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Tom Vassos Dec 2019
Stumbling around,
Not getting anywhere.
Lost in despair,
Lost in grief.

Stumbling in circles,
Not waking up from my dream.
Lost in my thoughts,
Lost in the past.

Stumbling to helpless,
Not able to heal my heart.
Lost in emotions,
Lost in anguish.

Stumbling to nowhere,
Not knowing how to rise up.
Lost in my sorrow,
Lost in my guilt.

Stumbling to bitter,
Not knowing what to do next.
Lost in the *******,
Lost in the anger.

Stumbling to decline,
Not knowing how to break free.
Lost in confusion,
Lost in delusion.

Stumbling to distress,
Not knowing why I love you.
Lost with the demons,
Lost in the quagmire.

Stumbling to nothing,
Not knowing true devotion.
Lost in my torment,
Lost in the nonsense.

Stumbling to disorder,
Not knowing how to fight back.
Lost in the chaos,
Lost in the fury.

Stumbling to agony,
Not knowing how to change course.
Lost in a big mess,
Lost in silent wounds.

Stumbling to destruction,
Not knowing how to stand tall.
Lost in seclusion,
Lost in disillusion.

Stumbling to extinction,
Not caringwhere I end up.
Lost in devastation,
Lost in ruination.

Wake up, wake up,
Stand up, stand up,
Grow up, grow up,
Rise up, rise up,
Fight back, fight back,
Strike back, strike back,
Soar now, soar now.

Close the door…     Break free.
Alyssa Underwood Sep 2017
There is little in this world that consistently causes our hearts more pain or which produces in us more need for forgiveness than rejection, especially from those whom it has cost us so much to love. It is universal anathema to the soul, and much of our lives can be unconsciously governed by the fear of it. So we find ourselves naturally asking, "Joy in the midst of rejection? Is that even possible?" Oh, yes! Not only possible but commanded of us who are believers in Christ. And not only commanded of us but ready to be gloriously bestowed on us like the most precious of pearls.

It's in the season of greatest rejection that we enter the season of greatest opportunity to discover the fullness of God's joy by discovering the fullness of His own heart. Walking in intimacy with Jesus through this searing pain may be one of the most priceless privileges of grace granted to us on this earth, for it opens up one of the widest doors for us to enter into the fellowship of sharing in His sufferings, and there is no more obvious chance to die to ourselves and live for Christ than in that holy communion of suffering with Him.

It's there that we're most able to clearly see Him and best prepared to clearly reflect Him, and it's then that we're empowered to live our lives here on earth from the very throne room of heaven, seated in the resurrected presence of our Bridegroom, where the joy always runs full and over. So our deepest heartaches will turn to deepest joys when we embrace them for the sake of Christ, to gain Him and be found in Him, to know Him in intimate detail through excruciatingly sweet experience. We will discover that the Lord entrusts the most luscious of blessings and the rarest of secrets to the most desperate and thirsty of souls, and that He delights to place the loveliest of wings on the lowliest of worms.

The gifts of myrrh's sorrow which the Father pours into the vessels of our lives are poured first into the hands of His own Son and flow through His nail-pierced scars before they ever touch us. And as we choose to graciously receive them as such, we are filled up with Him and enabled to pour Him out into the lives of others, even those who continually scorn and despise us.

The gift (yes, gift) of rejection is the high privilege of being asked by our Commander to become His flag bearer, receiving the esteemed honor of marching beside Him at the center of the front line, into the heat of the battle and into the face of the "enemy" (the rejecter), armed with no gun and carrying only His banner of love over our head for all to see. It's a sacred invitation into a certain death for the sake of knowing His love more intimately and for the service of displaying it more gloriously.

And if tempted to refuse the privilege, let us remember these two things: this life is so much more freely, joyfully lived when we have finally learned to count ourselves dead to it and alive to Christ, and the flow of His agape love through us will only be as strong as what it costs us to demonstrate it. The greater the cost, the purer the love; the purer the love, the more we are made like Him; the more we are made like Him, the more attuned we will be to His own heart's breaking and to our own breaking of it.

Oh, that we might be purged of ever thinking again that our neglecting of His love does not matter to Him! May He cause our hearts to break and break until we see how much it does! May we know the world's rejection again and again until we are finally scoured clean of our own despicable tendency to reject Him in favor of all our worldly playthings! No lover has ever endured more rejection than our Lover at our own hands and by our own hearts. And no lover continues to love through rejection with the determination and desire, suffering and sacrifice, tenderness and tenacity of our own Bridegroom. Can we not endure whatever He has called us to suffer for Him? Can we not allow it to drive us more fervently to His heart?... Lord, capture us by Your mighty hand and consume us by Your mighty flame, and may we pant and pine only for You, for Your love sets us free to dance in the midst of the fire!

How humbling, mystifying and worship-evoking it is to realize that the One we have so grievously rejected is the same One Who so perfectly understands and longs to comfort our own heart's grief when we are rejected. And to not run to Him now for that fellowship of healing would be to reject Him all over again and to break His heart once more. What could hurt Him more than our stubborn resistance to share in both His sufferings and His comfort when there is so much joy and intimacy waiting to be had with Him? Whatever ache our own heart knows, however deep and scathing, it cannot compare to the ache of His own heart when we let anything pull us away from Him, for He is rightly EVERYTHING to us—Father, Husband, Lover, Best Friend, Brother, Confidante, Kindred Spirit, Counselor, Nurturer, Rescuer, Healer, Hero... Behind the pain of every rejection is a legitimate need or desire that He is waiting to fill in us, and we have to let Him get to it by dying to our fleshly ones.

Or do we suppose that we might ever find true and lasting joy apart from dying to ourselves and abiding in Him when He died so that we might fully live in the joy of that abiding? No, true joy will only follow abiding; abiding and dying walk hand in hand, and rejection throws open the door for all three. Man's rejection is central to God's wooing, for it shatters our false expectations of human love and stirs in our hearts the longing for a perfect one. So let us not shrink back fearfully from that which can do us such good and teach us to love as Christ has loved us. With renewed passion, let us ask Him to wrap every affection of our hearts more tightly around Him that every desire might be united with His own and that we might learn to love in a way that sets our lives and the world around us ablaze!

To be despised and rejected and, still, to love—that is the ultimate triumph of Christ in our hearts, for we are never more like Him, never more full of Him, never more surrendered to His heart and His work than when He pours out His love through us to those who will not love us back. When we can stand in the face of bitter, cutting words, contemptuous looks and shaming mockery and still love fiercely but with a gentle and quiet spirit, we will know without doubt that it is His Spirit moving gloriously through us... Lord Jesus, Who so willingly floods our hearts with Your most precious gift, Yourself (and You are Love!), teach us to ever know You more and to rely fully on the love You have for us and ARE for us in infinite supply. Teach us to feast on the abundance of that love, and let it flow freely out of us to the ones who would reject, scorn, mock and hate us, so that they too might one day taste and be consumed by Your perfect love which drives out all fear—Your infinite, immeasurable love which heals all wounds and fills all emptiness and gives meaning to all of our pain. You alone, O LORD, are able to truly and purely love through rejection, but You live gloriously in us, so unleash Your mighty waters through us. Your love is everything, for You are Everything!...

Our all-sufficient Bridegroom is able to work His agape love most perfectly in us when that love poured out to another is not ever reciprocated, for it forces us to finally let Him fill us with Himself alone and to rely completely on His love instead of on the love of another to meet our heart's deepest hunger. The need for His filling IS our deepest hunger, and so our soul comes most alive not when it is loved by our fellow man but when it receives and pours out Jesus' love to our fellow man, expecting nothing in return but more of Him. Thus His love is made complete in us whether they ever love us back or not, and the fear of their rejection is eventually driven out by His perfect and perfecting love.

Even if love is never returned...never even received...it is never in vain, for "love never fails." To love someone, though we mean nothing to them, may seem too cruel a burden for the heart to bear, but the only thing worse than not being loved is to not love, and so the greatest tragedy of love spurned or lost would be to stop loving. For to cease loving that which causes us pain would be to let the pain win, but for as long as we love, really love with Christ's own heart, no matter what else happens, we win.

Love without pain remains unproven and, therefore, is meaningless, but love through pain invokes nothing less than the miraculous and inspires even the incredulous. The purer one's love, the more pain it causes when it is rejected, but only continued love can redeem the pain of loving, and only a perfect Love can heal love's scalding wound; the more scalding the wound, the better primed it is to receive that perfect Love fully into it.

There is great romance to be found in unrequited love that keeps loving, though it is beyond any human emotion or fleshly capacity or mortal understanding. It is a most sacred mystery which cannot be grasped with the head or even the heart but only with the spirit, for it is a love whose connection to Christ remains unsevered. There is perhaps no intimacy to compare to it, for it drives us to Him like nothing else will. It is a love whose longing for the other gives us the greatest insight into God's own aching longing for us. Only when it has cost us everything to keep loving do we begin to understand the smallest fraction of the wildly extravagant love Christ has for us or of the brutally scandalous pain which it has cost Him, and it will leave us in utter awe of Him and in love with Him like we have never been before.

As our focus is turned more and more toward His love for us and toward all of our previous rejecting of it, we will come to clearly see that agape love and rejection have everything to do with the the hearts of the lover and the rejecter and nothing to do with what the beloved and the rejected have done or deserve. For obviously we have done nothing to deserve God's love and He has nothing to deserve our rejection, yet He never stops loving us and we keep rejecting Him in ways we can't even comprehend. No one has ever known more rejection than the only One Who is completely worthy of love. Every time we sin we reject Him in favor of something else, but still He loves us without fail and without end. He loves us because He is love and because He has chosen to set His love on us. We are absolutely and irrevocably loved and accepted in Christ Jesus, and nothing and no one can ever change or mar that love. Our identity is completely secure in Him simply because of Who He is and who He says we are to Him.

Therefore no amount nor depth of rejection by anyone changes anything about who we are in Christ or our worth to Him. We do not need any man's love or acceptance to validate our worth, for it has already been established in the heavenly realms by the only One Whose verdict carries any real and lasting weight. We are significant and precious and holy to God regardless of what anyone else thinks of us or says of us or does to us. What has their rejection got to do with us? Nothing, for we are His! We are chosen and we are beloved! And so we are freed from the fear of rejection when we see that it cannot define us or taint us in the sight of the only One Whose opinion or judgment matters. It's a glorious thing to finally care what no man thinks of us, only the Master, for then we begin to be free to love all men as He loves them and to pray with deepest sincerity, humility and fervor even for those who spitefully reject us.

And even for that one who has hurt us most deeply, who has crushed our heart and thrown us to the wind like chaff without so much as a glance back, we will pray, no longer with only a slight and distant hope that he would return to us but now with a passionate desire to see the prodigal return to the heart of the Father. We will pray, not with a focus on life with him but with a focus on life for him. We will pray for a total and glorious restoration of his life to Christ, even if we will never be there beside him to share in the fellowship and joy of his homecoming, even if we will never get to experience up close in this life the thrill of seeing the Lord make something beautiful yet of his ashes. And this may be the hardest and truest test of our love for him—this painful sacrifice of desiring his absolute best apart from us. It is a wrenching blow to our pride and to our will (not to mention our codependence), for we had so longed to play the Muse and to awaken that beauty in him. So we know we could never yearn or pray for this out of our own strength or wisdom; it is simply too painful to our flesh. We must be led into it and through every delicate step of it by our loving Redeemer, our Bridegroom, as if He were leading us out under a canopy of the starry host and into the most intricate and intimate of moonlit dances. And so we begin to pray and to dance...

But even wrapped in Jesus' arms we are clumsy, stumbling miserably over our own feet. The music is perplexingly unfamiliar and the steps wildly unpredictable, and our toes feel terribly pinched in these new shoes. Maybe this dance is just too hard for us. Maybe we are not yet ready. Maybe we should sit it out for now and try again later when our shoes are a little more broken in or when our heart is a little less broken apart. So we pull away...

But He tenderly beckons us back: Dear and beloved bride, broken-but-beautiful one whom I have made My own, do not push Me away now, not after I have brought you so far. I have many more secrets to share with you and so much more to show you of Myself. But you are not letting Me lead this dance, beloved. Why are you so rigid in My embrace? Why so worried over the next steps? Let go of everything and abandon yourself to My love. Enjoy Me...Follow Me...Lean into Me...Keep watching My face...Let Me move you however I desire us to go...Trust Me...Love Me. Shall we dance, then?

Yes, we shall and we do! As He draws us into Himself, into the prayer of His heart and the dance of His Spirit, and as we give ourself over completely to the impulse of His leading, the details of our words and the precision of our steps give way to the desire and passion of His will, and the pulsating of our heart swirls to the rhythm of His own. The further He pulls us into union with Himself, the more we find ourselves desiring this same intimacy-with-Him for the very one who has so badly hurt us, for we see how badly he himself is hurting without it. We realize now that his running away from us and toward another is just as much a reflection of his insatiable yet misunderstood craving for God as was all of our running toward our own idols (including him). Our soul aches for his redemption and his healing and for his lost sheep's heart to be brought out of darkness and into the marvelous light that shines from Jesus' face, that he might truly know the pleasure of knowing the One Whose pleasure he was created for.

Somehow, through this heightened and mysterious intimacy of prayer for him, we are now discovering a strange and new kind of intimacy with this very one whose intimacy had so often given us the slip, this one whom we had so long loved and lived with but failed to uncover at all, and the fresh wind of it drives us even deeper into the ache of God's own heart for him and for us. It is at the center of that ache that we are finally able to let go of the hurt and the man and leave the matter entirely in God's hands, understanding that the Shepherd's aching heart knows fully all whom He has chosen and will never stop dealing with or seeking after any of His own sheep. And so...


                        We release to Him with a heart of trust
                        This one whom we love and always must
                        We can let go the man and rest because
                        It's out of our hands and always was



But the dance, like the feast, goes on and on, and the more we dance and the more we feast, the more we heal. Our Bridegroom wounds us by His own providence but washes our wounds with His faithfulness and binds them up with His love. The wounds and their healing make us beautiful to Him. They teach us to know Him, to hunger for Him, to enjoy Him and to please Him. And they get us perfectly ready for that most glorious of dances and that most joyous of feasts which are still to come but, perhaps, much closer than we might dare to imagine. It is time to awaken, dear bride of Christ, and to break in our dancing shoes!
~~~


"And so we know and rely on the love God has for us. God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in him. This is how love is made complete among us so that we will have confidence on the day of judgment: In this world we are like Jesus. There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love. We love because He first loved us."
~ 1 John 4:16-19

"And we boast in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us."
~ Romans 5:2b-5

"As you come to Him, the living Stone—rejected by humans but chosen by God and precious to Him— you also, like living stones, are being built into a spiritual house to be a holy priesthood, offering spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ."
~ 1 Peter 2:4-5

"He was despised and rejected by mankind,
    a man of suffering, and familiar with pain.
Like one from whom people hide their faces
    He was despised, and we held Him in low esteem.
Surely He took up our pain
    and bore our suffering,
yet we considered him punished by God,
    stricken by Him, and afflicted.
But He was pierced for our transgressions,
    He was crushed for our iniquities;
the punishment that brought us peace was on Him,
    and by His wounds we are healed."
~ Isaiah 53:3-5

"But whatever were gains to me I now consider loss for the sake of Christ. What is more, I consider everything a loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things... I want to know Christ—yes, to know the power of His resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in His sufferings, becoming like Him in His death..."
~ Philippians 3:7-8a,10

"But He said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong."
~ 2 Corinthians 12:9-10

"For just as we share abundantly in the sufferings of Christ, so also our comfort abounds through Christ."
~ 2 Corinthians 1:5

"'Blessed are you who hunger now,
    for you will be satisfied.
Blessed are you who weep now,
    for you will laugh.
Blessed are you when people hate you,
    when they exclude you and insult you
    and reject your name as evil,
        because of the Son of Man.
Rejoice in that day and leap for joy, because great is your reward in heaven. For that is how their ancestors treated the prophets...But to you who are listening I say: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you...Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.'"
~ Luke 6:21-23,27-28,36

"Make sure that nobody pays back wrong for wrong, but always strive to do what is good for each other and for everyone else. Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus."
~ 1 Thessalonians 5:15-18

"You make known to me the path of life;
    You will fill me with joy in Your presence,
    with eternal pleasures at Your right hand."
~ Psalm 16:11

"I pray that out of His glorious riches He may strengthen you with power through His Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God. Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us, to Him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen."
~ Ephesians 3:16-21

~~~
Alissa Rogers Mar 2017
I was stumbling in a field.
Firelight in my eyes,
Burning bright red
in the camera lens.
It wasn't a trick of the light,
the drugs or the beer;
it was a glance of love.
I was stumbling in a field.
Red-eyed and smitten,
Crossing minefields to you by choice.
Perhaps that is the only way
to walk the course of love.
"He was a glance from God."
Zora Neale Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching God
alasia May 2016
I have spent my life stumbling over the same mistakes generations of the people around me made clear I should not make. I know now that though this life is hard: this life is good. And I believe it more than ever because I hear it in the music of her words and the smile on her face and I can't help but be excited to raise the new humans and prepare them for the race. They will know life is not always winning because that's always tripped me up, I will show them simple victories like learning to persevere through the hard things. So when they find themselves making my mistakes they will know its okay to walk away and that they never have to justify why they didn't stay because no person will ever be reason enough to cut yourself open and beg to be loved. In the distant future along the fading sun I can tell my life is far from over and in fact it's hardly begun, my life has started and stopped though the world has never waited and I've questioned how we've come into existence and I've existentially debated but I'm aware now, more than ever, I love. I love deeply and passionately and violently it's true, and someday that will be enough for somebody and they'll return the feeling with real meaning and together we will fight the blackness that has threatened us and create a fire in our chests that burns brightest when we're together so if we ever get lost in the black hole we can find each other's lights and be drawn to each other's warmth and this fire will never be extinguished. Like wildfire, we'll let it spread, share it with our family, our children, our friends. This someday life will one day be in my hands because I've found a sturdy balance and stopped stumbling and instead learned. Even when life hurts there are worse things than being burned.
I had to grow down to remember how to grow up.
Chloe Chapman Sep 2016
I was stumbling through life when I met you.
Unbalanced on the uneven terrain
of God
and school,
and friendships,
and family.
But you caught hold of my flailing hands,
and wrapped your arms around my waist
to steady me, you said.
But now, I'm stumbling through the internet,
looking at pictures of you and them.
And I waver,
As I imagine you with her, and me here alone with my phone.
You said
You were busy,
Which is why there was no reply.
But why can't
You be busy
With me?
O fast day that trembles at the sight of Moon -
when will your warm arms bend again
the night's thick armor
that shades the world of joyous muse?
 
It is most facetious in its illusion,
that renegade of pale indifference,
when daylight dwindles and leaves more to imagine
than can be seen with naked eye.
 
Beneath the gaze of Her taunting face,
people do not walk as done in light -
suddenly, trudging and stumbling are the hip style.
Faces covered in guilt, remorse, fatigue -
all the things Sun can wash away with a simple,
lucid grin.
 
If brightest light were set ablaze in midst of night,
would not the people be plucked from false sanctuary
which darkness so convincingly provides?
Then many a Lost could be freed;
if only to see clearly through effervescent haze.
 
O blessed Sun!
With your arousal, Truth and Freedom will also reprise -
until again that blank stare casts its malevolent glow on
Delusion.
Prose from a street-lit bench.
Cné Aug 2017

Cné
I believe in love...
In a blink of an eye, a life goes by
extinguished in the end.
And all that's done returns to dust.
No omen can portend.
Yet love lives on, infecting all
and never really dies
It goes beyond the realm of man
to live in fragrant skies.
And on the spacious sea of clouds,
it waits to find a port.
And then it anchors in a soul
to caper and cavort.

Traveler
Perhaps
In the emotional beginning
When head was yet held high
Stumbling through clouds
Of bright blurry skies
Love was a foolish quest
Of paralyzing highs
And now you're telling me
Love can never die?

Cné
Translucent,
the clouds we've sailed
and golden sunsets made
Kisses that we could have had
while watching rainbows fade.
Alas, a life's too short to spend
in fathomless regret.
Perhaps the wheel will turn again
another lifetime yet.
And so, my love
the voyage goes on,
to "golden years"?
We'll see.
Until
the other side reveals
what shall become of "we".

Traveler
Indeed
A dangerous theory
I can't imagine
Love roaming free
The source of all misery
Another invisible ghost
Possessing unaware host
Surely
Love is the blood we bleed
All across time and history
Love is more than a mere key
More than a want
Love is a need...


Cné  
Traveler Tim


Cné Sep 2017
Long lines looped the carousel
the first time you gazed my eye,
mounted on that chestnut mare,
grasped tight to the reigns up high.

I see his face around the bend,
a corn dog in his hand.
Locking eyes as I rise. I blush,
above the crowd he stands.
  
Light flickers, mouths water
delicate contoured lips laugh. I smile.
The music hesitates along with my breath.
I think I'll be staying awhile.

Bewildered and a little dizzy,
I dismount with a giggle.
I lick my dry lips, dreamily,
hoping he is single.

With the wind, a light mist blows.
I can see her slowly get wet,
stumbling she falls my way.
I'm excited, this day isn't over yet

Drip, drip, drip upon my face,
anxiously, I turn to hurry.
In my haste, he catches my waist
swallowing... I fall covertly.

Lips moisten, I pull her near
a kiss, slipped, tongues twirl,
wanton whispers whisked away,
drenched deep passion's unfurl.

A stranger's kiss upon my lips
beneath the dreary skies.
Soaking wet, I'm still on fire
He caught me by surprise.

A stranger's kiss upon my lips
beneath the queching skies.
Heaven sent, a burning desire;
she, such a welcomed surprise.
A collaboration with TSPoerty.
In honor of the State Fair of Texas opening day ... tomorrow.
https://hellopoetry.com/TS_Poetry/
Thanks for the ride Tim!
the sky a silver
dissonance by the correct
fingers of April
resolved

              into a
clutter of trite jewels

now like a moth with stumbling

wings flutters and flops along the
grass collides with trees and
houses and finally,
butts into the river
rebecca suzanne Dec 2014
When I was little my mother put me in several ballet classes in hopes to bring some grace to my stumbling gait.

I grew up walking on eggshells, wobbling to keep my balance on a tightrope that never really ended.

 My instructor pinched my thighs and shook her bony finger at me every tuesday and thursday for three and a half years.

4 am, I'm still tiptoeing around the creaks in the stairs as if anyone would notice an empty bed.

 This Christmas I came across the broken reminents of the ballerina ornaments my younger sister used to play with.

I never did master the delicate posture I was expected to adopt. My feet fell a bit too heavy, I suppose, on the ice tonight.

I'm not cold anymore, just exhausted from attempting to balance the wrong things for too long.

My life is flashing before my eyes, but all I see is a younger version of myself practicing Grand Battements on thin ice while everyone slept.
Light
Color yourself indigo
Go on i dare you too
Sad but laughing buckets
Cleaning the floor with light

Oxy clean you are something
Modern poetic verbal stumbling
Left only to throw ***** shirts
Into the closet - hurt my feelings

See right through you
CeeJay Nov 2012
Stumbling in the dark
I cling to you as I slip in sandy footsteps.
Gazing out at the black and white sea,
The salty taste in the air lingers.

Hours seem like minutes,
Feeling your warmth beside me
I wrap my arms around you
to hold you close. Worries dissipate.

The stars - jewels finely placed
in a beautiful pattern of light.
Your eyes - no different
to those sparkling in the night sky.

Endless talking, laughing, smiling,
cannot be prevented.
Deeper and deeper, I drown
in those eyes, so mysterious.

Your lips are as soft as an angel’s,
constantly drawn to them.
A feeling like no other envelops me
as you pull me closer into your chest.

Stumbling in the dark,
I hold your hand,
You whisper to me,
I lose myself.
Dana Taylor May 2014
The sun is coming up so big and bright and bold that it feels like I could just reach out and grab it and put it in my pocket for later. I'm pretty sure I'm going to need it later.

I think he took his sun away for good. I tried to keep his sun shining. I tried so hard to keep it lit. But no matter how hard I stoked the fire, he kept me in the dark.

Somehow, I got so busy sustaining his solar energy that I didn't notice my own sun going out. His appeared so bright that I forgot I needed the warmth of my own. I don't know how long it will take my sun to heat up again.

Now it's as if I'm stumbling around a dark house during a power outage, searching for the emergency flashlight and hoping the batteries aren't as dead as we are. I think he used it last, and he never puts things back the way he found them. Good thing I grabbed the sun this morning and put it in my pocket for later.
Haydn Swan Oct 2014
In front of the mirror doing my hair,
It’s all in the prep work, don’t despair,
Soon be time for the big event,
all this grooming is time well spent,

walk like a robot, keep a straight face,
don’t want a single hair out of place,
grab the phone, yes this is the spot,
set it all up for the perfect shot,

try to look natural, find the right pose,
hide the blemish that’s on my nose,
impossible angles, arm muscles ache,
the phone in my hand is starting to shake,

follow the light, keep stumbling back,
I think I’m having a panic attack,
all this stress is really no fun,
but a click of the button and the deed is done !
Tommy Randell Nov 2014
The music was spilling out of us
The Guinness was going in
Terry’s octave mandolin
Was riding out in front of him

Like a boat tethered in a tidal surge
Like a young colt backing off the rein
And for each unexamined wreck of a song
He’d let out a little more sail

We were flying

Upstairs in The Taffes Inn
Was an oven of chords
Songs about the famine and
Ireland’s tragedy of wars

And I answered
With an ash-pit tongue of a poem
Showing our Yorkshire wounds
Made by London’s bonds

We were crying

Telling of Fishing, mining and grief
That having no say was having no meat
Coming stumbling and shaking to our common regard
To a Dublin breakfast, a mixed grill of the heart

Where we agreed to our passions
And our histories’ concepts
Where we sat and said nothing when saying nothing was best
That one sausage alone is a very deep subject

We were frying.
One sausage etc is a quote from Ciaran Carson's book on Irish Music and culture 'Last Night's Fun' - A must must read!
Are you out there my Friend.? ? Somewhere The Wind is blowing..? Where your footprints are gone as soon as left. No one to know. No one Knowing.?
       Are you in the Wind? ? A voice, distant, lost in the swirl of snow and Autumn leaves.? Your way Home...unknown.
       The next step taken, but down what path.? Will it lead through this wood, or wander Forever this Dismal forest of Bramble and Thorn? No shelter in sight. No sheltering insight.
Crows with eyes bright. Plucking at your at your sleeves and dress. Catching your skin, bleeding you like a priest with a fleem. Leaving you wounded and hurt., weary and wary.
       If you stand still but a moment., cease your struggling, stumbling and listen. you'll hear my voice.
On the Wind
Calling you Home.
Safe within the walls and warmth of my arms.
For Brittney. Your looking for what you already found.
CharlesC Nov 2012
We do not
wish to be
accused of this..
an awkwardness
failure in life
mumbling our message
speech that's flawed..
our balance upset
falling and slipping..

but what of
those mistakes
those stumbles which
change our path..?
what of those
new insights
we stumble upon..?
a discovery made
when the normal
expected..?
when only our
stumbling could have
led to gold...?
Melody W Nov 2012
Days, stretching to infinite proportions,
a gnarled oak, stark white against the cerulean sky,
distorting and twisting within itself,
aching to be complete, still, silent.

Nights, a lone swimmer's watery nightmare,
caught in the depths, darkness yanking feet down,
struggling upward
yearning to break the surface -

Howling and shrieking at an empty door
locked from the outside
to protect trembling walls
housing
nothing.

Is this who we've become?
Mindless drones who've arrived at the future,
cursing the past?

You overtook us swiftly, still trembling with rage,
your vise-like fingers softly caressing,
embracing our fragile necks,
each second drawing us closer to the final countdown,
knowing, but never quite comprehending
that we can never escape your cold lair.

And you -

grinning ironically,
peering down at us,
your playthings,
stumbling through this labyrinth;
blind mice, oblivious to our demise -

you will reveal everything
in Time.
©MW
465

I heard a Fly buzz—when I died—
The Stillness in the Room
Was like the Stillness in the Air—
Between the Heaves of Storm—

The Eyes around—had wrung them dry—
And Breaths were gathering firm
For that last Onset—when the King
Be witnessed—in the Room—

I willed my Keepsakes—Signed away
What portion of me be
Assignable—and then it was
There interposed a Fly—

With Blue—uncertain stumbling Buzz—
Between the light—and me—
And then the Windows failed—and then
I could not see to see—
Kiernan Norman Jul 2014
We didn’t bloom together the way we should have. We never eyed each other across neat soil; both self-conscious and self-righteous as we sipped the sun and, in quiet bursts, raced to touch the sky.  

We weren't planted by gentle hands in soft plots with room to stretch our limbs and shield our eyes, nor to bud in peace and thrive and find identity in both our own bold blossoms and as a pulsing piece of the whole lavish garden.

We didn't bloom because we erupted.
We running-start-swan-dived into stale dirt and were too close from the very beginning.
We didn’t sprout up straight; we snaked and lurked and left no bit of earth untouched by our vibrant, stencil **** fingers declaring ourselves alive.

By harvest we were tangled beyond repair.
By harvest I didn't know me from you and I liked it.

To be so entwined is lovely but depends on a balance
we could only begin to grasp.
To expand but not uproot requires perfect synchronicity maybe not beyond our years but certainly beyond our maturity. We spread out our emotions like tarot cards on a towel in the grass and reflected in your sunglasses I met the silent pieces of me.
In colorful, grim drawings those quiet, ugly bits floated up veins and settled under ribs.
They stayed silent. Until they began to scream.

And you and I- we didn't have the words;
not our own words that we earned and burned while stumbling across months and plains,
tripping over potholes and finding our feet quicker each time.
We had place-holders words we sang back and forth and splashed around and bathed in.
The words we spoke were profound and cardboard.
We were just reading lines, sharing identical scripts and an ache to be seen
so deep and desperate it was sinful.

We maybe shared the humid cling of regret; which hung heavy in stuck-air auditoriums,
it beaded sweat echoed, rolling down spines and turning blood to sticky wax as we whispered in the corner about the things we could say aloud while our minds never left the things we wouldn't dare.

We were mostly ill-equipped.
We joked about hurricanes
We didn't survive the first storm.

I want you to know you really hurt my feelings.
I want you to know you're the first guy I've given my feelings to hurt.
I want you to know I was terrible towards the end.
And I know that. But you gave up on me

You gave up on me at the exact moment I was giving up on myself.
Even as my tongue stung metallic and veins pulsed so hot and loud
through my eardrum that I felt I would explode- it was clean.
It was all remarkably clean.
and sterile.
There were no explosions.
No shattered plates, ****** knuckles or blown out voices
that scratched and rose in time with the sun.

Just a quick slash of rope-
an anchor cut loose and left to sink;
our secrets were set free to
rust over and collect algae.
We were suddenly off the hook
for any vulnerability we might have spilled
on each other in our fits of laughter
and hours of sleep.
A deep sigh of relief.
A deeper sigh of desolation.


The moment exists in sad yellow lighting that must have been added in restrospect.
I tweaked the floor of my memory too:
at that moment I was not wearing flipflops on linoleum- but sinking, slowly and barefoot, into chilly riverbed mud as it turned to ice.

I opened the door and there you stood.
You knew I had been crying and I didn’t try to hide it
it was too exhausting- running on fumes.

And I did expect something from you,
anything from you, that might dull the singed-dagger plunging
stab to my chest with each breath I gulped and spat .
I wanted anything that might reel me in from the cliffs edge
where my thoughts had carried me on horseback.

But you had nothing.
I watched your eyes glaze over my swollen lips and pinced, glassy eyes.
You threw back the melted, Picasso-esque mask where my face once was,
like a quick, sharp shot of warm whiskey.
Careful to avoid eye contact you slipped ‘**** this,’
under your breath and started to reach for my hand.

You started to, but then after a second suspended
you let your arm fall back to your body.
Head lowered, jaw clenched and you turned and fled with a new heaviness pushing down on your posture.
It looked painful and adult.
It looked like you finally felt the weight of our season.
And watching you go I shrank in lighter and thicker because I felt it too.

We are not going to get a happy ending-
not with each other and not right now.
Maybe not ever.
And that will have to do.
(Though I will miss your hand in mine.
I hope one day you'll remember being tangled with me and it will make you laugh before you cringe because I didn't like to be alone.)

If I wanted to be alone I would just go home.
Grace Apr 2014
When you tried to give me a compliment I always turn the cheek
Batting it away like it doesn't belong to me

That my hair is too frizzy for you to like it
My eyes too blue for your brown

My legs are elegant but they are marked with my disappointment
The purple and the blue will never go away
Yes, the bruises will slowly heal but by the time one problem is resolved another sapling and will slowly take root and show it's colors

You say my heart is made to heal
But I can't find it
It's buried so deep I can't hear it keeping time to my life song
It's crushed under all my self downs and worries
In that hollow it grows
Like a new bud
And one day it will turn into a flower

My response to your comment is lost on my tongue
It is somewhere tucked inside my conscience
Playing hide and seek with the directions on how to talk to boys and how to give an oral report without turning red
And I'm the seeker

You tell me I'm beautiful
But I can't hear you
The voices taunting me inside my head are too loud for your soft voice
Arguing about which way right
When I find my answer it seems as if the time has already left

You are already heading off in the other direction
Leaving me stumbling over my daydreams and expectations
Trying to get a grasp on what's ethical

I always forget to say thank you
It's sort of a bad habit
I'm always too worried about what will happen if I say something wrong
If I'll turn you away

I want you to know that I want you to stay
Stay close and hug me when I need it
So I can help you through your hardships
And carry each other's hopes and dreams upon our shoulders

You will be the soldier of my heart
Guarding the gates for all of the knights in shining armor that aren't noble enough to be my Prince Charming
Sorry I know it's not complete. It's a work in progress and I would like some feedback. Thanks!
MonkeyZazu Nov 2014
Darkness loves me too much
Always has me in a tight hold
It loosens it grip every now and then
But never really lets me go

Because it consumes all color
It's able to create any illusion
Sometimes I believe it's not there
But really, who am I foolin'

Darkness always surrounds me
Always lingers over my shoulder
Simulating fake happiness and warmth
Only making me colder

For now I endure the shadows
Try to put up a good fight
Still stumbling through darkness lost,
A blind man searching for light
Hannuh Jacey Oct 2012
Rainbows sit high
Imagination glides down their backs
and it scars hearts
after reaching a high, nothing matches that
Missing something now.
The paint, it trickles down and melts eyes
its canvas pain, it paints it gray.

To my fickle sea.
Poking holes in wishes you receive
The colors of the bay, they float away
Black and White is an infinite abyss
Lose yourself in the grace of it.
No in between,
just keep your eyes wide
you'll see nothing.
The sand at your feet
The glass and rocks that glaze the earth,
always find a way to cut their grace.
Don't pray too hard for me.

Search through your garden
the size of a thumbtack
the flowers rise over your head.
Trees of candy cane sprout before your eyes
You can't see what another sees,
no one to know what you know.

Taking a step inside an orchids stem
and tip-toeing down through the veins of its petals
the purple and gold
they all bleed through your mind.
Form and shape the world which you dance along,
thoughts of blowing breezes send your thoughts along their way
into this endless sea.

Watch the lines write themselves into darkened corners.
The bright and shining sun could change your world.
Swirling and spiraling staircases send you downwards without a thought,
no stopping the whirl-pool once your slipping under.
An octopus would take you in
and with every one of his eight arms he caresses your pain away
showing real effort in his cause

those who impress, settle at unrest

Watch as the berries erupt and bloom
crawl along the lines
mazes of blue
and red know there is no way to succeed.
Watch as the bumblebees sneeze with their noses covered in yellow dreams.
they pack it in with their toes in teams

A great glass lake, to skate along
the ripples
She falls along each crease,
stumbling and tumbling between each droplet.

The clouds fly high above her head,
they gaze upon her flowing gown.
They cry sad tears when they see her eyes
drowning her futures in their skies,
flowing and crashing and thrashing.

With an umbrella, float away
above the days when everything
turned out wrong.

The great glass lake serves true,
until you skip the rock of inferiority along its reflection.
The shatter will fly all about.
That is the point at which it ends
Everything you know is then contradicted and compromised
Your own description shattered

Stones drop from high heights
out of clouds with heavy hearts
waiting to smash this dream.

Great glass lake shines on.
February 7th, 2008
Read well with - The Reluctant Ballerina by Greg Maroney
Jordan Rowan Dec 2015
Have you ever felt like a child in the dark?
Where the whispers become thunder and the gods pound in your heart?
There's no sense in trying to quiet the storm
All that can be done is to embrace it with both arms

I feel like a traveller stumbling on a chest
Filled with something familiar but I can't quite place it yet
I found a picture lying in the dirt
As my mind was turned on by the velvet colored shirt

Some time ago, when my hair reached my eyes
I recall a quick visit that seemed to disappear and die
No matter how hard I try to remember
I can't come up with reasons I gave up that cold September

Now, as time's gone by, and things have changed
Like the inflections of my voice and memories estranged
I hear a voice from many Septembers ago
Like a harmony so rich that I can't wait to know
Saudade Saudade Jul 2014
You'll never know how cool I am, when I'm around you I just lose my cool.

But if you decide you decide to hold my hand, I swear I'd be warm enough for you.

As cold as hearts can sometimes be, it finds a flame, only after it's found your name.

As cold as my once stumbling feet, always steadly stumbling, fumbling your way.

Tip-toe, one. two. One. In front of. The other. tip. Toe. Tip.

This dance often repeated when I feel I've lost my grip.

Tip-toe, one. Two. One. In front of. The other. Tip. toe. tip.

You watch me advance, cocked brow and lip.

Crawling back to you.

Always crawling back to you.

Always never ever feeling right until I write to you.

And every night I write to you;
In my head, lying awake in bed;
with keyboards or with lead;
with songs birthed from dread--
singing "our love is dead."

And You'll never know how cool I am, cause around you I just lose my cool.

So I settle for a copy, for a hobby, for a tool.

As cold as hearts can sometimes be, it would thaw at a possiblity of you and me.

As cold as my once stumbling feet, still steadly stumbling, fumbling your way.

Tip-toe, one. two. One. In front of. The other. Tip. Toe. Tip.

I don't fear your rejection, in your eyes I've already quit.

Tip toe, one. Two. One. In front of. The other. Tip. toe. tip.

Inching as close as I can get, Hoping you still hear your name on my lips.

knowing the first thing you might say is , "Ain't this some ****."

"You come and go as you please, you do?"

"Assuming that I'll always be here for you."

But you /were/ always there
And I think that's hella cool.
That'd you could be so warm,
To such an uncool fool.
bukowski May 2014
stumbling home
in the evening
with my breath
smelling of cheap beer
and cigarettes;
people worry,
I tell them not to;
I do this for me,
not for attention
or sympathy,
I do this to feel
more alive,
because I feel so
dead inside
and my thoughts
are racing;
drinking shuts them up
for a couple of hours
and I feel better;
I feel sick,
but I also feel
great,
like I can do anything;
like nothing can hurt me;
is this what death
tastes like?
god,
I hope so
1

Monday Night Football on a Thursday.
Preseason. Johnny Manziel, running.
The nurse is a signal caller, too.
She flicks the wrist like Rodgers,
puts spin on it like Manning.
Once a rookie, now a seasoned vet.

2

Monday Night Football on a Thursday.
Network glitch? John Gruden, talking.
Anxiety lurks in the tall grass
still licking its paws. My head's out the game.
I've become an easy meal.

3

Monday Night Football on a Thursday.
If I had another John he'd go right here.
I miss my mother, and how she smiles
like my illness only increases my value,
puts gold in my veins instead of chemo.
Rex throws his clipboard, I lose my appetite.

4

Monday Night Football On A Thursday.
No more John's. Get over it.
Game's almost over. My head fresh from
the toilet, pieces of everything falling out
of me. Broken. Stumbling. At this moment,
football is enough.
Erin Apr 2015
Expectations can be vicious things
Casting a mirage, making things appear sugary sweet
Playing tricks on your mind and luring you in
You're envisioning your perfect fantasy
Taking that fateful step towards uncertainty
Head high and heart full of blissful unrealistic expectations
You find yourself stumbling in upon...

Nothing
But emptiness
And your shattered dreams
I stumble through my days
planning
deciding
reacting
guiding
leading....

I stumble through my nights
thinking
hoping
dreaming
fantasizing
remembering...

Where­ are my feet
underneath me?

Why do they no longer
provide me balance?

I want to walk a straight path.
A righteous path.
A committed path.

But I just keep stumbling
over you.
Breon Oct 2018
Another night staring skyward where
          Every creaking shift fills the world
                    And the ink-black sky's toothless maw,
Shocks and aftershocks of sound
          Where a moment's discomfort swells
                    To a frenzied crescendo, incessant,
Pressing against skin from within
          Until a saint's patience would break
                    Like lips parting for a stifled sigh.
Midnight falters and fades to dawn,
          Surrenders to the unconquered sun
                    Who, grinning wide as the horizon,
Watches the twisting, turning world
          Tear away from night's dreamless womb
                    Sleepless, stumbling away in a daze.
Andrew Rueter Aug 2018
Tired of the ways of men
Desperately I turned toward nature
I watched a butterfly ascend
Yet I'm a different nomenclature
Of a solemn glacier
Standing on my own
In an arctic cone
Not protected by the ozone
So I search for a new home
But can only find loans
My venture for my own real estate
Exposed me to the realest hate

I'm the roaming gnome
With a groaning tone
All alone
With a roaming phone
So I can't call home

My will I leave
When still I see
A killer bee
Filling me
Willingly
Its invasion's
Abrasions
Left a sensation
With a duration
Of unending inflation
On a descending station
Of no impending relation

I felt the nature
Of a desolate crater
When I met a great hater
Who told me to get straighter
So I could be a steel freighter
Carrying my load on my back
Without polluting the air
I decided to cut him some slack
Forgiving his impossible dare

I must gather grace
At a faster pace
To finish this race
Of a top notch
Hot crotch
Stopwatch
Ticking down
Into the ground
Without a sound
Or warning
Of acid rain forming
Until I see myself melting
From the savage belting
Of your death sting
You called the best thing
Like a divine blessing
Only seen after *******
Like a politician deflecting
For the constituents electing
To forego dissecting
The issue at hand
By not taking a stand

My world is crumbling
Because of you
And myself stumbling
In society's glue
As the sky is tumbling
I see I'll lose
Yet instead of rumbling
It's love I choose
Can be found in my self published poetry book “Icy”.
https://www.amazon.com/Icy-Andrew-Rueter-ebook/dp/B07VDLZT9Y/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=Icy+Andrew+Rueter&qid=1572980151&sr=8-1
Najwa Kareem Jun 2018
They're chasing this dollar bill
even it means compromising their beliefs and morals
even if it means lowering the status of their souls
even if it means hurting and not really caring about their own children
even if it means abusing them

They're chasing this dollar bill and they like the taste of this dollar bill
They want to taste it every day
They like what they can do with this dollar bill so they chase it every day
They don't realize how much of a slave they are to this dollar bill, nor will they admit to their slavery

They don't care if their chasing this dollar bill means more single sisters in the world
They don't care if it means mostly sisters are running many civil, Islamic, and Muslim organizations even though their husbands' contributions are desperately needed
Even if their children need their strength and their sons need role models and need and want to look up to them
Even if their children do not know how to read Quran and understand its meanings so they grow up stable, on solid footing, and bullet-proofed from all of the dangerous threats coming at them every day
They're chasing this dollar bill

They imitate their fathers chasing this dollar bill
Some want to out do their fathers in pursuit of this dollar bill
Some want to out do their fathers who failed in pursuit of the dollar bill
Some want to out do their fathers who succeeded in pursuit of the dollar bill
Some want to out do their fathers who care less about chasing this dollar bill
They're chasing this dollar bill

The culture says if one is a man, he's supposed to be chasing this dollar bill
If he wants to be a man, he has to keep chasing the dollar bill
To be successful, have a perpetual plan on chasing the dollar bill
Advertisements, subliminal messages suggesting they need more things
They need more to be happy
They're chasing this dollar bill

They didn't get what they wanted when they were growing up. Now they can with this dollar bill
They had a frugal parent. Now they can be reckless. They're chasing this dollar bill
They had a cheap car in high school and in college. Not anymore. Luxury now only on wheels. They're chasing this dollar bill

Buying their children the name brand shoes they didn't have as children; Living vicariously makes up for a lot; Living vicariously fills up the holes
They're chasing this dollar bill

This dollar bill gets them the beautiful girl or so they think or at least temporarily
Finally they feel like somebody chasing this dollar bill

Their sons need to learn about chastity so they learn to respect God, themselves, and girls and to understand the value, beauty, and protection of experiencing *** and intimacy in marriage
Time is money. They're chasing this dollar bill

Young girls sitting in the classroom dressed looking like hookers and hoes and boys expected to focus on the teacher and their school work; Keep their eyes down and not call the girls, and not flirt with them, and not want to sleep with them or not go home with them. God on the other hand is covered up and no one is teaching kids who they are but the expectation is that they will know God and know themselves 
They're chasing this dollar bill

The oppressed need people to advocate for them. There are tons of homeless on the street. They're chasing this dollar bill

The ones around them who call themselves friends not really being friends to them.
Their friends don't ask them What's up with you? Where are your priorities? Re-evaluate your priorities man. What's really behind all this chasing? I want to see you in heaven with me hopefully. I want to share in it with you. I care about you.

Instead their friends compliment them on their chasing this dollar bill
Their friends admire them chasing the dollar bill
Their friends edge them on to chase harder, chase more
Their friends get puffed up being associated with friends chasing this dollar bill
Their friends copy them chasing the dollar bill so they too have a taste of the dollar bill
Their friends compete with them chasing the dollar bill

They want to keep up with the Jones's running after the dollar bill, tripping and stumbling along the way trying not to let others see
They're chasing this dollar bill

I don't understand
It makes no sense to me
Why they're chasing this dollar bill to such a degree

It's clear to me. They're out of their right mind. That's what chasing this dollar bill can do to thee

They are on a chasing-this-dollar-bill frenzy
Their daughters need them to teach them more about hijab. Some of them wearing no hijab leaving them more of a target for hungry boys and men...like a closet full of valuables with no sign on the outside reading "Private"; Not for you to touch. Not your property. Not your valuables
What does that matter. They're chasing this dollar bill

Boys and men tempted by their daughters without hijab to imagine what their daughters' private parts sizes might be; What the sight of their nakedness could be
What they could do with their private parts
Their daughters need to learn their value and their worth from their fathers, fathers who are chasing this dollar bill

A human life investment or a temporary monetary investment...Where do they invest their time
It's an easy answer - They have no time...they're chasing this dollar bill

The community needs building but their homes need upgrading
They're chasing this dollar bill

My heart is heavy. I don't feel well
I'll keep talking about it. Even if I puke
I'll keep writing

They say women follow men. That's exactly what they are doing
They too are chasing this dollar bill

And we're all weaker because of it

If money strengthens, why are we weak
Why are our men weak
Why are our women frail  

Why

They're chasing this dollar bill

They're chasing this dollar bill
One foot off the edge,
One step from the ledge.
Stumbling, tumbling, falling down,
Ran right smack into you, what now?
Patricia Tsouros Sep 2013
Crazy passion fast deep soul kiss warnings word breathe reckless love devastated desk art struggle pinstripe attempts drunk ghost lost wind beauty hunger soul smile elegance latte knowing containment bond ink shallow identity measure chaos stumbling darling life dance frenzy sweat hole paper haunted only dreams ****** vandalized scars Achilles proceedings bare deep still pain inside lied courts darkness wind step empty rocky soul whisper eyes alone wrapped inside Athens love smile abuse truth lies time mind  bungalow knowing liar violated Pandora’s entanglement flashbacks ****** self-preservation private suit weakness baklava hide lips ******* played deserve hold earth destruction haunted coffin judgment dreams hands eternity sleep  sunset lips hidden kissed desire champagne stars taint lovers fallen what **** PR glistening intense echoes seeing taste depth care finally beach rolling salt binding heat lost quietly resumed park come believe myself arms world you skin love stranger now
Thanks to  Eliot York for his inspiration to tell my story in words from my Poems Love & Deception.
Daniel August Nov 2013
I am that wounded dear, humbled
Stumbling ‘round
Rabbit holes of you, under—Brush
The I’s from my mist
The kidneys from my stones.

Elaborate mumbles deerly missed,
By habit, eye drowned in tones
Siren singing seas, under—Blush
Something subtle: easily kissed.
A human homophone.

— The End —