"throes" poems
Let me mold my body along your curves; trickle yourself into my entire being
*Vulnerable, **** my heart exposed*, palpably we connect across the starry sky; you ... within me
I want your intimacy to linger along the edges of my lips hours after you've gone
I ache to be consumed by your eyes, intense with emotions, long after the dawn
Take me to your intimate chambers where hearts race; the rhythm of our silhouettes melded on satin sheets
Leisurely feel your way; a slow descend along the avenue of my rhythmic swell; forgive me of my quivering wanton needs
Allow me to graze at the gates of your femininity, drinking the honey from your pink walls; to feel your crowning point between my lips
How can I resist those wandering lips that stirs the curtains of my garden alcove; perfectly painted in honey dew, I throb for the touch of your kiss
Drape your thighs upon my shoulders; let the waves of satisfaction cascade up your spine
I beg to be released, dear God, of this intoxicating spell; I submit myself, heart laid bare; oceans of emotions no longer can I hide.
Find your eyes locking with mine; my torso parallels yours, my body pressed to you; equal in ferocity and tenderness
Mesmerize by your burning eyes in our melting flesh, so strong your hold; yet so tender your caress
Utter our names in fiery moans both whispered and screamed in heated breaths on our solitary night
Vile obscenities float out on heated breath, as cool air kiss our molded skin on the evening our time takes flight
Take me to your heart & cast away the flesh; allow our souls to weave in the throes of passion as our bodies mix into one; slow-motion ecstasy
A longing deep inside, the locked chambers of my soul to exotic places beyond our imaginations; you sneak into my heart to fulfill my every fantasy
Feed me the lullabies you paint on your canvas; orgiastic symphony we conduct in cascading tides; trembles throughout our bodies when our fluids mix
Let me paint upon your heart a ballet of our duet; the crescendo palette of my tide drown you in the spirit of our lyrics
Your ripe fruit quivers tenderly while our union completes; take my hands and let me be yours
Hold my sated body that tremors from the wake; a union of our souls ensnare a bond secure
~
Sep 18, 2017
Sep 18, 2017 at 7:34 AM UTC
O'er the midnight moorlands crying,
Thro' the cypress forests sighing,
In the night-wind madly flying,
Hellish forms with streaming hair;
In the barren branches creaking,
By the stagnant swamp-pools speaking,
Past the shore-cliffs ever shrieking,
Damn'd demons of despair.
Once, I think I half remember,
Ere the grey skies of November
Quench'd my youth's aspiring ember,
Liv'd there such a thing as bliss;
Skies that now are dark were beaming,
Bold and azure, splendid seeming
Till I learn'd it all was dreaming —
Deadly drowsiness of Dis.
But the stream of Time, swift flowing,
Brings the torment of half-knowing —
Dimly rushing, blindly going
Past the never-trodden lea;
And the voyager, repining,
Sees the wicked death-fires shining,
Hears the wicked petrel's whining
As he helpless drifts to sea.
Evil wings in ether beating;
Vultures at the spirit eating;
Things unseen forever fleeting
Black against the leering sky.
Ghastly shades of bygone gladness,
Clawing fiends of future sadness,
Mingle in a cloud of madness
Ever on the soul to lie.
Thus the living, lone and sobbing,
In the throes of anguish throbbing,
With the loathsome Furies robbing
Night and noon of peace and rest.
But beyond the groans and grating
Of abhorrent Life, is waiting
Sweet Oblivion, culminating
All the years of fruitless quest.
26k
Broke
Unable to finalize any purchase
Checking
For change in the last places that one searches
Insufficient
To the point I'm unable to ward off the throes of destitution
Bankrupted
By devaluing those who have not made restitution
Insolvent
To the point of having to fight off the urge to curse
Disallowed by the prose that places value and give credit....to verse
Denied
Any credit accrued....maybe even unearned
Reevaluation
With no accounting for the time you
SPENT
Learning what you have learned
Depreciation or Appreciation
Cannot be quantified by the lack of someone.saying thanks
Interest will eventually be of value
Once accrued... but for now I must accept
That I'm simply overdrawn at my memory banks
Investment in my own value
Will allow me growth
In my own ...
......personal
Checking account
Helping me in balancing the books
Keeping me payed up and happy
BY
Always giving others their true valuation
So that ego doesnt become a currency
That is subject to... such a devastating inflation
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 4:24 PM UTC
*lay in impassioned throes,
bodies pressed with one another,
tracing sins with our fingers
on each other's creamy skin.
i want your taste to linger in
my mouth just a little longer.
to hold the fullness of your *******
in the palms of my hands.
to lay together in sweat and
ecstasy, full of pleasure.*
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017 at 6:43 PM UTC
Let me move slowly through the street,
Filled with an ever-shifting train,
Amid the sound of steps that beat
The murmuring walks like autumn rain.
How fast the flitting figures come!
The mild, the fierce, the stony face;
Some bright with thoughtless smiles, and some
Where secret tears have left their trace.
They pass--to toil, to strife, to rest;
To halls in which the feast is spread;
To chambers where the funeral guest
In silence sits beside the dead.
And some to happy homes repair,
Where children, pressing cheek to cheek,
With mute caresses shall declare
The tenderness they cannot speak.
And some, who walk in calmness here,
Shall shudder as they reach the door
Where one who made their dwelling dear,
Its flower, its light, is seen no more.
Youth, with pale cheek and slender frame,
And dreams of greatness in thine eye!
Goest thou to build an early name,
Or early in the task to die?
Keen son of trade, with eager brow!
Who is now fluttering in thy snare?
Thy golden fortunes, tower they now,
Or melt the glittering spires in air?
Who of this crowd to-night shall tread
The dance till daylight gleam again?
Who sorrow o'er the untimely dead?
Who writhe in throes of mortal pain?
Some, famine-struck, shall think how long
The cold dark hours, how slow the light,
And some, who flaunt amid the throng,
Shall hide in dens of shame to-night.
Each, where his tasks or pleasures call,
They pass, and heed each other not.
There is who heeds, who holds them all,
In his large love and boundless thought.
These struggling tides of life that seem
In wayward, aimless course to tend,
Are eddies of the mighty stream
That rolls to its appointed end.
7.8k
#
*Souls embroidered with sweet sighs of passion
Musing of nights in lace & white satin
On a vista of flesh, flushed with desire
Riding the flames on a passage of fire
The beating of drums, commanding the night
To the rhythm of hearts, passion ignites
Wrapped in immortal flames of the sun
Burning together, two become one
Flesh upon flesh, a spirited dance
Welded by whispers of love, of romance
Temperatures rise in a fever of lust
Stoking the flames, ****** after ******
Riding the swell, in a race to the shore
Try to repress, but needing it more
Virtue be ****** in the rage of desire
Flames rise in hunger, higher n' higher
Charging the crest, temperance slips
Drawing the reins in a white knuckle grip
Crashing of waves unleashes the flood
Quaking the heart, and searing the blood
Spewing of flames in the crash of the tide
In a warm sheen of sweat, fervor subsides
Energy spent in the throes of release
Collapsing together, the story complete*
#
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 7:48 AM UTC
‘LOVE’ – What mystique power it wields
In what myriad guise it wraps!
At times a sweet ache so coy to reveal
Or a sudden urge, hard to unveil
Sometimes a deep sensation
A strong surge of emotion
Permeating every atom
Pervading from top to bottom
It heightens the pulse
And makes every nerve convulse
It has left kingdoms fall asunder
And many a mighty man - surrender
Often, like dew drops falling from above
Or the warbling notes flowing out from the grove
It leaves the heart go upbeat in prosody
Changing every sensation into rhapsody
As beams of silver cast by the moon
Or the cold touch of spray in the horrid heat of noon
It soothes, embalms and thrills the heart
Filling the void and leaving no dearth
Love sublime, sure like a candle lit
Consumes itself, and never dwindles a bit
It dispels the gloom and dissipates the fright
Invigorating the soul and healing every hurt
As brilliance to stars, fragrance to flowers
Music to flute or shade to bowers
Love is to Man, freeing him from all sores
Bestowing him the strength to meet all throes
Love can neither be beguiled nor disguised
Nor be stifled or be construed
Love puts all other things into place
And hems life with a lovely lace
Love is all we seek and too scarce to find
A magic thread by which hearts are bound
Hark! It is love that makes the world spin around
And cures all the ills that surround
Oh! Love thou virtues I will defend
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 8:57 AM UTC
If i was her lover
I would have *poetic *** in the ocean
reciting poetry to her
while I **** her
mindlessly
If i was her lover
She would be the mermaid of the ocean
Whom I am jealous to touch
and while I am here wading
wanting to make sweet love with its bride
If only I was her lover
I would whisper passions in her ear
like waves whispering on the shores
of her children
The water of the sea, he chokes me
surrounds me
but i am having *poetic *** in the sea
with she
and i say to her, my lover
"i met a mermaid out in the sea
she came to me and *poetic *** she needs
i grabbed her heart
and laid inside her
see i'm still a man who wants pleasure
and poetry together
i'm jealous of her lover
yet i'm having *poetic *** with her
in the ocean"
My love moans
groans
let's me own
her majestic bones
and her ravaged soul
is radiating
with every ******
beckoning passion
in this historic sensation
so intense
so loud
so real and unreal
and in her throes i hear
water logging in my ear
this moment here
of me ******* my lover
in the sea
i guess that's why they call it
******* poetry.
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 7:03 AM UTC
A Noun: The oblong: a thing:
The name of that lounge : a place
By the face of the strange shaped lake...
Dinosaur Egg / oval / green grapes.
An Adj.: Oblong Longboard
That’s such the coolest name
A person: Not a thing
oval shaped .
Mr. Ellipsis made no complaints
About tiny alien ant farms
“From Outer Space!”
The natives made to slave.
*Oblong grew his beard out
After the sideburns days
Mr. Ellipsis far far away*
Fires of the Sun
Will not discern—when
The Light returns
The wyrm will burn .
In oblong throes of defeat.
At peace : A Verb.
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 5:10 PM UTC
The river forks at big stone eddy
rending currents meandering course,
its silence speaks not with forked tongue
as kismet's swirling eddies abide
as if time immemorial;
a river naturally cleaved
in two separate distinct directions
befallen destiny without a choice
Spinning round and round in big stone eddy,
time just drifting by in the throes
of doubt — high water rising
beyond the bounds of earth
taking drowning souls up to the sky
Choking on a mouthful of unanswered questions,
suffocating on the parting words left unsaid;
distilling life into poetry hew from being —
trickling out like the spilled out sky —
taken down to the empty riverbed
leave lay' til it's all washed away,
in the music of the pourin' down rain
Freedom embodies metaphysical incarnations
riding the prevailing currents it can't control
Gravity-gathered down to the shoreline,
manifest reclamation after the deluge,
from somewhere far above the high-water mark
Swallowed by all the darkness woe betides,
thinking you carry such a weight to hold...
It seems all got a handful of sand to toss
up into the wind to seed the clouds
The totality of eclipsing silence grows
that rent the stillness of a dream
of peace on an eroding shoreline
In an Eddy of Expectations & Disappointment
dark waters will ebb and flow,
imponderable as drowning hope,
leaving it all out there to dry after the rain
believing in your heart —
the best is yet to come
Jesse Stillwater ... November 2018
Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 12:09 PM UTC
High above dear Maple Street
There looms a cold iron curtain of fear
That dares to drop and let all the monsters
Unleash their dreaded promise of chaos
As in Europe despots gift a new World War
Trembling parlors hug the radio
Hallows Eve: the radio
Begins to sing throughout dear Maple Street
The Seventh Trumpet declares all out war
And that heavy iron curtain of fear
Eclipses the sun and invites chaos
In vacant hearts of men into monsters
Halloween Night: the monsters
Now dance to the tune of the radio
Raiding the stores, jumping bridges, chaos
Entombing the stretch of this blood strewn street
Parlors gorging on endless waves of fear
Riding hysteria, imminent war
O great catalyst of war
Twisting the minds of men into monsters
Diving your hands in that great pit of fear
Now throbbing with screams from the radio
No fences nor faces can save Maple Street
Now plunged in the throes of sweet sultry Chaos
And we call it Chaos
This boiling of minds all stewing with war
Once masked with humanity on this street
Now reveals good neighbors make great monsters
Skies of martians (n)or men, the radio
Hissing, twists the knobs and tunes in to fear
And when that curtain of fear
Draws, and shadeless light casts on the chaos
And the broadcast fades on the radio
And mere fiction rescinds the throne of war
What will we make of all of these monsters
Scattered about in a daze through the street
Where there are minds of fear and war,
Chaos reigns and calls to the sleeping monsters;
Tune in to Welles’s radio on Sterling’s street.
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 6:07 PM UTC
Its funny how it goes,
how within the throes,
of passion and of death
One is aside,
another gains breath
I leave with a stumble,
and a look behind.
And I find myself fumbling,
for cleanliness, and absolution
And to the One
who was shuffled
and moved,
with wires crossed--
I do not know the meaning of this,
or the path which my feet tread.
And maybe with some dread,
She moves in your stead.
Jun 4, 2012
Jun 4, 2012 at 10:13 PM UTC
I last saw her in Santiago
******* drunkenly in a Sub urban taverna
parading conceited pride in a twisted union
with that ******** heinous maniacal harlequin
each in vainglorious throes of their imagined septic mindfuck
Debauch celebration of collaboration of succubus and incubus
Some days she is saying Haloa in Hawaii
adorned as Sainti Maria the ***** now as Madonna
spewing words like a dove acting like a Nun in a Convent
the fiendess with two faces hiding her ****** like the ace in lace
the malignant serpent crawling in the duality of her neurosis
I last saw her in Santiago
In a sanctity of the poisoned insecures with exiguous minds
consumed with flaming fears she begs acceptance for inclusion
******* for percieved reflected glory from her fathers' jailers
The subjugated souls of chai wallah lives on in grandchildren
So when Santi Maria flirts from honey to beehive
Ready to ***** and part thighs and brain for minor pointing gun
Feel sorry for a damaged child devoid of a prime core never made
only obeisance to past rulers whose discarded cast-offs she wears
Her poems enchants but its virulent tools she takes in her body
I last saw her in Santiago
A slaved two-faced pretender who sings like a nightingale
In sub urban dives she postrates to friendly pats and gropes
Melting creeps and hot tigers begging subs for a heady drink
Brilliant yet blindsided to **** on knees as her children will too
Copyright@LaurenceA20thSept2018Allrightsreserved.
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 9:03 PM UTC
The Jaguar sits
A regal pose
Even though
All spots exposed
He remains
Throughout—composed
Royalty suits
These kingly throes
Eyes so hungry
Fueled with woes
Darkness caress
His thoughts of more
All small fingers
Jabbing point
Smiles and scream
Not fear—delight
This is not
A place of fright
No place to hide
In broad daylight
Freedom calls
But is not heard
The thought is
Lurking—absurd
Escape has not occurred
Even to the captive birds
The noble Jaguar
Does not pace
He looks upon the crowd
Disgrace—
All those faces
Glass cannot erase
If only he could break
Out of this prison space
His deep imagination
Swirls and swells with thought
If only his true freedom
Could perhaps be bought
The first thing he would do
Is capture one said face
And use it as only
Claws could change—erase
He looks on
With animalistic intentions
Licks his chops
And opens his jaws
The crowd gasps as one
As the noble beast bares his teeth
—And yawns
The jaguar too kingly to stoop
To animalistic pursuits
He knows that he cannot escape
The beast so long ago was tamed
Long ago he lost his pride
On three square meals a day
—Inside
Aug 10, 2010
Aug 10, 2010 at 12:46 PM UTC
The left of center
are in north bound throes of a dupe
and can't begin to forecast this wonder of polluted marvel,
in the morrow
my optics discharged in a catastrophic traversal
While whimsy and accidental feels like I've taken pills
a power rain this sobbing has spilled
No longer to be contained based on sheer will
Attacked by neurotic transcending
While sifting through files and photo stacks
Came across multiples of your smiling face
From when I shot you, a couple hundred miles back
No one would dare debase the abundance of your emitted grace
Bloodshot mist eyed and blind from tears
control lost during transport steer
Drips off my cheek pouring down my chest
Could make great sense to don a life vest
Filling up floorboards like a spraying firehose
Shattering cascades diamondize the windows
A single glance at an image turns farmland into rural seaquake
If they interview my lifeless corpse what a headline this will make,
turning tragedy into a foolish mistake
people will curse and laugh
Paved over roads now films unseen
when dusk fuse night from the weep my eyes dispensed
Elements effected by incidents
Rising waves climb over to decimate interstate 65
All over a tiny tear drop and her sweet smiling photograph
Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 8:01 PM UTC
Collaboration
Cen' and Traveler Tim
Traveler:
This is not about ***
There will be no
******* *****
Any flesh
That you read
Shall not be nibbled
On by me
Any mentions
Of flower traps
Petals filled with
Sweet cream sap
Curves or crevasses
Such lustful lines
I refuse to burn
By your design
You **** thing
Such beauty I seek
But I won't
Be made
Into a freak!!
Cné:
A poem of ***
But not in this text
I just used those words to see
~
If you would come
Looking for fun
And read this poem by me
~
You will not find
Words of that kind
No moaning passionate steam
~
Two of the night
Not in this write
All of these verses are clean
~
Lips locking soft
Hearts now aloft
Maybe what you did expect
~
Candlelight flame
Screaming a name
Glistening skin, beads of sweat
~
Sensual sighs
Quivering thighs
****** moments to trace
~
Euphoric throes
Fingers and toes
Sorry you’re in the wrong place
~
None of that here
Let’s make it clear
Nary a stanza reflects
~
Words that you see
Written by me
Not a Poem of ***
Traveler:
I'm sure these words
Cleverly crafted
Would never lead astray
A moaning voice
Breathing heavy
With a wanting to get laid
No words of touching
Self out loud
No fleshly fluid rhymes
I'm sure your words
Would never stir
My lustful hunger mind!!
Dec 10, 2018
Dec 10, 2018 at 11:03 AM UTC
In his dreams the Vally in the throes of efflorescence call out
in a language heart alone understands;
from the hanging bridge over Ganga, he views the ice-capped peaks,
Vally's ***** extravagance and the river's turbulence.
The river runs too deep, at times he finds,
the currents treacherously strong,
from the window of his *Ashram, the view is clear.
She bathes naked, alone on a step submerged in water,
eyes feast on her moonlit curves,
the pleasures skin deep, camouflage the existential dilemmas ! he smiles
In memory his Guru speaks:"Eat only those fruits that make one immortal"
Yet another Himalayan journey in search of the fruit tree unknown
It's too late to redefine, life and love when the avalanche thunders above
on his lonesome path, every step uphill is fraught with slippery stones,
one way leads to the top, to bathe in the light of the star reaching down
Some days end in too long nights, too cold, the sun shows up hesitant,
her body has the warmth that reaches to his icy depths,
a ****** alone could penetrate, but it still wouldn't melt
Himalayan silence, chant of Ganga, the ghost of a ******
that follows him like a faithful dog, are all these fragments of a dream
or realities stringed together from many different planes?
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 1:26 AM UTC
Once again a still sunrise,
Quite too much to my surprise;
Now no longer the same reprise,
Never believing in fate's demise.
Once again awaits the sun,
Otherworldly; waits for none;
Terrestrial battles with wars unsung,
The time is now, and has begun.
Once waves of calamity striking the coast,
Now sinking caravels with swift riposte;
This paves the insanity to roads of most,
No graves on marvels without a host.
My ambiguous ocean, bounds not to the throes,
An effluent river asks not where it goes;
But through frigid winters it finally froze,
Yet two rigid reasons -- it once again flows.
Your guess is as mine, for nobody knows,
This mess is divine, and to us it bestows;
Thrown into disaster, yet much room for prose,
We are the ship-masters -- and everyone rows.
So set my oars down, and go for the sails,
Open your eyes, ears & mind; there is no trail;
Wandering didactic wisp you will find, futility of 'fail',
Galactic inhale, cosmic exhale, maybe then will the true path unveil.
So leave nasty mates; abandon the ship,
No mutiny required, just let the wreck tip,
As though through spread fingers they suddenly slip,
Though red feelings linger, you find your own grip.
Then leave folly habits -- straight at the shore,
Shut it & lock it, and close the **** door;
There always are options -- endless possibilities to explore,
Just activate your wings, open wide--soar.
Glad once again, for another sunset,
What you pursue is what you will get;
So forget calumet, anisette & cigarettes,
Simply don't fret -- paint vignettes with no regrets.
Oct 20, 2012
Oct 20, 2012 at 1:17 AM UTC
From behind your canvas
you peer up at me taking in the details of my body.
Your scientific eyes studying me
cold
with neither lust or disgust
as if I were a vase
or a basket of fruit.
Not long before this we embraced one another
in the throes of passion.
You've never been more into me.
The skillful motions of your lips and tongue,
throwing my body into religious convulsions
and praising your name.
It intrigues me how you can turn that off.
How you can refrain from smiling
as you draw the outline of my ******
How my naked body so near and ready
doesn’t cause that animal I’ve come to know so well
to overpower the artist in you.
I’m truly fascinated, filled with both admiration and jealousy
for that woman you are creating.
I know that In your mind,
we've never been closer
but you look so far away
hiding from me behind that easel
cheating on my body with your interpretation.
No doubt, she will be flawless,
and have none of my ugly imperfections.
She isn’t even finished being born and I hate her already.
Although, I’ll lie when you reveal her to me.
I’ll tell you that she’s beautiful
that I really like her.
Then, I’ll make love to you
right there on the floor.
Forcing her to watch.
Dec 20, 2009
Dec 20, 2009 at 5:46 AM UTC
A smile throwing me into endless space
Eyes that speak of nothing but beauty
Hands strong, yet so gentle
Lips so perfectly formed
I want to lean in and steal the sweetest kiss
I wish to have the ability
To take every pain, every tear
And wipe their existence away
Into the endless space your smile provides
Never again to cross your mind
For that is what you have done for me
Set free from my eternal cage
I am not the same
Let me breathe the same air as you
Lost in throes of passion
Simultaneous *******
I wish to see all, share all
With you and you alone
Learn every beautiful aspect
Of your body and mind
Let go of the scars that made me who I am
For you have finally made me feel whole
Nov 11, 2012
Nov 11, 2012 at 10:45 PM UTC
build for me a dungeon
let its walls be grim
use me there and often
and keep me locked within
in that darkest prison
you may use me to the full
keep your chains upon me
so I may know their pull
make for me a cage there
for extra close confine
where chill of steel can touch me
and pleasure be refined
keep your whip well oiled there
that I may feel its curl
while I hang in helpless torment
and my mind is in a whirl
let my mind be lost there
where only I may go
to know your deepest caring
while held in suff’ring’s throes
for there I’ll find my heartsease
as your willing prisoner
where bonds will hold you to me
and never let you go
Jan 25, 2018
Jan 25, 2018 at 6:20 PM UTC
We ****
I brushed her hair just
the other day
and left stinging
handprints on her
eager flesh like she
loves.
Loved her in an
undertow of
blankets and throes,
fullness and
folds
until the drums
pounded in my
ears and
the adrenaline
burned.
On altars,
in tombs,
the sabbats,
esbats and
moons.
We slap
each other
for fun;
she listens
when I tell
her to
.
I'm sure you and
your mate do just
fine,
but
we **** better
than all of you
combined.
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 8:15 PM UTC
to more than I can be...
a sad isolated man,
throes of an agonizing,
stretched by her for painful
revengeful gain,
kissed with pointless avarice, divorce.
children deeming
him alienating, his faulty
insensitive sensitivities,
to easy blame
little do they know of the
piercing lowliness, the looniness of
nights he listened to sad-eyed singers,
and his late-of-mid of night scribbled scripts,
where he
off loaded the agonies of a midlife
disaster, not entirely of his-own
sown making,
but still his to bear and bare alone...
some accidents happens for unintentional,
unintended intentional new seasons appear,
stumbled, tumbled, fumbled his way onto
this H~oly P~lace, where someone might listen
to his explanations, expiations, excoriations
of his all too common tragedy, and said:
this broken human, he's got his reasons,
read his overly long treatises, his entreaties,
to those that prowl, rowing, in this corner
of the silence of the internet, where only the
trolls, the cold, the easier to-be-meaner oft thrive,
and found none of that, but an oasis of sheltering,
embracing comforting, those who actually admitted
his writings could be loved, and perhaps the writer
himself, was
deserving
of a second chance, a verbal embrace. a rereading forgiveness,
a pat
on his natback, a sympathetic sensory intaking,
and perhaps-this debt, eternal, that put the
for and the fore in a new baby born, named -
new forever
came into existence
the very same
e
that begins those conjoined words
***e~ternally grateful
"and now I sleep in peace when the day is done"
but the night time
is still the
write time
Sep 13, 2025
Sep 13, 2025 at 11:42 AM UTC
I don't think we're there yet, kids.
We haven't quite reached deep enough.
We haven't quite grazed the tallest stalagmite of the cave of their hearts,
and yet we act as though we've lived there all this time.
I merely listened, and the steam has worked my engine up,
and I created a monster that existed to be misunderstood.
An expression that has gone to ****
And I apologize.
I apologize for not apologizing in the first place.
I apologize for not trying to make people understand.
I apologize for writing up a tragedy.
I apologize for writing off your right.
I apologize this all has gone to **** and
I apologize for I don't know how to fix it.
I apologize for being so ignorant
of all the throes of your little tongues.
You matter, too, just not to me, perhaps.
I apologize.
I'll go try to listen a little less and care a little more.
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 1:02 AM UTC