, riding trains
Off they go!
Seeking paradise in the sands
and the trees
and the coastal breeze
dreaming
of a world owned and seen
by the world
by man
and by all these things
It would be grand
But that rock has been seen before
in Luarentian islands long ago
or perhaps a great FUJI-SAN of the west coast
worshiped by critters and dinosaurs
You are late to the game, sweet dreamers, you!
These monuments give to honor due
not you,
no sir did you build these things?
did you mold these things
with the patience of a father
with the consequentiality
of the womb
and a motherly affection
for all things true?
the gift is for you,
remember your father's gifts
sweet princes of the earth
because they will outlive you.
And I walk along the stream
stepping upon these little bits of Yosemite
Pulverized mountain rocks
Renal Stones of the diseased
to which the water flushed out deeply
and cured the grey things from all that left them
displeased
hoping for more than just selfies
and sticking it to god's face
laughing at half-dome
climbing it and getting the better of ourselves
Believing we have achieved bliss
When in reality,
there is nothing to this which we can reach.
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 5:19 PM UTC
May be you see my life
Across miles and years
The gentle rolling hills and valleys
Verdant earth that ebbs
And flows
Summer grass cool beneath
Wearied feet
Lazy sunsets slip soft and smoky
Rest for another day
Quiet against my breast
Breath measured
I treasure you
Sheltered in my embrace
Is this your love
Blinded to the rifts
The ragged cliffs
Barren and ravaged
Weathered scars
Torrential rains and landslide chaos
Define me
Canyons so deep
Light never descends
Do you find beauty
In my weathered soul
The rush of ascent
As you fly from this valley
Pinnacle bound
and breathless
Love is rarified air
I am your oasis
In the shifting sands
Drifting dunes and valleys
I shimmer in your love
Your mirage
A vision of shelter
Beautiful
Forever....
TL Boehm
051308
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 5:13 PM UTC
Shall I ever have a bad day
I remind myself of the way
the green of the trees compliments
the violet of the nighttime southern summer sky;
Shall I ever feel lesser
I remind myself of the way
my mother appears
as her eyes well with tears
of pride and joy;
Shall I ever experience a sense of emptiness
I remind myself of the sound
of my dad's laugh,
of the way my brother always gets
my references;
Shall I ever have a moment of doubt
I remind myself of the reverberations
that hollow your insides
when the guy you like kisses you for
the first time;
Shall I ever forget my purpose
I remind myself of the way it felt
when I saw my nanny's husband on my
graduation day;
Shall I ever doubt the future
I remind myself of
the way I moved on from
my deepest love;
Shall I ever feel weak
I remind myself of
my first days in D.C. as I
stumbled aimlessly through streets
with which I was unfamiliar;
Shall I ever be devoured by ambiguity
I remind myself of
the peace I have felt as I
watch the steady ripples of
the Ohio;
Shall I ever get lost
I remind myself of the
paths I have forged,
of the arms that
extend open;
I may seek resurrection mother nature
offers me
in the sand
I have felt in my toes,
of the grass that has tickled
my back,
of the sunsets that have moved
my soul,
in the water bodies that have sung
me to sleep;
I may be reborn in
the rifts of my
favorite songs,
in the quotes of
my favorite movies,
in the words of
timeless poems;
in the love the world extends
I shall never go without
comfort,
inspiration,
rejuvenation;
I shall never truly become lost
for the world always
finds me.
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 11:55 PM UTC
With no argument I think most people agree
With the adage stating that, "you are what you eat"
But it's possible there's information not known
Having equal importance or maybe more so
All the nutrients eaten; We intake our food
It will travel through digestive tract once consumed
Same can also be said of our actions and thoughts
They're the building blocks making up all that we are
Brains are not like a rigid or fixed type machine
An old dog and new tricks go together it seems
Our plasticity will let us both change and shift
It makes pathways; New neural links over the rifts
These connections might possibly benefit us
But this same mechanism can also do stuff
With a negative scope, the outlook and belief
We might think we're no good; Our lives filled with much grief
If we're constantly saying things inside our heads
Like self-doubting, self-loathing and feelings of dread
Then our brain will re-wire to fit this outlook
Once ensconced in this spectrum; Not easily shook
The same way that a person engages with time
Like activity, also is true with the mind
A small change in the way that we look at ourselves
The new thoughts and beliefs in our mind start to meld
With the make-up within that each one of us holds
Self-beliefs and self-doubts from our birth till we're old
Like a painter with ink; Our brush never is dry
We are always creating what's in our mind's eye
So don't hinder yourself with a picture that's bleak
Just believe in yourself and go get what you seek
You are capable of so much more than you know
All it takes is belief and in time it will show
Dec 17, 2018
Dec 17, 2018 at 1:27 AM UTC
1.
white chapel on a hill
sheep dot rugged, earthy slopes
ruminate on warm, sun-kissed dale
endless lines and lines of verdant tones
late afternoon sun slanting
behold, jaune compassion
alfalfa ocherous leans willowy in wind
distance of silence yearns on
afternoon shadows lie within majestic vales
powder-blue ranges in 3D tiers
shadowy rifts, like a painting out of heaven
lone tree not alone, reaches up
blinding turns and rust-coloured bends, twisty trails
two on horseback, apples for sale
reservoir as a hold all for all
brown mud is where redemption lies.
2.
sun dips away, out of reach
beyond the eye's catch
step out car
feel the ping of silence, deeply-alive zing
crowd in and then,
into the slot of torched horizon
the orange world slips . . .
S T, 19 May 2013
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 6:29 AM UTC
Like continents moving the skin off from over me , slowly..
deliberately with great force on the rest of my being ,
each aspect of myself emerges anew
from the cocoon like first layer of childhood ,
i see myself spiral from the snakeskin left on the floor
a forge is in it’s place
of molten liquid energy running along my meridians.
Serenading every judgement of another character with love shine ,
fresh from the gardens of mine
that bathe
by the sea air
in my root chakra layer... mingles ,
with the heart echo arrow
i send it with.
Known; that the judgements of others are a side product of judgement of self.
Be it , through the eyes of a hopeful parent or a tired teacher , a pig or a nit.... an angel or specter himself -
None equal as true, to the eyes i see through
on the matter my being is composed of.
Integrating stillness in my vivacious bones , conscious movements flow , stabilizing the unknown into the known , materializing the un-materialized subconscious realm.
Moving through visible reality shifts and mind rifts , exploring
the astral world around me
whilst moving through physical boundaries of borders
Developing organs in my subtle body .
Manifesting my foundations for stamina.
What a joy it is to live from the heart.
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 11:32 AM UTC
Your voice was a quiet calm
a prelude to darker skies and
the storms you kept hidden
beneath cumulus smiles
You called me a storm chaser
maybe you were right, love
because I've always found the sound of rain
on hardened surfaces soothing
The gentle way water
patiently waits, biding its time
till even rock gives way and surrenders
Shaping mountains , and rivers deep
This is how canyons are formed
deep rifts within the soul
with nothing left to bridge the divide, pursuit becomes impossible
but maybe that was the goal all along
Maybe I pursued you knowing that you'd run
and you became my rainbow
Because you knew, no matter how close I think I am..
we'll always still be miles apart
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 12:49 AM UTC
meaning of wishtastes
desires drive delusion
devils delve deepening
seeds to root loathsome leaves
smelt cinders graying goals
craving strangled contentment
under backalley blackness
beats heart sneeze two
cavalcade blue
cacophony in fast dreams
reseized by letting go of circus surlplus
reassurance of real love is real gone
gone is the relooped sad troupe armies of needinesses
truth proofed **** the magician disappeared
withdrew tears,fears, smears, and leers
now amongst new artful peers
The lions tail was a cobra coming with teeth under the door
awoke then broke my dreams end and don't hafta go back again
ego sinning by ego being a sin says ego
leggo my ego waffle a proper prophet
the jewels three sweet gleams eaten
gifts even the ego cant teacher the reached rifts
sewn up all dischordian accordian polka poked out eyes
belief swam away to the island of surprises
can I ? I can will it . Will then be faithful to real action.
kung fooled schools chop trees sticks
paper stones throw away
I can walk 6 feet on airs invisilbe stairs
ears heard alistening stream just the branch that froots
Shotgun riding to the holy holy holy
Dee vine
Jun 18, 2010
Jun 18, 2010 at 11:16 AM UTC
*A picture captures a moment, a moment captures an emotion, and an emotion captures a thought.
This thought is released below*
Listen to your heart and live to the beat, for its rifts can make paths through red oceans.
Feel your blood pump, as it fuels your brain, thus provoking your thoughts to recall the words of a poem written in the purest and most vulnerable state of mind
The mindset that lets your emotions surface from their sea bottom structures, because once upon a time you sank and could see bottom structures to hide away feelings in
So you did
Now your passion is in reeling them in to feel real
It feels ironic that you are now breaking those iron bars surrounding the things you once rounded up and surrendered to the depths
In fact, you still render them into the abyss so at times you can act, leaving your thoughts in the mist
It's beautiful, in its completely illogical sense that somehow after a full cycle you can see it's ingenious
Your muse is a renewable resource, and for every poisonous barrel that sinks, there is a little inspirational magic that floats back up and drives you to write tirelessly until your mind is again at peace
These words, like blood, are seen in all their power, at the surface
This art, like the vanes of a windmill going up and down, shall not die in vain, these arteries and veins run deep and drive me sane
Wherefore art thou, Axiomighty
I often ponder as I travel yonder
But I've grown fonder of the idea that I may never know
So long as for when it's complete
I have put on a show.
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 2:05 AM UTC
Such a shame to let loose
That I have absolutely no clue what I'm doing
But pretending seems to work so well;
You all claw at plasticine symbols
The letters deplored with a swish of the ink well.
Calligraphic self destructions mean something to somebody
Over an ocean with eyes so slight as to shine in the darkness,
Glinting in robes of black on the rooftops of rich dynastics
And the rhymes of yesterday creeping to the forefront,
Reminding me just of how hopeless hopelessness is--
The assonance of a retreating boxcar
Is steaming into the backdrops of consciousness.
Is it time to rewind somewhere?
The visages of paintings only mean so much
To the blind bats on cave walls in cavernous reaches
Of static television snow drifts.
It seems that you and I have come to the biggest of filamentous rifts:
Sifting between now and then we have mind-skips
Of epic proportion, a sickened distortion
Of all of the children left in their contortions
It's all leprosy in my eyes
Since the skies are burning down as we pinpoint abortion.
And we release that defeat, and try to find meaning in it all:
A lie of great size
Told from my lips yet it was--
You who believed me.
Together we made a chimera
A deception even worse than anything I've ever known
I said that some god had told me all the things that
that
that--
I can't begin to begin an apology
My mouth mummified by request next to Jeremy Bentham
I only wanted what's best for you--
But look at what you've done!
Oh, Crusades! Oh, Crusades!
Children don't lie with your eyes on the sunset
For Nietzsche is the ultimate navigator!
And you finally catch sight of the top of an alligator
floating in the oil, staring at you
slanted eyes smiling cruel.
It all makes sense now, what half believed lies
That explain how the darkness will come to rise
But the opposite side of our crystalline marble
Has known all along, they knew all along!
Facing the east, wasn't He?
Then even he knew
Perhaps what I said was not all untrue
And in fact
the fault lies with Him
Not me,
Not you.
Sincerely,
The Bible.
Dec 30, 2010
Dec 30, 2010 at 6:09 PM UTC
It happens with all the holes and wounds: they grow their own face, mend their gaps, heal their rifts — those new skills of yours are but entities that emerge: to grant shelter, to stand guard, replace the old, thicken the crust, weather this human storm — through and through.
But will the skin ever return to its soil? It linger on forevermore. How tight its grip? How hardened its sappy brooks? When will it nourish those delicate roots anew?
These thoughts arise as doubt breaks free. It pours and flows as I gaze down and lower still. Shadows seep and leak as the wheel spins and drills the soul evermore hollow. Anonymous is our tree of life, but it keeps faces in store.
For it happens with all the holes and wounds: they bleed, they mend, they heal — and what don't they do as I stand here, as I bend, as I kneel — as I carve these seats in shapes of departure. Those skills thicken under my feet like growling tremors.
My past was but a dream — and I'm ready to slide like a crumbling leaf. My weariness is universal. My knowledge heavy. There cannot be a conclusion. I am growing thin.
Let me feed those roots anew.
Through and through.
Dec 23, 2023
Dec 23, 2023 at 2:30 PM UTC
There fared a time ‘we’ were the vital thing,
yet now the case is fair it’s ye and her.
My role perhaps was harrower of Winter
while she’s the water, seed and sun of Spring.
God forms right plans and sorts His unique tools
as junctures of our lives wed intertwined,
but when they’re o’er we are not undermined
nor forced to feel we’re slyly played as fools.
For Providence has granted precious gifts
which by His grace we learn and grow and flow’r,
and these need ne’er be lost in parting hour
nor poisoned by the bitterness of rifts.
So rise our wings with richer, brighter hue
to soar upon Christ’s love which tarries true.
Feb 24, 2021
Feb 24, 2021 at 5:01 AM UTC
she takes a pull of
her Parliament,
face painted in
in fleeting ochre;
an ancient star dying
far from me.
"*i was alive once and i swore
i glimpsed the storm in
the laughter*"
we write each other's names
on our palms and lovingly watch
the ink fade as we drink from
them.
that was the plan.
plans end the same as the rest of it;
vestigial and resentful in their silence.
you said your grin was
that of a misfit.
i said your grin lent
dimensions the intent
to rip open.
i meant it,
but i said it just to see it.
"...reasons. things can have many..."
stealing smoke from a Parliament,
that old foolish ochre
skirmishes with night,
i remember that i'll remember the hospice stint intimacy fondly
when i splinter infinitely through dimensional rifts in that moment
you howled at the moon with the
earth dangling from your neck.
"*the wild hunt was a horrible
film, but it was our horrible film*"
you didn't even notice me
dissolving into the monolith
and i admire the honesty of that.
we can speculate about what the
next life's masks conceal when
we get there.
Dec 8, 2018
Dec 8, 2018 at 2:01 AM UTC
Just writing for precedent, or so I keep writing later if precedent works there.
Thinking about metre and it's slow going because all I want to do has already been here or so far off thinking about it gives me a thousand yard stare.
Trapped in myself has become my event horizon. Building cities for my heart out of **** and hair to keep it turned on.
Thinking about old people i know who stopped doing their compulsive creative medium at some point in their lives.
I imagine what stopped them was ease and some contract in blood they signed for their eager calling from about 50 years down the line and a crawling mammal which has hold of their mind.
Then that puts my tiny light in perspective and i forget after tapping my wrist to remember.
One day of that that mystified group of adults given to their fearful balmy impulses and I'll be a member.
I think this on my weaker days.
It makes me more friendly in some ways.
When have i wanted to be that when it comes down to it.
When this meager neglect sentiment ignorant of relative need well aware of the rifts of spirit between those
with and without means. It starts to pick up the toys from floors
while he's sleeping.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 4:18 AM UTC
My body is wet, and slick
writhing from pain somewhere within
and still there is a smile on my face,
for every grimace for every single sin.
I don't mean to be this way,
it's a coping mechanism, long been taught
and i live this daily battle,
til my mind is subconscious and overwrought.
I mean to love you,
and i'm sorry if it's just too much,
that it begins with some words,
and it begs for my sublime touch.
For i am superbly subliminal consciously,
with every note i speak,
and i cannot help that i love you,
for my heart is tough but weak.
And the crowds are laughing,
the cupboard is lacking and bare,
and i sit here and sigh,
whilst you sit with them and stare.
Wait for me to fall for you,
then beg me to stay,
tell i am beautiful, enlightening, precocious and rare,
and then take it away.
I can hear my heart pushing at the black of the sweat,
and i am partially here nor there,
and i am partially yours whether you want me,
under the weight of your succinct stare.
But your victory over me
is not through the love for me that you wish,
it is rather through your rejection,
best served cold, in a hand for a dish.
Nevermind my worries, nor my cares,
I know i am of no consequence nor thought,
of everything in your daily life,
but trouble i seem to have brought.
My dear, my darling, my love, my quarry,
I seek nothing but silence with you,
for i know at least your words,
once uttered, is a missile projected from you.
I am sweat and hard work,
I am scary, new and everything you fear,
but your rejection, though rough,
is what i expected, my dear.
There is nothing i can expect,
you will not allow yourself to become tainted by me,
and my devils they call to my aide,
to show you the wrong side of being free.
You are not willing through self righteous fear
of being covered in the dirt of my love and care,
and when you are not looking,
i am always really, just here, and there.
To want is to suffer,
of this i know which is to be true,
i was sent you in a lesson to learn,
and i was meant to learn from, about, and in you.
I have a wet, slick, black wanton spirit,
there is no innocence in my blue eyes,
for everything i love within myself,
is equally something there to despise.
There is no crowd now,
there is abrupt silence in the dried up air,
intake of acrid, wanton, holy breath,
to see if you really do truly care.
And this aint no love song,
there are no guitar rifts or longing in the chorus of a singular word,
i merely cannot understand you, to love you
and my flight is as free as a bird.
I am wet, and slick, from lack of sleep,
there is something of you inside my head
and every night i wish i was dreaming,
but i think of you instead.
My love,
my quarrel,
my fear,
my future.
Never have dis-pleasured someone so much,
with a singular, single, millimetre of tingle of a touch.
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 6:16 PM UTC
You find out from the news, or from plain sight
Harsh words seethe, a green monster seems to bite
You may have found love, but you can’t be glad
For those who find it in ways you deem bad
Saying they ‘go too fast’ or they ‘go too slow’
Commenting more on what you think you know
Thoughts on displays of affection or gifts
Loud glances, ‘hushed’ voices during their rifts
Taking sides, volunteering to advise
Putting forth opinions you think are wise
On what must be and on what is proper
Anything otherwise a heart-stopper.
I’d like to know- why do you care so much?
Do you long for beauty that you can’t touch?
Why do you defile that which you can’t see
Thriving in embarrassment, misery?
Who laid the rules of what should be and not?
Why can’t you be happy with what you’ve got?
Everyone’s not the same, they all vary
In tempers, love and personality
They find it differently, to each his own
Whether it’s when they’re young or when they’re grown
Whether it takes a week, a month or years
They have only their confusion to clear,
Understand the mess of their emotion
And follow their hearts along that notion.
So they go to unromantic places
Perhaps they choose to avoid dumb faces.
So they post too many photos online
So you believe, but they're the ones who shine.
So they seem passionate for your liking
Too lustful? Well, stop the overthinking.
So they’ve gotten together way too soon
So you say, and you think they’re wacky loons
Maybe they’re swept in that wondrous magic
The fact you can’t ignore them is tragic.
So they make mistakes, and find hearts elsewhere
Don’t analyse for chemistry in pairs
Curious where they are, if they’ve gone further
Don’t hail one and just dismiss the other.
So they choose to marry early, or late
Don’t ask why they hurry or want to wait.
So they don’t seem to want marriage at all
Every decision of theirs is their call.
It’s their **** business, and they do it well
They don’t ask for your ideas to sell.
Kindly live in peace, they did you no harm
Leave them alone, and work on your own charm.
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 12:30 PM UTC
has died
And tomorrow brings
Forth a helping
Of ham sandwiches
And chorizo rice,
And a cold glass of milk,
And vitamin pills,
And sleepy morning sunlight
Clinging to baby eyelids.
The world unraveling,
Yarn by yarn to reveal
A cracked expanse:
Dingy suburbs alternating
With shiny metal subways,
Flimsy straw huts,
And highways,
Schoolbooks once mandatory
Depicting every one of them.
The bell rings and
Suddenly footsteps seem
To linger if but for a second,
Encasing its victims
In a universe where time stops—
Stood—still
Still enough to wrinkle,
And feel the soft nudging
Of naked wrist against
Wrist-watched wrists,
Breakfast crumbs against
Crumpled lips,
Rotting umbrellas against
Sweating hips,
Oxen straining against
Grass-strewn rifts,
Coal dust against
Swollen lids—
So tolls the bell
And ends
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 8:56 AM UTC
there's an awesome sound
dripping brown
drugged up
and laid down
by brothers from other mothers
in their new hope town
making up rifts
and ******* around
are you picking up
the sound that i found?
can u taste the waste?
keek up the pace?
of stroker ace?
or their country greats?
some worship god
some dance with satan
they're in betWeen
dichotomies breakin'
and you know they're makin'
pork roll, egg, cheese
and bacon!
and gravy fries
mutilated lips
and pure guava eyes
May 20, 2021
May 20, 2021 at 9:29 PM UTC
How can it be that
a melody can make you feel like you belong
and not, all at once?
I find myself in a composed dissolution
The world can stop, and the ground below me will give way to
the sudden awareness of a sensation
that is similar to being lost in your own room.
Suddenly, this "place" seems very raw
Things inside you open up and makes distinguishable
where you are
where you've been
and where you've yet to be.
And
Sometimes people are like that.
Your eyes are where I am
Our fights are where I have been, time and time again
and finding peace with those two rifts is where I have yet to be.
Glaciers could snap and crash with volleys of icy hell fire
Soberly frozen earth could nick my cheeks and arms
and my cold skin could remain as tout as a tuned string instrument
ready to produce sound
But,
turning inside myself, searching for a bridge to this rift produces a silence so deafening
I can hear the humming of stars
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 3:32 AM UTC