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幽玄 Jun 2018
The first sign of a dream approaching is that when you’ve already awoken,
awoken to a strange place with no trace of how you could’ve gotten there.
And the unfamiliar, faces near, with eyes similar to shards– shaded  
you can’t help but notice those feelings emitted were somehow something you’ve come to known before,
but where?
–a notion coursing its way around a soundless observatory only to further dissipation—
A sign of discord covers the room,
all that was allowed is furthest from you,
a parched paper made from what seemed like rugged twine knows nothing but lead between,    you find a face emerging from it,
quickly drawn with detail,
there it stops from motion to undulating surpass,
away from a darkened room up in front of a morning taking.
This conjuring source flairs outward
rising through the outworn canvas
leading it to embers
dancing away along a fizzled plane
for what was despair inscribed in this meaningful dereliction.
To what is empty from emotion is nonexistent,
I couldn’t find the reason to live on,
this dream has died as will I... as will the will of this way this place carries over me.
Yes decay follows me,
unto everywhere will there be the silent breezes to carry me past the concrete terrain into nothingness.
I find myself to live this over,
until the advent of air drowns these lungs to knowing again,
to know exactly what it means to breathe again.
I see no reason for such things as unrealistic as they may seem likely for me to occur in this living.
Again I’m stuck in a room full of my owns thoughts,
such a dangerously sorrowful place to be.
‘For everything as it may have not been
weary am I for looking forward at
The things that never happened’

‘Turning over everyday, repetitively’

Let’s just say that this isn’t personal but for those whom share a common fate. Until overturned.
In its most rawest.
5.3

Parallels:
Snow, for me exemplifies a mute understanding from in juxtaposition with various types of sadnesses that branch off into disparately inclined yearnings, to nostalgic preferences, whether known or not. Why it happens is of course obvious but the way it affects you, makes one wonder, if at all— I think I’m trailing off my train of though here, I’m not sure where this is going..

This was inspired by a remarkable composer, as I recalled a dream before, along with the yearning of trying to expose my underlying expansion of myself with my current understanding of things. what it all could mean as much of his cello’s presence affected me during that process. I’m the gray area that needs deciphering.

—continuations:
the cello that wails the loudest, is one that suffers the most. Even so, every tone encapsulates the listener with resonance. And in that, it reaches its utmost vulnerability, showing the many hues imbedded in an infinite sadness, in an astronomical way, a type of exquisite somber, that resides in the instrument’s hollowness until implementation of procedure.
onlylovepoetry Mar 2018
Friday night immodesty

theater on East 4th street @ 8:00pm,
so the girlie stuff commences on schedule
90 minuets a-priori and the medley music
(adele+amy+alicia+ pink bach for some zing)
a harbinger, a pioneer Greek heralding of
Friday night immodesty

the clothes laid out upon the bed, the shoes,
pumps selected and already on,
(always a puzzler to me,)
the subdued lower east side jewelry possibilities,
on the dresser drawer,
indifferently hoping for selection, but
casually beaming quietly,
like those kids waiting for interviews in the waiting room
of the college Admissions Dean’s office,
all with serious smiles
and tiny tearing eyes

aside:
helloooooo, I am in a poetry polo with my best jeans ready to go
2 hours before the curtain calls out,
hellooooooo

she sits at the makeup mirrored desk,
clad in only her underneath garments of varying utility,
when I sweep in imperially
and with one hand twist gentle her hair upwards,
betraying
her neck nape which is again
the sujet of a poem aborning

lips,
like a Greek lyre strings, pluck, the tiny hid hairs never seen,
her instant moans at the never fully expected motion poem,
beg more mercy but no quarter given despite repeated cries
of you’ll mess my makeup,
the best defense known to a lady!

god gave men two thumbs to lift up,
simultaneously stimulating,
slide down each of the thin black brasserie strap invitations,
upon each, a writ,
upon her flesh colored shoulders,
stating
“what was she thinking!”

my lips,
now polar explorers, those power (filled) poles side by side,
(east/west for the designer was a smart
bipolar guy-person);
the lips play silent night progressive jazz,
tinkling with higher noted keys,
nape to shoulders moving down to the back’s prefrontal lobe,
the small of her back, the body’s quivering,
a con-federate flag of surrender

her last defense swept aside, we drink honey and milk,
celebrate the week’s mellifluous finish with immodest touching,
the lower east side will belong tonite
to only the hipsters, the millennials,
as our hips are milling and  otherwise
pre-theater and post, occupado

some hours later, watching TV and eating delivered Chinese,
she laterally and literally arm punches my arm
intensely to mark her discontent,
still annoyed,
for I

1) messed up her makeup,
2) best blouse to the dry cleaner and
3) the tickets wasted, and worse,
hits me again!

after I laugh and giggle upon proffering
most modestly, most assuredly,
seconds of
onlylovepoetry

9.21am Saturday
thank you all who liked this tale of
the poetry in the details
of our lives.
olp
ryn Jan 2015
Wondering,
if the universe flinched,
when God took you away.*
- dakota


Will I grace your thoughts when the moment comes?
Will your universe come to a complete standstill?
Will you choke back your tears...
Or by the buckets would they fill?

This pain in my heart
What is it?
I know now it's love
I know now I was bit...

I clutch my chest and begin to think...
Of the splintered shard I had failed to extract
I feel subdued and ultimately shattered
By the crushing bitter ripples of a broken pact

I'm hurting much
But strangely so...
I'm beginning to savour it
More than you know...
Line taken off dakota's 10w - "These words are not mine to keep" for Frank's "Let's Do A Line!" challenge.

Her quote caught my eye and heart the moment I read it and thought, "Wow... That's a great quote!"

It made me think and reflect on my place in the universe. Wondered if whatever I felt would send out ripples into the universe around me.

Thank you dakota for this inspiring this write...
Graff1980 Sep 2018
I look for compatriots
in this callous and cruel
world.

I seek allies who will help
me overcome
the horrors that were done
to everyone.

I long for
the warm storm
to wash away
the wicked muck
of too much
hateful stuff,
deeply paining
dark rhetoric
that wealthy men
generate,
to create
fear and hate.

I wait
subdued
by the desire
to inspire
in contrast
with a need
to find peace
from a
spiteful past,

but even among peers
I am alone.
ryn Feb 2015
.
    It's here again...
   Heavy downpour...
   I inhaled the rain,
    cloying with petrichor.

      Standing at my window,
     looking out...
    Street lamps struggled aglow.
   People with brollies walking about.

   My eyes reached out to the heavens,
    tracing these glassy beads
      as they'd free fall...
        Falling by the sheets,
       the pattering hastens,
      periodically punctuated
     by the thunder's call.

     Mind is drifting and floating,
       intently listening to a
          million love wishes...
             Liquid beauty...melding, sketching...
           In light entrapped splashes.

         Raindrops descend and come,
         into my still life tonight...
          Won't you will me numb,
             with your chilly bite...

             Wide-eyed enamour...
            Catching a stray droplet or two.
             Riding the tail of a zephyr,
              finding a place where
                no trouble could ensue.

            An errant gust blew
           to meet with me.
          The refreshing moist
         meets my parted lips...
        Inhaling deep in this reverie...
       Into a sea of tranquillity,
        my mind slowly dips...

      Sigh... If the droplets were kisses...
      I would savour each and every one.
      If the moist wind came and caresses
     I would meet it in a tight embrace
   till the break of sun.

  What a sight...
   Almost surreal it seems...
      As the light from the surrounding
         lamps dances playfully...
        Dispersing and exploding into a
     barrage of shattered beams.
    Before it gets subdued in the drops
   caught by the leaves on a nearby tree...

   The drops would trickle
     and fall before merging,
      forming stranded puddles
       unable to flow...
        Rippling... Splashing... Reflecting...
      An image...
     Borne out of a fantastic show.

    An image of beating hearts,
     overlapping one another...
       Speaking of consequential love
          and feelings so true
        Intertwined...
     in the promise of forever...
  Slowly retrieving itself into an...


  image of you...
Marla Nov 2018
My love runs sweet
For someone as dear
As the young lass
Who doth make my
Lip quiver.
These knees of mine
Experience tremors
No clergyman could contain.
A holy book has yet to find
The means by which I can
Be subdued.
She is my religion.
Her body: my church.
Her mind: my spirit.
Her love: my grace.
Un poem pour ma femme.
Uncomfortable flutters
Couple inches in
How interesting..
A river in the pit of miscreant
Now it's forgotten,
its subdued
It's  getting drowned out until I know what the hell to do
These flutters
Dont comfort me
Only confuse
And it  pulls at my sensory glands
To look like an elaborate ruse
Clay Feet Nov 2015
Forlorn beauty-child
Living in my night
Crying in your dream.
Sounds of sorrow
Linger in the morning mist
Of subdued consciousness.

Troubled water falls
From awakened red eyes
That searched inside loneliness  
Only to find more.

Now...

Behind my faceted face
Your countenance lingers...
I glance quickly within,
You disappear!

Your gaze lit my shadowed mind.
Your presence was there waiting
For me…

A Sonata…
A Fantasy  
A Major key bright-shining
Singing sunbeams to lift me.

After the music...

Shards of shattered dreams
Scattered like felled icicles
lying in the sun, melting into mulch      
They dawned bright green
Pipers on Scottish dew.

The mourning moon is
Catchlight in your eyes
Bright Bird...

Captivating sailors
Reaching down evoking vulnerable
Aspects held so long secret...
Bison Jun 2016
Born with a vacant sea
Raging within me
And a god shaped vacancy
Buried deep

Echo in the Valley
Resounding with the breeze
Narcissus drowned for free
Can you hear that broken heart beat?

Is this an all consuming darkness?
Is this emptiness blooming in death regardless?

The waves wash away sound
Sand castles crack for crowns
I cannot be let down
By a god who doesn't come around

Hades loves the Beauty bound
Fiery king of all that glitters below the ground
Subdued Persephone weeps for Olympus' Mount
Can you hear her dead voice shout?

Is this an all consuming darkness?
Is this emptiness blooming in death regardless?

I am the ocean
You are a hurricane in motion
Hollow heart within is closing
Filled with Love, the goddess I've chosen
jane taylor Sep 2016
awakening with the gradual rise
of the subdued heather hued sun
a palpable spectral silence permeated the air

the anticipation of celebration intercepted
by an enveloping phantom black malaise
hiding in obscure shadows

the terror of the twin towers final doom
elucidated quivers of melancholic nuances
rippling through the greying vicinity

my birthday september 11th a tuesday
my night to sing at abravanel hall
with the utah symphony

unable to serenade death
our voices remained indubitably silenced
in hushed wistful reverence

ensuing 9/11s channel somber sentiments
cloaked with annihilation while
dark visions occupy smudged iphone screens

this anniversary i will dissipate despair
transmuting dark despondency
splashing all with lucent petals of delight

i’ll live this day with passionate intensity
and those subsequent with equal ardor
ferociously painting back the light

i will raise my voice with effervescence
and sing in wild abandon
for my precious brothers that were lost

demonstrating devotion through a refusal
to be silenced by fear bestowing honor
with a conspicuous message that love wins

©2016janetaylor
i place many of my poems over my photography
to see the poem/pic combo go to
http://www.janetaylorhardy.com/single-post/2015/09/13/911-birthday
ryn Aug 2014
We can only afford to contain our fires
Turning to... Soothsaying waters

Soothsaying rain, empty out your bottles
Irrigate from our heart puddles
Let flow into a singular well
An oasis where our hearts would kiss and silently tell

Submerge us as one being
The water milling and licking
Kissing our warm skins
Wash away as it purges and cleans

Cleansing waters, wash and give birth
Rid of the sadness to reveal the earth

Of this earth, you and I are one
Looking up to idolise the same sun
Wedged between... This expanse of redundant land
Pining for the mixing of our sands

We... We are made of the same
Earth, dirt and gravel placed in different games
Bearing similar stones that beat
Beating away the seconds that flit

Earth biding time... Stay on ground
Let wind take your souls to realms unbound

Casting our souls into the wind
Carved hearts on flags we pinned
Kites of love set to catch the air
Wind be kind... Carry us easy with care

Gift us your gentle airy fingers
As you would the sails of hopeful seafarers
Together we would dance and billow
Frolic upon your light feathered pillow

Ride the wind, on wings that never tire
Tiny bites that keep us afire

Never needing a flint to set alive the flame
Stoking the fire that burns on the same
Rhymes and reasons be our fuel
Combat logic and sense in a cerebral duel

Fight in our eyes, subdued are the blazes
Embers dormant behind glassy tearful gazes
Spark them to life with passionate heat
Fan them to rage till the time our hearts meet

But still... We must contain our fires
With nothing but soothsaying waters
Emeka Mokeme Jul 2018
Wonders of the world
is too insignificant to
what you will experience
in your life for opening
your heart to receive the
fairest impressions of God.
You are the best gift life can
ever give to the universe.
Infused in you are the
unimaginable seed of greatness.
You are for signs and wonders.
Created and endowed with
enormous and immense abilities
to subdued and have dominion
over all things created.
Your words and thoughts can change
situations and make things manifests
from something for nothing cannot
give rise to something.
Thoughts are definitely something,
and your words are powerfully alive,
you only need to properly project it
into being to give it form and bring
it into your reality.
All things resonates to you,
whether positively or negatively,
depending on the platform you stand.
Everything responds to the octaves
of your vibration within the wavelength
of the rhythm of the pendulum swinging
circumspectively overly around you.
You can do anything you want to do
if you really want to do it.
But you have to learn how to do it differently,
because you are definitely differently configured.
You are an absolute dot stretched into being,
vitalised by the power beyond the ordinary
and full of grace of the divine light.
You are the light of the world.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Marla Apr 4
Charming and quaint,
These monuments to
Stylized antiquity sit
Parallel a seashore.
Cars of forgotten pasts
Line their facades,
Defending them from
The sea's subdued gaze.

On the streets below,
A crowd as energetic
As the stars themselves
Becomes one with their nature.
Not a beat is skipped,
These pretty pastels
Make the world as
It should be:
In a state of colorful glee.
ava Nov 2018
my mother always said her worst fear was growing old
she tucks the years into her waistband without looking in the mirror
the wrinkles grow on her face like roots from a tree
i ask how she can stay with a man that makes her bleed
"in ten years he'll die"
her voice is subdued, expression removed
but the words still tremble on her lips
i know it's a wish
she made ten years ago
Conor Martin Mar 2017
Symphony of Silence throughout the night
Doors and windows latched and locked tight
Sleeping softly as dreams ******
Troubled times when morals where subdued

We’re shoulder to shoulder with the **** or the ***,
Look at themn's with the same eyes, not down the barrel of a gun
The pasts only purpose now, Make the blind clearly see
The mistakes they made with their ******’ corrupt legacy

It’s quiet in the cities cobbled streets, the birds pick at first light
Emerge from their nests, Like our generation glimpses first sight
The new formed world from the rubble of this war
No emblem or flag can heal wounds this vicious or raw
Brick by Brick, The walls of Peace rose to keep in hate
There’s no more guerrillas in the street, Only as heads of State

The Family divided, A Birds clipped wing
This Island, Our home,
Shared together
or
Squandered Alone
The North is quite simply, The most politically and culturally frustrating place to live in, Beyond people feeling so self entitled believing that their culture is better than anyone else's we are cannon fodder to the representatives who regularly pit one side against the other in order to enhance personal and political agenda, Do not read this believing that one side is more or less guilty than the other. Both sides of the co-existing divide are guilty of things beyond the comprehension of the wider population.
I Wrote this in one of my moments of frustration.
Victor D Aguayo Nov 2018
Don't you FEEL it
Your heart being taken
In a way you've never imagined
Your trust never mistaken

Don't you FEEL this love
Fulfilled but still escalates
Proving life's pain was worth it
After every past love seperates

But do you FEEL it now
Subdued by a certain face
Thought so highly of this one
Putting you back in your place
Perched upon a corporate throne,

We march into the great unknown

As wasted words of gossip drone

And steel replaces brick and stone.
Soon you find yourself alone

In crowded streets with a global phone,

Doing a random strangers bidding.



A means to an end they say,

As poor men die while rich men play,

When honest work brings modest pay,

And doesn't last 'em through the day

Though profiteers in moral grey 

Flood the airwaves to in turn say,

"Our wealth simply paves  the way,

Tomorrow is your salvation day,

You want peace? Then war is only fitting."



Look and you will see

Money buys democracy,

The Citizens United, see?

If we knew the truth, would we agree?

Those answers are not  going to be

Yes or no but more likely

Maybe, perhaps, or possibly,

Because in reality,

Right and wrong are just kidding.



To those who fret the plagues we face,
Yet believe we can change this place,
Who stifle doubts about the Human Race,
And yearn to e together in this chase,
With subdued pride and envy, in every case,

Seeking common goals to found the base,

May we lay the evil plots to waste,

For evils clients who once stood are now sitting.



The time is now, make a stand
,
Pull our heads out of the sand

Call their bluff with a hidden hand

Of virtue they don’t quite understand,
Defy procedure’s they have planned
,
Unite across the lines that brand,

Refuse all prejudice, none may be accepted.



Some know for they already looked

And the flow of money keeps them booked,

Takes but once to have them hooked,

Setting the table with food uncooked

For others whose foundations shook

Are pitted against the small time crook

Hoping only that we be protected

.

Hark the sounds of rebellious cries

For those that call, they realize

All that lives sure enough dies
But when displeased we close our eyes

To the masters of disguise

Who think their profit justifies

The invisible hand growing in size

While their strings attached go uncorrected



They kept us quiet all the while

Waiting with numbers dialed

To put the innocent to trial

Lining up in single file

To be cast into the same old pile

None willing to lay down their tile,

Casting shadows upon their guile,

The double agent mercantile,

Lobbying candidates to endorse.



All I ask, is to what do we base belief?

Dying children get no relief

Oil poisons the coral reef

Prophecy of the fallen chief

Given a thought but a bit too brief
Together a tree, alone but a leaf
Although it is all who feel the grief

Of our actions consequential course



Corrupted elites discuss our goals

So we continue to dig our holes

To depths that darken souls

Rigging markets to decide our roles

Assumptions made so that greed controls

They draw their graphs till the pencil dulls

Then add a factor, see how that goes

Without even the slightest feeling of remorse



Growth is sacred, but is it moral?

Strengthen reason yet we quarrel

Over falsities of ***** oral

Arrangements like that of floral

Remedies but not doctoral

Blood of fallen lives pastoral

Remind that we’re all mortal

But all thereafter bear the force.



So please tell me at what cost?

In a moments past our objectives lost

Compassion was our hand now tossed

Lines we’ve drawn, lines we’ve crossed

How much dirt can be washed

From our conscience we exhaust

Before shattering glass of fate we sloshed?

Working from the scattered pieces back to the source



It is us who blindly lead the strut

We are the source and nothing but

Whose center point is one giant rut

Where false desires cracked and cut

And the selfish feed an endless gut,

When our culture begins to split and jut,

We might finally ask... It was all for what?
Inspired by the great Bob Dylan. I refer you to the song “It’s Alright Ma’”
Mak Jul 2014
The room was silent. The only sound to be heard was the slow, steady dripping from my mother’s IV.      

“What do you mean, you’re dying?”

Multiple Sclerosis was, in short, a ***** of a disease. Somewhere along the span of my mother's 35 short years on this planet, her immune system made a giant mistake. For uncertain reasons, her body began to attack nerve cells, severely affecting her brain's processing ability and mobility. The only medication that had ever subdued the symptoms was beginning to **** her.

“It isn’t an immediate thing, Makayla. I still have plenty of time.”

Turning away from my mother, I wiped tears from my eyes. There was no way in hell I was going to let my family see me cry. Absolutely no way. This was a joke. My mom was not going to die.

“Kayla, baby, talk to us. It’s okay.”

With a deep breath, I forced a smile, as I often did, and blinked away all traces of tears from my gray eyes. Turning around to meet my parents’ worried expressions, I simply nodded.

“How long?”

The question came out as more of a statement than a question. The morbid implication of those two short words spoke worlds louder than any words I could muster.

“5 years, at the absolute worst.”

At that, I stood, and left. I ran, and ran, and ran. I ran until my lungs hurt, and then kept running. But no matter where or how fast I went, I knew I could not escape the horrible reality of the matter.

The woman who gave me life was losing hers.

I was always the type of person who knew how to talk my way out of any situation.

And this time, there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

There’s no sweet-talking death.

And with that, I began to accept her demise, and my defeat.

///

The first sip burned my esophagus, and I felt the blaze continue to my stomach, where it left a lasting warmth. I coughed a little, as the hazy feeling of drunkenness set in, setting my head spinning and my insides ablaze.

The past two months (52 days, 4 hours, and 30-something seconds) were a continuous downward spiral into a constant intoxicated state. Instead of addressing my feelings in the endless sea of counseling sessions and semi-sympathetic family therapy hours, I isolated myself. When my mother asked how I was, my reply remained the usual, “Doing great, mom.”

I was not, in fact, doing great. The alcohol wrapped itself into me, braided itself within my better sense, and I began to let myself fall apart. The wall I so often hid behind, the wall of perfection, of cool, was crumbling. Short, yet deep cuts lined my thighs, just high enough to be hidden by the hem of my shorts.

My mother had the opportunity to save her own life. Russian research had found a possible cure for the disease that had been plaguing her very existence. 3 weeks of chemotherapy, followed by a few months of intensive care, and she would be normal once again.

My mother denied the treatment.

“Too much money,” she said.

“Too inconvenient,” she said.

Compared to the life of my mother, no amount of money nor convenience mattered.

I was furious.

I was drunk.

///

My mind swam, speech slurred, fingers trembled.

My phone sat in front of me, propped up on a gray tissue box, which had been halfway expended due to that night’s waterworks. The Coca-Cola can which held my ***/coke concoction was long past empty. I was drunk, and screaming words like ‘sorry’ and ‘doesn’t deserve this’ into a pillow. I knew my mother deserved to live. Compared to me, she was a saint. I felt empty and pathetic. I deserved to die.

I convinced myself that maybe if I did something extreme, she would value her own life more than she did.

I held tightly onto the railing of my house’s only set of stairs, as I attempted to keep my balance. I walked drunkenly to the medicine cabinet, careful not to make noise and wake my parents. I grabbed as many pill bottles as I could carry.

Exactly 41 pills of assorted shapes, sizes, and colors sat in lines on my bed. Small to large, rainbow order. The comfort of organization wasn’t helping this time. I wanted to die.

Before starting my buffet of medication, my phone lit up. One new text.

“I know you were feeling upset earlier, and I just wanted to remind you that you are special. You matter.” I instantly felt even ******* for what I was about to do.

I laid down in bed, beginning to drown in my own tears, and let myself fall asleep.

Neither I nor my mother would be dying tonight.
Wk kortas Nov 2017
Three days, is what the HR rep said, somewhat sheepishly,
As if she was fully aware that boxing up one’s grief
In a span of a few dozen hours
Is a matter of wishful thinking
And certainly she sympathizes
(Indeed, as she speaks,
She spreads her hands in such a way
As you half expect doves to come forth in full flight)
Empathy being their stock in trade,
But the law and the handbook say three days,
And then you need to have your head
******* back on and looking forward.

Eventually, the mail brings fewer envelopes
Marked with embossed flowers
And subdued and tasteful stamps,
The usual flow of solicitous inquiries,
Pre-stamped and pre-sorted,
Inquiring as to your credit needs,
The condition of your windows and siding,
Resumes apace, and more than once,
In fits of inappropriate black humor and frustration,
You scribble, in bold thick strokes of a marker,
The addressee no longer resides at this location*.

You return to nine-to-five,
Though your ghosts keep their own hours,
Stopping by to visit on their own schedule alone,
Prompted by the tiniest of things:
The dog scampering to its feet in a hurry,
As if someone was at the door,
The discovery of a long-unused pitching wedge
Standing expectantly in the back of the closet,
A song from long ago which was beloved
When you lived in the pairing mandated by Noah
Before you entered the shadow world of ones and nones.
Sometimes you give into the giddy madness,
And rise to waltz around the room,
Careening about unsteadily, clumsily
As you have yet to completely master
The difference in weight shift and distribution
That is required of a solo act.
The timing of these visitations
Often disrupts your schedule and sleep patterns,
And you think that perhaps tomorrow you’ll call in.
What I see when I look at you
Are eyes of sky and ocean blue
Lips of red, wet like dew
Hair so fine, soft and true

You fill my heart, through and through
I’m so lucky that you love me too
You put me in such a great mood
Your every motion, right on cue

A work of art, my only muse
Of everyone, it’s me you choose
With you by my side, I cannot lose
I’ve done my time, I’ve paid my dues

If you were only in my shoes
You’d know what it is that I’ve been through
You’ve won my heart, I’m stuck like glue
You’ve got nothing more to prove

In my arms, calm, subdued
Supple neck, I can’t refuse
All alone, just us two
Together we are front page news
Evan Stephens Apr 13
The blood is true
in what it needs,
& what it needs is you.

My blood was blue,
but red it bleeds
if blood is true.

"Please come through,"
my heart's pleads -
what it needs is you.

"Xoxo," your preview.
I don't mislead,
the blood is true.  

My heart's subdued
without you, I concede -
what it needs is you.

We both know what to do,
& soon we will be freed -
The blood is true,
& what it needs is you.
Graff1980 Oct 2018
At first I was a lover,
adherent adorer
of the ultimate
father figure
to whom
I sublimated
all that I was.

Then when
faced with
the pain
of existence
I became
a questioner
of the almighty.

In studying
the sorrows of history,
I saw the stain
of human tragedy
perpetuated
on the forms
that people hated,
how they mutilated
men, women,
and children.
Then I became
an accuser
judging
the behavior
or lack there of
of this
omnipotent being.

Till, I saw the truth
and the abstraction
shrank from something
to nothing.
The light of a creator
that subdued my mind
and enslaved my spirit
blinked out into the nothingness
that it always was.
I'm clever almost never
That's untrue, I am quite daft
I once came close to dying,
I got stuck under a raft
Sarcasm is my strong suit,
I use it when I can
This fact became a nuisance,
When I worked for Uncle Sam

In class I played the clown,
I was often tightly wound
Always acting out
The court jester to the crown
I know how this must sound
A rotten apple on the ground
Just don't beat me while I'm down
I might shock you with the knowledge
I still have parents who are proud

See, Im verbally proficient
Surprisingly efficient
I'd cast you out like bait
Cause I’d much rather be fishing
I'd cut you down with such precision
If this was my decision
Without any permission
I'd stitch up your incision
That seeps down in your torso
And turn it into a tradition

My verbiage is unrelenting
Savage and outstanding
There's thought behind my speak
I'm a primed linguistic freak
Destroying all on-comers
Feasting on the weak
Tiptoeing like a sneak
Subdued and quite discrete
Let's hope we never meet
If we do you should retreat
Along with your whole fleet
Like the shepherd to his sheep
Go on head back to momma
Continue ******* on her tete

You can't handle what I'm dishing out
It only adds to my mystique
I'm steadily reminiscing
Back to when Caesar led the Greeks
Conquering all his enemies  
Well established as elite

Your eyes were shaded by a vision
When stricken with a nasty condition
Embarking on failed missions
Should I even bother dissing?
All while leaving a lasting impression
On the mouth you never were kissing
To only end up missing
The target you were *******
Without help or assisting

From beginning to the end
I'm burning bridges I can't mend
Breaking all the rules no one would think to bend
Born to live until we're dead
No more all this wishing
That you were dead instead
Using the brains inside our head
And coming to a conclusion
Your brains' been underfed
Relying on the masses
To muster up intent
Resolving every problem
With a bandaid made of lead
Surviving on a crumb of bread
Its only temporary
A fazed out forgotten trend
Like disco and bellbottoms
Or mohawks and shaved heads

It's time we payed back our debt
Make sure the homeless are all fed
Put these issues to rest
Tucked away in bed
It's not time for story telling
The fairytales of past regret
Back before our needs were met
Finding solutions to our problems
We mustn't ever forget
More a rap than a poem. Had fun writing this
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