"robs" poems
I know you.
Sitting behind a screen in your room,
Sipping in the shadows of a coffee shop.
iPhone, iPad, iAm "Anonymous".
The most dangerous word you can be labeled,
The most double-edged of weapons-
Anonymous.
You're never really as untraceable
As the cleared browser history says you are,
Never as untraceable as the chain of destruction you cause is traceable.
You're never really as invisible
As the checked box lets you think you are,
Never as invisible as the scars you direct a hand to make are visible.
One word can't be all that.
Anonymous can't be so dangerous.
Some clicks on a keyboard can't be so devastating.
There's a reason it used to be difficult to avoid responsibility.
Because responsibility for your words, for what you cause,
Is what allows you to see a few steps ahead.
Your signature is what allows you to learn from mistakes,
To vow after you've learned the hard way to think before you act.
To see that those words have two names attached to them now.
The writer, and the subject.
Two traceable, visible people.
Two hearts beating and breathing, now connected.
Anonymous constructs a wall between action and reaction.
It robs you of responsibility.
Yes, responsibility is a prized possession, there to teach and show.
Anonymous allows you to settle.
It robs you of the greater person you could become.
Yes, your future holds more than this, there beyond the wall of cyber bulling.
I hate that I was once Anonymous like you.
I hate that I unknowingly controlled the strings
Of a self-destructive marionette hand miles away.
But I don't hate you. Because I know you.
I know you are more than the mistakes you've made behind that screen.
I know you are more than Anonymous.
So prove it.
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 7:13 PM UTC
I'm craving a man-hug tonight,
initiated by strong arms picking up my under weight body
letting me believe I'm re-enacting the lift from ***** dancing.
And as those arms hold me close
I would bury my face in his neck
where after shave meets his soft pulse and the warmth of my breath.
This hug would be so tight,
tight enough to squeeze the pain out of my soul
and be incredibly protective at the same time
beating away the nightmares of reality late at night.
A hug that draws out all the tears that should have been cried
until my eyes run dry
and start shedding all the rejection accumulated throughout this plight.
An unconditional man-hug with its ends free,
one not subjected to a **** in my mouth
a cigarette
*****
a cigarette
couple of poems
insomnia
and a cold bed.
I crave for a man-hug that will liberate me
from the pathetic standards I've set for myself,
of how I should be treated before handing a piece of me in exchange.
One that would numb the little voice in my head
which goes on and on
about self-deprecating ********
bundling together all the mistakes made over the years
and spanking my self-confidence
until it dresses up in a short skirt and high heels
and runs into the arms of a narcissist *****
A man-hug to step in and save the day
when loneliness breaks in,
and murders empowerment, independence and positivity in their sleep,
then opens the door to insecurity and fear,
who robs all hope,
leaving behind intolerable darkness.
I crave for a man-hug that follows through to the end
with stability and consistency,
like mom's cooking or my best friend,
or daddy's instant reaction to defend.
One that's tangible and attainable
without twirling my fingers around forgotten jewellery,
phone messages
or a drunk memory
just to remind myself what it felt like,
but only to be reminded that it can never be felt again.
Though I'm craving a man-hug tonight
I will have no luck.
Because anything with "man" in front of it,
will always just be a ****
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 5:35 PM UTC
I'm a democrat and republicans want this war to continue. People needs to wake up!
I'm a republican and democrats want to keep spending despite our failing economy. People needs to wake up!
I'm a Christian and Jesus will be coming soon. The Non-Christians and non-religious need to wake up!
I'm a radical Muslim and the west is going to take over. Everyone needs to wake up!
I'm a atheist and the religious radicals are trying to take over the country. Everyone needs to wake up!
I'm a bigot and gays, Jews and blacks are taking over. People need to wake up!
I'm an optimist and the world will recover. Pessimists need to wake up!
I'm a pessimists and the world is messed up. Everyone needs to wake up!
I'm a teacher and school is necessary for society to function. Kids need to wake up!
I'm a vegan, because eating of and torturing of animals is inhumane. Everyone needs to wake up!
I'm not a vegan because animals are needed for our survival. Vegans need to wake up!
I'm anti-school and school is a prison. Everyone needs to wake up!
I'm a racist and other races will take over. My people need to wake up!
I'm an anarchist and the government is robbing us of our rights. Everyone needs to wake up!
I'm pro-government and society needs order. Anarchists need to wake up!
I'm an environmentalist and we are harming the planet. Mankind needs to wake up!
I'm anti-environmentalism and the earth is fine. Environmentalists needs to wake up!
People, wake up!! I'm a 9/11 truther and 9/11 was created by the government.
I'm against truthers and 9/11 was caused by terrorists. Truthers need to wake up!
I'm a conspiracy theorist and the government is hiding things from us. Everyone needs to wake up!
I'm against animal testing because its unethical. People need to wake up!
I'm for animal testing because we need to make sure our inventions work. Everyone needs to wake up!
I'm a sexist and the opposite gender is taking over. My gender needs to wake up!
I'm a creationist and evolution is a lie. Everyone needs to wake up!!
I'm a scientist and creationism is a lie. Creationists need to wake up!
I'm anti-capitalism because it robs people of their money. Everyone needs to wake up!
I'm pro-capitalism because most wealthy nations are capitalists. Everyone needs to wake up!
I'm pro-death penalty because some people need to die. Everyone needs to wake up!
I'm anti-death penalty because criminals are people too. Everyone needs to wake up!
I'm a militant and everyone is an enemy. We need to wake up!!
I'm against war because war is ****** Everyone needs to wake up!!
I'm a climate change denier and global warming is a scam. Everyone needs to wake up!
I'm a climatologist and global warming is real. Everyone needs to wake up!
I'm pro-life and abortion is ****** Everyone needs to wake up!
I'm pro-choice and its the woman's choice. Everyone needs to wake up!
I'm anti-gun law and people are crazy. Everyone needs to wake up!
I'm pro-gun law and people are crazy with guns. Everyone needs to wake up!
Wake up, Its a brand new day.....
Oct 8, 2011
Oct 8, 2011 at 11:51 AM UTC
Once, far away, Andalusia of time.
Was I, this dreamer, this student of crime.
Devouring textbooks with a gluttonous glee.
Of masters I conversed with, with lives like movies.
FBI-profilers, psychopathologists.
Faces carved from paleo-lithic stone.
The hearts of sailors betrayed by Triton.
Their ill-fitting suits an anarchists cry.
Oh blessed hearts long since buried in the plots,
of victims whose killers would never see man’s courts.
Who knew the world and hoped to teach I,
this fresh young prey with a predator’s eye.
This fresh young prey with a predator’s eye.
Sat I with the masters, in those secret little rooms
where the dead are shuffled to have chosen for them a grave.
And it’s never more real than when the beast sits still.
In the agonising ordinary glow of the halogen buzz
that shines on guilty and innocent alike.
To reduce us all to such pathetic things.
That if not for the debt, this creature’s crimes
one could pity being on such obscene display.
If it were not known to me, in great detail
the river of misery and depravity he had left in his wake.
As a mugshot robs the aura, so too the well lit room.
And I understood why it took a much colder mind.
As even though I possessed all the faculties which
could follow and track and trap the prey;
the predator must also ****
And being in those secret little rooms
I knew I could not see it through.
I left it to those stronger than I
and leave my mark through other designs.
Dec 26, 2015
Dec 26, 2015 at 9:17 PM UTC
a fearful thought or idea
enters my head and
robs me of my serenity
the center of all my obsessions
is me, and the only things that helps
me get out of myself is
being of service to others
I ain't no bodhisattva,
but I think they had it right.
Even if you become an englightened being,
what's the point of being aware and free
if you aren't willing share it and help
others to be free.
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 10:57 PM UTC
armed and dangerous, 20 oz. of hot hot coffee, tablet on lap,
sitting on the deck overlooking the bay, and once again,
unusual for me, I am touched by the sanctity of the serenity
pervading, assuaging, by waves just loud enough to sway to,
the off/on chatter of the early bird's convocation of the morning's
blessing, have survived another night to greet greatly the outlines
of loveliness in the all~of~surroundings, which hacks my brain,
for I am by forty years of habitation more accustomed to a rough and tumble city boy trader, screamer of:
buy/sell/straddle/strangle/crush/kill/mercilessness, no quarter,
no mindfulness in me naturally, until nature robs my tools of
denial, and I smell the sanctity of fresh sheets laid on bed, the
warmed blood, vein coursing, suggesting just listen, listen,
the hot shower water eradicating the prior day's sinfulness,
the highly valued sensations of sensational emptiness, and
words drifting from the surround movie theater of a vista beloved,
coming for to fill and fulfill this always~in~mourning soul by the
overhauling of a crisp, cleansing day break
I, familiar with notions of perpetuity, and at best, conceptual, though
my mind permits a drift to the thoughtfulness that this place, this moment, this performance art of spectacular breathing of another
dawning day, after thousands upon thousand of its predecessors,
and the possibility, not remote, but not promised, to anyone, just may
occur at least once more, and one must learn contentment from but
that idea, and sip the cooling dregs of coffee, the sounds of human
interference, car door slamming, the heaving breathing of morning joggers, the wind rising, the white caps snapping, precursors and
signs that natural perfection is never permanent, always in transition,
and a whispery smile crosses my cheeks, as a silly thought invades,
nature is so very human~like and yet, immortal…
composed between 6:30 and 8:30 am this day
Wed Aug 20 twenty twenty-five
Silver Beach
Aug 20, 2025
Aug 20, 2025 at 8:34 AM UTC
Its easy to forgive the faults and failings of our friends
For love makes it so simple -if some word or deed offends
We try to understand them- for we know the inside out
And if we love them very much we cannot blame or doubt ...
Its just a little harder to forgive an enemy ,or someone who has censured us or done an injury
Its hard to overlook it and be loving,sweet and kind,although we know we've got to,to preserve our peace of mind.....
But to forgive yourself!
why,that's the hardest thing of all
We all do things that we regret,the strongest sometimes fall
We call ourselves all sorts of names ,how angry we can get with self-reproach and worrying and useless,vain regret....
Yet when we whip ourselves like this ,we break our forces down,it robs us of our self-respect,turns smiles into a frown .....
If God forgives us surely there is nothing we can do
We've seen our fault and paid the price and learnt the lesson too....
So banish it this very day and cast it from your heart
Forgive yourself,forgive yourself and make another start.
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 4:49 AM UTC
I wonder if the trees could talk
Would they tell about the breeze?
Would they talk about the sunshine?
Or of their many different leaves?
Would they talk about that woodpecker
That's roosted on their limb?
Or maybe devise a brilliant plan
To rid themselves of him
Would they tell us of their thirst?
And celebrate the rain
Would they talk about their fear of fire?
And how they hate the flame
Would they talk about the winter?
How it robs them of their shields
As the winter breeze scatter their leaves
Across the barren fields
Would they talk about the summer heat?
And the sacrifices they've made
As they hold their limbs high and stong
To cast our needed shade
Would they talk about their Creator,
Who rules from Heaven above
And profess undying gratitude
And their never ending love?
Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 6:27 PM UTC
". . .poverty robs individuals of the life of the mind, of spiritual comfort and of the consolations of intimacy and emotional bonds."
-Maura Spiegel,
Introduction to 'The Jungle' 2003 edition, Barnes and Noble Classics
Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 12:11 PM UTC
She nods and sighs
amongst the conifers.
Evergreen sap coats the
rug of needles beneath, and
the wind covers her skin
with rippling gooseflesh.
A little black balloon lies
beside a bindle of rigs.
The moon robs and blinds
her of sight, shining so
very brightly into her dilated
pupils and hidden irises.
A single rusted spoon glows and
A stolen church candle smoulders.
Her golden locks encircle
the crown of her cranium
in a halo worthy of stained-
glass windows.
Rubber tubing is tied off
above her collapsing veins.
The fallen leaves under her
protruding shoulder blades
stretch out for miles in a
pair of clipped wings.
With a final rattling cough
the light leaves her eyes,
and dissipates into
the punctured skies
as she quietly fades,
and dies.
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 9:54 PM UTC
High speed **** generation
warped minds
strong hands
unreality stimulating, simulating
digital lights flickering
images of *******
endless variety of every kind
on demand
what has become of us
what has become of touching, romance
creepy accusations because genuine human interaction is going the way of the dodo,
Oh, he didn't follow the smooth script, no chance man
Maybe your testosterone was spent elsewhere and your vibes told the true true
either way no *** for you
the youth exploited and exploiting, insane cycles
the itch, the tingle, the curiosity, the drive for more, dopamine release
My generation had the first ******** access
point and click
no barriers can stop that drive, rooted in youthful pubescent longing
we're sick
on the digital drug
Touch me instead
bath me in your ***
not this crude moving picture
Let me drink you, taste your juice, feel you slide,
touch the walls of your world, explode them,
show the limitless illusion to boundaries, kink, **********
stop watching, live it
chronic ************ robs us of the real intimacy,
don't drain your desire for me with this crude digital *******
just because its there
You can touch me, not your keyboard, not this plastic and metal
I suppose you can touch yourself,
but have the imagination to fantasize
and then make it real
share your life force with a human being,
not some rag to be thrown away
Rise to your lust, conquer the animal
make its power serve
make love,
not digital mental war
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 12:28 PM UTC
the end is now in sight
terror comes encroaching
don’t let the perilous dusk
douse the flame that leads you
the dream inside you burns
yet darkness wants to dim it
when you want to quit
hear the summit calling
and when’s the sky’s sunlit
and faith is at its brightest
the blackness strikes again
the apex is still higher
tho’ energy now spent
you vow to keep on going
just when the crest you’ve reached
you slip and fall now dangling
hanging by a nail
a famine then come robs you
feed on your inner will
to see your destination
you break free and go on
the wind strikes now the hardest
resist not but take flight
set sail to elevation
your spirit will not break
your eye’s upon the zenith
but next the snake will bite
let passion be your tonic
it burns right through your veins
your skin molting peels off you
metamorphosis has changed
the venom to elixir
then illness strikes quite fierce
you sink into a deep trench
reach down throw up your twine
towards the light you see it
no strength left yet still walk
you are not to be broken
stop gasp and catch your breath
you are at the top now
a phosphorescent light
envelops all around you
spin it into gold
throw rope to those still climbing
you who’ve scaled the mount
tho’ scarred have high ascended
fear’s an illusion here
love’s altitude has conquered
never give up hope
tho’ night is at its cruelest
hang on to see the sun
the pinnacle is magic
©2016janetaylor
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 11:48 AM UTC
Blood is the color red.
Evil and fire.
Love and lust.
Rebirth and Jesus.
Danger and anger.
Blood is the color of red of war.
For many who have lost their lives.
And shed blood for freedom.
Blood represents death.
Blood is the color of red running through our veins.
Blood shows no prejudice
Regardless of our skin color
All blood is still the same.
Blood is the color of red cloth.
The killing in the suberbs.
Shows your race.
The slang of gangs.
Blood is the color of red in red wine.
Our grapes of wrath.
Fermenting and full bodied.
The smell of wickedness.
Blood is the color of red in our love and our passion.
Of St. Valentine.
Of our hearts and our mind.
Days of remembrances.
Blood is the color of red in " blood red lipstick".
Attracts us humans through love and lust.
Steals our innocence.
Robs our purity.
Blood is the color of red of Jesus Blood.
It keeps the body of Christ alive.
Brings cleansing to the soul.
Is the rebirth and resurrection.
Blood is a primary color.
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 10:59 AM UTC
Poverty is a curse
A plague to be avoided
Work smart, lest you be poor
You too can cross the line
That very thin line
That separates the poor and the rich
Just take steps of faith
And be intentional
Poverty robs you of your ego
Makes you less of a human
But are people really poor
I guess not, just lazy I think
If you can get your hand *****
You will never lack what to eat
Run from poverty, faster than Usain Bolt
Do nothing and poverty looms
I just hate the coffee called poverty
How can I rent my wife to tourists?
Who does this for Pete's sake
This must be a spell
Is it a marriage with benefits?
Please help me ask these East Africans
How do you rent your wife to tourists?
That women have local and foreign husband!
Do we need to be re-colonised?
Again I say "Tufiakwa"
I don't care your tribe or race
Poverty is a universal plague
And winning starts with the right attitude
If truly you can think enough
That which you have, is just enough
Together, let's kick out poverty
It begins with you...
Oct 21, 2019
Oct 21, 2019 at 5:38 AM UTC
born underwater a ****** to the birth of creation
complacent verses bathing in lakes wasted her patience
ocean poems emotive prose the notions grow
breast strokes sowed in silly string civilized sovereignty
divinity’s reliance divided by Earth’s dire needs
fires breathe regardless of the rain she breeds
seeds beneath the sand hold no reason to lie in wake
so we speak in foreign tongues with dominance a mistake
to take her language for another world
visions died with imminence and grandiosity
a coliseum’s misconstruction catalyzed combustion’s coldest counterculture
living within the wind sinning stings it’s singularity
glaring stares impaired all sages of their clarity
careful conscious turned rotten swimming in the toxins
glossy water robs apostles of oxygen
filtered riddles fiddled this conviction’s symmetry
& now the god’s live in ignorance and misery
crimson skies abysmal cries they’re looking at the ground
astounded to the loud doubts that overpower clouds
powdered optometry devoured flowers of their solitude
another rotten petal for every sentiment left misunderstood
confused prisoners gifted with the write to think
proles sentenced to wonder why the caged bird sings
a paradox of broken thoughts to question it’s intentions
matter undermined the undefined enlightenment
spirals in the light comprise a present tense
evanescent destination sensei keep I humble
so many stripes up in my wavelengths
widowed endorphins scrape the pain away
balanced chemically an efficacy of electricity
many marvel but the master’s prophecy is destiny
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 4:13 PM UTC
Born of fear, fueled by anger
This resentment I feel for you
Creates abscesses on my soul
Poison filled sacs of toxic hate which
Rise like bile in my gullet
To choke my spirit
Much like the dead alcoholic
Who's aspirated on
His own ***** and phlegm
A bloated purple carcass
Devoid of autonomy of spirit
Self-obsession robs me
Of conscious truth
Fear - that your indictments
Against me will be brought
Before the grand jury of
The universe and I will be found lacking
Resentment - at you for not becoming
A willing patron of
My brand of truth
Anger - at me for my own failings
Brought to light
Secrets I can no longer hide
While my defects are
Glaringly obvious to
One as enlightened as
You purport to be
Did not your path to
Spiritual perfection
Contain the blueprint to
Correct your vain sins of glory and
Indignant self-deception?
Is not your lofty status
Grand enough to look upon
My humiliated soul with
Something less than contempt?
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 7:07 PM UTC
Apart from the Malice I'd like to Subsume
Are some Fortune's Tags which I strive to defer
And Mood the Dragon's Seasoned Pawn resume
Threw Slime instead; And dissolved my Brother
Shall I charge as your Fault? But then again,
Your same usual Stones pound my Bouncing Head
With no other Ritual to confront this Pain
You continue to bray; And play Mule instead
Unaware of the Grass you still do hurt
Blinded by the Light which you call Divine
Philosophy leashes your own True Worth
Sticks you in Trivia; And robs your eyes blind.
What is there to blame from such Harrowed Young
Since the Lord Philip's Man has not yet sung?
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 3:15 AM UTC
It sings to me
On the dark side of midnight.
The deep, throbbing song
Courses through my veins.
It robs me of sleep
With its hurtful music;
Woven throughout me a
Sadistic opera of pain.
Screeching aria’s fill my
Head with brain-snapping sound,
While the chorus accompanies
With low, deep down thrumming.
Once begun, this opera of horror
Will sing for hours at a time.
No breaks allowed for this
Captive audience of one.
It sings until satisfied
My body won’t be worth a ****
Wrung limp from the awful music
Of the tortuous performance.
Sung to me from the dark side of midnight.
4/1/11 (c) Peggy Montgomery
Apr 1, 2011
Apr 1, 2011 at 5:17 AM UTC
Amber drips from the 60’s-style lamps
on two end tables.
Brassy-orange and bulbous,
they illuminate the tangled tracks.
The light spills onto the floor
like heavy freight abandoning its car.
It spawns the locomotive shadow
cast by my grandmother’s sunken-in couch.
I nestle myself snug between the pillows,
dense and flattened by years of Sundays.
Sundays that bring my father
close to his brother, not a brother at all.
I peer over the edge
and heave a hushed “all aboard.”
Grandma sleeps to unwind
the day’s knot of exhaustion.
Each bone-bleach white fiber frays
from the chemotherapy that robs
her gnarled hands of their strength.
This one-way ticket marks the end of a journey
of a once well-oiled machine.
The exhales of a CSX
spout its peppery breath out in opaque puffs.
I am a conductor, tearing the ticket
of tonight’s traveler.
Rising to my bare feet now,
I sink into the cushion like wet sand.
The train thrusts and in a single bound,
I leap from the ledge and leave my lone passenger.
The cars whir and hum alongside me.
Deafening metallic wind rusts the edge of the rug.
I’m still waiting for her return,
and in denial that it was her last train.
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 3:38 PM UTC
The darkness drew close an the end drew near
He looked into my heart and saw fear
Heart racing... Lungs burn
Darkness torments at every turn
Dinking deeper into an eternal void
Darkness robs my soul of its joy
Colors flashes by, I say his face
My body yarned for his warm embrace
Engulfed in darkness, fear, and lies
So scared of love passing me by
Thinking of heaven, don't wanna die
On my way to hell, God knows I've tried
Reaching out to take his hand
The distance grew, the void expands
Pulling me further, faster into the ebis
I grabbed for his hands, once again I've missed
Lost in the silence all alone
The darkness turned my soul to stone
He spin me around and around
Can't keep my feet on solid ground
So afraid to take a stand
I kept holding on to his hand
Don't know if its dumb luck or faith
But one day, well meet at Hell's gate
La Vida Love
Oct 7, 2016
Oct 7, 2016 at 9:28 AM UTC
So, how have you been?
I know it's been awhile.
I couldn't bare to watch this creature feature -
The selling out for style.
What good is luminescence
If there is nothing to be seen?
I choose to light my words
With colors-
Blues, and reds, and greens
And shower it with glistening golden streams.
So, pardon me as I purge my disappointment.
Where does integrity go
When the walls are burning down?
The lanes are blocked with gratuitous frivolity as meaningless as the strands of fiber drifting in a beam of sunlight-
Particles of bodies that settle on the coffee table only to be wiped away by a tattered cloth.
I cry out for the setting of the sun,
That glowing orb which destroys the mysteries,
And robs the seeker of discovery.
I ask,
Are the shadows being driven into the crevices never to be seen again?
There would be no depth perception without them.
A phantom weight is here,
Then just as suddenly as it came,
has gone.
The color is washed away in all the brightness.
What is left is white,
and not much else to write,
But of the sadness of the ways
it takes the texture from the days.
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 5:27 PM UTC
I much admire, I must admit,
The man who robs a Bank;
It takes a lot of guts and grit,
For lack of which I thank
The gods: a chap 'twould make of me
You wouldn't ask to tea.
I do not mean a burglar cove
Who climbs into a house,
From room to room flash-lit to rove
As quiet as a mouse;
Ah no, in Crime he cannot rank
With him who robs a Bank.
Who seemeth not to care a whoop
For danger at its height;
Who handles what is known as 'soup,'
And dandles dynamite:
Unto a bloke who can do that
I doff my bowler hat.
I think he is the kind of stuff
To be a mighty man
In battlefield,--aye, brave enough
The Cross Victorian
To win and rise to high command,
A hero in the land.
What General with all his swank
Has guts enough to rob a Bank!
2.5k
(Early Mornings)
It is 4:10 AM
Here i am, facing you...
Haven't showered...haven't brushed...haven't gurgled
Too early to look...but, i could not resist seeing
This person with disheveled hair
Eyes are not too willing to open
Avoiding the uncertainty surfacing...slowly but surely
Making itself known, this morning so early...
An empty shell, is what i could see
A looming nonentity...
No coffee yet, but, the eyes already speak
You don't answer, your looks are so bleak
That is how you tell me i am stubborn
But i've been this way since birth...so torn
You tell me, i am just in denial
In front of you, it is like, i am on trial
But, i am just a mortal
Maybe we are both tired
How can we ever go back to being inspired?
Maybe you'd rather shatter into pieces...like i would,
I'd carefully gather your shards...would you gather mine, if you could?
Now, later, tonight, tomorrow...we always face each other
There are days, when i look at you, you make me smile, i feel better!
But, most times, i hate the reflections, they make me glare
And i so despise the thoughts that ensue...i counter your stare
..... I close my eyes, with a plea,
A blink could not erase, the images that i see..
I have never wanted separation
And yet, Fate brought me here, in isolation
You're my silent pal...my silent witness
You say nothing when i become senseless
I leave you in the morning
I come home from work in the evening
And i find you still here... on this wall
Welcoming me home...where i just sit, or stall
Faint jazzy sounds comfort me
A few hours rest...late at night...i sleep...i am free
Then, again, the alarm ruins the stillness of the moment
Robs the dawn of its precious silence
And i rise...to drown anew in despondency...in self pity,
Or is this lunacy?
All i see is gray...and black
Be it dawn...or dusk.
If ever i surrender
I'd be swamped with the stark truth, the reflections you offer
...this can't be a facade,
...in front of you, it's just too bad
I am
U n m a s k e d...
....I am weak, powerless...i crawl
Over and over, i struggle not to fall,
Over and over, i look at you... but, just the same..i fall.
(January 22, 2015)
Sally
Copyright May 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 5:29 PM UTC
~~~
*On the edge of sleep you are the moon
suspended in a midnight sky
shining among all the stars in heaven
A ’twinkling in your eyes
You are my Sunday morning
sharing skin between the sheets
And lazy afternoons
That leave me full, complete
You are a life long journey
A path that leads me home
A fire to stir my passion
The only one I’ve known
You’re whispers in my coffee
Sweet echoes are my cream
You‘re the rage of lustful yearnings
In my silent movie screams
Just like a speckled puppy
You bring me youthful joy
Like a candy coated confection
That leaves me wanting more
You burn with fire and flame
That robs me of my sight
You’re everything I long for
An ageless guiding light
You are a timeless vessel, dear
The maker of my sighs
A keeper of my secrets
The flame I can’t deny
You are that haunting melody
Rewinding in my head
A bold and tasty morsel
That keeps my hunger fed
In dreams…you are the moon, love
Sweet whispers in the night
You settle on my pillowslip
To make all my wrongs seem right*
~~~
Oct 21, 2019
Oct 21, 2019 at 4:40 AM UTC
It feels good first
That punch you throw
Powered with adrenalin
Triumph! you crow
Losing control
Each threat you shout
Driving Emotion prevails
Anger has clout
Primal howling
I cannot speak
A volatile Damnation
Beneath my feet
A fiend unleashed
A dark winged thing
Wrenching the curtain aside
Madness is king
You’ve crossed the line
There is no doubt
Dimensions of cruelty
Madness wins out
No forgiveness
The devil cheers
Waylaid in selfish desires
Demonic fears
Fear holds its breath
Sardonic gloom
Too turbulent to control
Foreboding doom
Peace is exiled
No looking back
Thrusts of heartless violence
Repression hacked
Paradise lost
Cherished hatred
Surging over boundaries
Nothing sacred
Stuff of nightmares
Robs me of sleep
Letting go with a vengeance
Monster’s relief
I cannot bear
This heavy weight
Id’s inner realm
Desolate hate
Transcendence shows
All states of thought
Each a world unto itself
Not shaken off
Silence that grudge
Revenge aint sweet
It turns back on you like a
Missile seeks heat
Nov 10, 2018
Nov 10, 2018 at 2:50 PM UTC