"tutor" poems
You ask me a query,
You ask, "Where Are You, Honey?"
I have an answer for you,
I say, "I'm inside your heart, honey."
You let it extend, your doubt,
You implore, "But why is it so hazy?"
I fire a ******* in response,
I say, "It's hazy because you're lazy!"
You smile but get perplexed by now,
You ask, "Will you stay if moving on I fail to?"
I am mature and couth,
I say, "I find no reason good enough to not to."
You wonder to yourself,
You ask, "Where from I got you?"
I remind you that I came back,
I say, *"I consider it my responsibility to imbue your life with the brightness,
The light lacking in your life,
And to provide you with warmth,
So that you are free from your shivers,
And so that you can be my wife,
I want to fill that void in your day,
Maybe I was sent back only for you,
On your mother's recommendation,
And so wise was her receptivity,
I know that I am a man of my words,
Surely I will make it large for us,
And you are such a hardworking lady,
Our children will have it healthy,
And they will surely have it wealthy,
The wealth won't just be material,
But they will be taught fine civility."*
You now ask me your final query,
You ask, "Who will be their tutor?"
I smile and simply end this discussion,
I say, "Obviously, me and you."
Even you are satisfied by now,
You smile & say, "I love you, honey."
I hear what I have been longing to,
I say with a broad smile, "I love you too, honey."
∆∆∆∆∆∆∆
Sep 20, 2017
Sep 20, 2017 at 11:11 PM UTC
Tomato:
Big, juicy, red
INSANE!
Sneaks up upon unsuspecting
Unreliable
MATH TUTORS!
A terrible fight ensues!
Tomato or tutor?
Tutor or tomato?
Tomato knows no math.
Tutor has no seeds.
A standoff.
Tutor and tomato growl menacingly,
Circling one another
Like two pieces of meat
On a microwave turntable.
Suddenly, their rhythmic dance of Hate
Is broken
By the rhythmic sound of incoming
Imminent
Inescapable
Doom.
Tutor and tomato are trampled
Like a TV dinner
On the freeway.
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 7:29 PM UTC
i sit at the library computer.
across the room TUTOR JOHN prepares
his lessons for the free CITIZENSHIP CLASSES he conducts
for the punjabis, mexicans hmungs and others seeking
to pass the immigration service citizenship test.
he is a great man.
it is not surprising to say that he likes me and is my friend
as i am his friend
why is that?
in the simplicity the seed forms itself into
viable human forms and human beings
this we all know
yes we do
Jul 16, 2010
Jul 16, 2010 at 12:54 PM UTC
*she just shakes her head
she meets me on the street-corner, me from work, she from dance,
in the grayling dusk of a thank god it’s a freedom Friday night,
I greet her with words semi-adventurous -
“come with me, few errands to run, keep me in good company”
to the candy store we go for to purchase my weekend eve
lottery tickets and blow-pop lollipops, just in case some
kids appear, a surprise omen as they come
trick-or-treating just before Thanksgiving
the Bangladeshi candyman calls out a long prayer
in his native Bangla
she asks “what’s that he’s saying?”
“Oh, just wishing us a pleasant Sabbath and
may his gods smile upon our good lottery fortune”
she just shakes her head, from side to side
emerging from the store, walking home in the
now doubly ***** darkly dusk,
a set of white teeth from a passing shadow-man says to me
“you’re home late and have a great weekend,”
she asks, “who is that?”
“why,” I reply, “that is our very own personal postal carrier’
she says:
“he delivers mail to ten thousand people all in buildings tall,
yet knows your name, your face,
where you buy your lottery tickets,
your coming and going hours,
how came that to be”
but waits not for an answer
she just shakes her head, from side to side
I show her my secret entrance to our apartment house,
the fast route to collect our mail, dry cleaning in one fell swoop
a secret door, secret elevator taking us directly to our apartment
a secret elevator which is under the direction of
Bimal from Nepal,
who I greet in Nepalese, (my tutor)
I, asking after Brian and Bryce, his 100% American boys
now she says nothing, but before our door, as I go key digging,
she just shakes her head, from side to side
later she says:
“let’s order in, apprise me of your expertise,
some exotic fare from Manhattans First Avenue,
known for its aphrodisiacal powers
afterwards,
you must tell me each dishes name,
in its tongue’s nativity,
but much, much later,”
and as she speaks, grinning,
she sticks out her tongue,
while she just shakes her head,
but this time,
up
and
down
Nov 18, 2017
Nov 18, 2017 at 10:07 AM UTC
I remember the bed just floating there.
Apart, apart, apart, apart.
If you repeat something over and over again it loses its meaning
For example:
Homework, homework, homework, homework, homework, homework, homework, homework, homework
See, nothing
Our existence?
It's the same way.
You watch the sun set too often, it just becomes 6 PM
You make the same mistake over and over
you'll stop calling it a mistake
If you just
wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up,
one day you'll forget why
Nothing is forever
I last saw my mom when I was four years old
Before the last argument they sent me off to the neighbor's house,
like some astronaut jettisoned from the shuttle.
When I came back there was no gravity in our home, beds floating
I imagined it as an accident, that when I left
We whispered to each other "I love you" so many times over
that they forgot what it meant
Family, family, family, family, family, family
If you repeat something over and over again it loses its meaning
This became my favorite game
It made the sting of words evaporate.
Separation, separation, separation;
see, nothing
Apart, apart, apart;
see, nothing
I am an injured person now
I work with words all day
Shut up, I know the irony
When I was young, I was taught that the trick to dominating language
was breaking it down
Convincing it that it was worthless
I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you..
...See, nothing
Soon after I left I developed a stutter
Fate is a cruel and efficient tutor
There is no escape in stutter
You feel the meaning of every word drag itself up your throat
S-s-s-separation
Stutter is a cage made of mirrors
Every "Are you ok?"
Every "What'd you say?"
Every "Come on kid, spit it out"
Is a glaring reflection you cannot escape
Every terrible moment skips upon its own announcement
Over and over until it just hangs there,
floating in the middle of the room
Mom, ........
....Dad?
I am not wasteful with my words anymore.
Even now after hundreds of hours of practicing away my stutter,
I still feel the claw of meaning in the bottom of my throat.
I have heard that even in space;
You can hear the scratching of a
I-I-I-I love you.
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 6:23 PM UTC
I send my voice into your mouth
You return the compliment
I am the Count of Cannizzaro
You are Her Royal Highness the Princess Augusta
I am the thaumaturgic chain
You hold the opera glass and cards
You become extemporaneous song
I am your tutor
You are my invisible seed
I am Timour the Tartar
You are my curious trick
I your enchanted caddy
I am your confounding doll
You my confounded dummy.
4.3k
So I'm sure you wanna know how I crafted this bizarre flow so I'll sit you down and tutor you let's go
step 1 draw off of everything under the sun treat your words carefully like a loaded gun step 2 now that you know what your words can do put them into verse leave others in the back of a lyrical hearse
step 3 Is the most important to me personally I walked into an asylum to search for a straitjacket if you don't have punch lines you definitely can't dot hack code or slash it
step 4 is getting your foot into the door caught with the drum beat drops leave your audience sweating like a wet mop
well that's all the steps I'll add some more usually involving clever metaphors now then you know the score
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 3:48 AM UTC
The comfiest human bed warmer I ever had,
My fundamental tutor of the good and the bad,
The original storyteller in my bedtime tantrums,
The resident photographer of my birthday albums.
The accidental magician who tricked me out of my worries,
A sympathetic dictator who scolds but allows my fancies,
My biased talent manager who always tells me I'm the best,
The loudest cheerleader who puts to shame all the rest.
The world's underrated chef cooking heavenly meals,
Our unpaid laundry lady worrying over water bills,
The overqualified nurse never leaving her patient,
Our top-notch budget analyst negotiating every payment.
The random gardener, she can grow anything with ease,
Our talkative historian, she stops recalling only if we say please,
The uncanny philosopher, we've learned a lot from her,
The lost and found administrator, tracking things hidden anywhere.
The most efficient multitasker I've ever known,
My trustworthy adviser who knows me down to my bones,
A tough fighter who keeps winning her every battle,
My life's co-creator and this world's greatest mother.
May 13, 2017
May 13, 2017 at 7:44 PM UTC
Brackets
Your mum picked you up in daddy’s BMW,
we had to wait an hour while they scrubbed the brains of another son off the roof of the 125
(Why they built a multi storey car park on top of the bus station is a mystery to me.)
You carefully colour coordinated your files and scrutinized your revision schedules,
we watched nicked CCTV footage of two blokes smoking crack and burning down the bowling pavilion next door
(the old boys never did raise enough to repair it.)
You snubbed each other because of different tastes in jumpers,
we watched acid casualties talk politics with football hooligans
(a hastily rolled joint bridged the obvious gap.)
You lounged in the common room in your study periods,
our lesson got cancelled because John had been smashed in the face with a fire extinguisher
(and our tutor used to be a lifeguard.)
You worried about fashion and discussed the injustice of last night’s X Factor result,
we watched Neil’s head crash into his keyboard after he’d scoffed all his methadone in one go
(again.)
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 4:56 PM UTC
*to further my point, as an eager reader in
a catholic school, reading about
the gnostic heretics, wondering
with my theology tutor upon the question
asked: don't you think the gnostic heretics
influenced mohammad on the sly?
i mean, they too believed a phantom walked
among men, and a phantom was crucified?*
my confirmation didn't take place
in a cathedral, as was due course for all of
us in being schooled, by a bishop
in brentwood cathedral,
i opted out... my confirmation came
in a russian orthodox cathedral,
in st. petersburg, when i watched
people standing for a scrap of iconoclasm,
with the priest mumbling
toward a golden altar, as typical in
the tradition, buttocks towards the people
or as in the western tradition
reciting in latin, before the nationalists
came and spoke the gospel in each
designated tongue so people understood,
a bit like having your back turned
against the people - speaking in latin -
and when i sat i the church
to listen to the choir singing,
some lesser ecclesiastical prompted me
to stand up, and pay respect to the golden
altar... he told me to stand up!
what cheek... what barbarism... only
in russia... i had to stop being bewildered
by the beauty of song and listen to
a priest knock-down-ginger on a palette of
gold... THEN i was confirmed...
donkey's ******** to this **** i'm leaving!
mind the fact that i've seen the greatest
degradation of mysticism take place...
the tetragrammaton was being defiled all along...
in catholic bureaucracy it has been there all along,
the idiots reminded me of it...
you're born: first name, baptismal name, surname...
you're educated: confirmation name...
that takes four spaces of consideration...
so by catholic definition of sharpening pencils,
folding pieces of paper, filing the folded pieces
of paper, bending paper-clips i'm god...
but only in writing... first name, baptismal name,
confirmation name, surname...
a bit like a clone... a clone indeed in writing...
same d.n.a., same bone mandibles of the jaw...
but experience-wise... un-original to the ****
not even a clone... not able to experience major
historical figures... a soul in a twin body by itself...
a twin without twinning, segregated by ulterior
if not auxiliary motives... clone on paper...
clone by experience? i don't think so... impossible...
too many inter-actants along the way
can't possibly replicate thinking in a clone...
different mr. john smith... NEXT!
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 2:18 AM UTC
Luke was such a dreadful fidget
He couldn't sit still for a minute
He'd toss and turn all lesson long
Like a caterpillar crawling on a cattle prong
He'd flick his rulers, click his pens
Cluck and fuss like a headless hen.
His tutor, a tall and sombre man
Was struggling with his teaching plan
He'd taken three days to prepare
But Luke was more than he could bare.
"Right! That's it! I've had enough!
If you don't stop I'll call your mum.
Unless you're really in fact quite ill
I'd advise you to stop it. Oh do keep still!
I'm just about to lose my mind, oh Luke
You're being quite unkind!"
But Luke was on a sugar high
"I can't stop!" He said, "I don't know why!"
And with that he jumped up, began to dance
He leaped and swung and swooped and pranced
Till all the neighbours gathered round
To gaze and gawk at this unsightly sound...
Mar 4, 2011
Mar 4, 2011 at 1:13 AM UTC
hold on, wait, what, what similarities?
I sit in the group looking around, the grey plastic chair crushes my ******* spine as I cling to it for dear life.
the tutor comes to me last, two weeks in a row I don't get time to talk.
great, I'm already an outsider, now I don't get time to talk.
I listen as the group in the nicer, cosier and brighter room next door laugh and joke.
they are all young and pretty, a feeling of longing pulls me down like a giant magnet, why am I not in that group. have I not got the skills to be young and pretty anymore?
for almost one month now I despair.
how can I ever find my voice in this group there are all so strong, strong women.
this week she comes to me first, I speak, it doesn't help. can they even see me, understand my accent, it seems I'm more different than similar.
the next week I don't go, avoidance wins 1st place gold trophy as I sit alone in bed.
with other groups I'm so strong and proud, can I fake it next week, or maybe just conform and comply.
and so it goes on, am my question remains, what ****** similarities?
Dec 9, 2018
Dec 9, 2018 at 7:53 AM UTC
And when you read
Don't rush -
Theres no need to read
with undue speed.
And when you read
Start with a suckle -
Work up to a nibble -
Until you can gnaw without a dribble.
I encourage you
Get down to the marrow
Like there's no tomorrow.
Savour each word
As food for your soul
And live as a model
As to how to live whole.
And when you read
Apply your mind daily,
Apply each word liberally
(especially to those out of the way
hard to reach places).
And when you read
- Study
Sometimes with a buddy
But - study.
This is no hobby,
You can't afford to get sloppy.
It's as crucial for the soul
As five a day for the body
- So study.
And when you read
Treat each word
Like a tutor;
It can teach you
How to live shrewder.
And when you read
Sustain it like a seed,
Ensure you pay heed
Cos it will never mislead.
And when you read
Do it to a plan,
Always with intent
And be sure
To finish as you began.
And when you read
Commit to it daily,
Commit it to memory
To avoid thinking lazily.
And when you read
Do it while a commuter
Do it on a computer
Do it with a kindle
Do it with audio
Do it with a paperback
Do it with a hard back
Do it from front to back.
However you develop the knack
Don't let yourself slack;
This Word is no throw back,
It will keep you on track.
So just read.
Apr 10, 2017
Apr 10, 2017 at 1:12 PM UTC
Let music be your master of melody.
Let music be your key.
Let music be your teacher of tuning.
Let music be you and me.
Let music be your sensei of soothing.
Let music let you see.
Let music be your guru of groove.
Let music make you dream.
Let music be your guide to move.
Let music let you be.
Let music be your educator of expression.
Let music keep your steam.
Let music be your destroyer of depression.
Let music create your scene.
Let music be your professor of passion.
Let music pay your fee.
Let music be your tutor of truth.
Let music plant a seed.
Let music be all of these.
Let music set you free.
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 9:09 AM UTC
A group show in a city church.
Nothing religious,
but selections from an evening class
occupying otherwise vacant space:
only a tomb here, an extravagant memorial there.
These are 'advanced' painters,
and decoding their statements,
examining their work,
it's possible to imagine daily lives
where art lives in the spare room.
Lewis paints you know.
After Laura died, and with the children distant,
he did this course in Norfolk - oils I think.
That large landscape in the sitting room is his,
all sky and salt marsh.
Jayne is studying the disorder of ******* dumps,
the contents of skips, what's left after a fire.
Her photographs she prints herself you know.
She says she loves to control the image,
chemically, and you can tell.
And more and others,
their 'work' holding stories,
other worlds of imagination and
depths of looking;
the silent collecting of things,
photograph after photograph,
the tidy sketchbook
(with last week's life class experiments).
And yet and yet
at the group show the finished pieces glow
in this badly-lit corner of a city church
where few visitors venture - but you must see this.
It's good, arresting in conviction and purpose.
This is art without artifice, reticent with meaning,
intense with intention, good, affecting, good
well-chosen tutor-curated;
good enough to come back to.
Consoling? Yes, consoling.
I needed consoling.
It consoled me.
I was consoled.
Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 3:37 AM UTC
Pathetic.
That’s what I’d call you.
Just plain miserable
and manipulative.
You tricked me into giving you the world .
Deceived me into believing that you’d never do me *****
You blinded me by your lies
“Forget about them , you have me.”
But , I didn’t really have you ..
Did I ?
You took what you wanted .
You let me put you before myself .
But ?
I don’t even blame you .
Maybe if I would’ve been in your position ,
Being offered the world
And only being asked for friendship in return ..
Maybe then I would’ve robbed you of your trust .
And your love .
You were my best friend .
My ace ,
My platonic soulmate .
And I treated you as much .
But, what was I ?
To you ,
What was I ?
A personal tutor ?
Remember those last two essays that you just couldn’t get done ?
Who helped you ?
Who stayed up after an exhausting day at work ,
After having to bike home in the cold and rain ?
Just so you could pass and not worry.
Maybe , I was just a free ride .
Always taking you places ,
Always giving you the keys and letting you do whatever.
You filled the tank maybe twice
within a nine month period .
And I never once said anything .
Oh I got it , I was your ATM.
Whenever you needed money ,
I was glad to help .
Whether it was for an Uber so you could go to your volleyball tournament
Since your own “mother” couldn’t take you
Or whether it was for a Plan B because
YIKES
Your boyfriend didn’t know how to pull out .
Hm , I guess I was also a personal shopper .
Buying you clothes when I bought me some .
You didn’t wanna spend your money ?
That was fine .
I would spend mine
And you didn’t even have to ask.
I was everything except your friend
and that’s all I wanted to be .
I should’ve seen this coming .
I should have KNOWN .
Looking back
All I can see are the signs ,
Foreshadowing what was to come .
You started to change right in front of my own eyes
but I didn’t want to believe it .
Didn’t want to believe what I could clearly see .
You started to ignore me .
For days on end .
Living in the same house became something like a
Silent war .
Everyone against me .
Including you .
You started to disappear into your room .
There were no more lifetime movie marathons together .
No more staying up and goofing around together .
No more talking about any and everything together .
I lost you way before I knew I lost you
and that makes my heart ache
like a pre-existing bruise
getting hit over and over again .
Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 7:42 PM UTC
How does it feel
When life doesn't seem real
And you're floating about on your own
Your life seems uncertain
So you draw the curtain
Pretending there's nobody home
Don't theorize
Look in your eyes
They can't tell lies
Though you may disguise what you see
The mirror is free
Song birds are talking
And runners are walking
Be yourself
Be yourself
Be yourself
Be yourself
We need a tutor
So we built a computer
And programed ourselves not to see
The truth and the lying
The dead and the dying
A silent majority
Don't theorize
Look in your eyes
Are they telling lies
The ones that they learn on T.V.
What a way to be free
Be yourself
Be yourself
Then you can free yourself
Free yourself
See yourself
Then you can see yourself
Be yourself
a.s.
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 11:13 PM UTC
Antonia, it’s time to rise today
Your breakfast is ready, your tutor waits
“Time is running", mama says
There’s much to learn as a princess
Antonia, follow whatever we please
Stand tall and straight, hide your scarred knees
You’re no longer a little girl
You’re bound to be a queen of the world
Antonia, quickly, put on your shoes
Lace your corset so it’s anything but loose
If you’re short of breath, you’ll have to wait
A true royal must never be late
Antonia, there’s no more time to play
With your chin up, follow what we say
You must learn to be a trophy of France
To walk with grace, to speak, to dance
Antonia, stop laughing like a witch
Don’t be a disgrace, you’re not a *****
You’ll change your name and all in between
Marie Antoinette is who you are as queen
Marie Antoinette, with beauty from the gods,
You’ll marry a man you’ve never loved
You’re off to France, now say goodbye,
You are to leave everything behind
Marie Antoinette, you lover of life,
With your luxury and power, your kingdom’s in strife
As you live your own Versailles delusion
Your kingdom is brewing a violent revolution
Marie Antoinette, do you remember the sweet days of sixteen?
Here it all ends, with a cruel guillotine.
Antonia, free spirit, never meant to be
A girl chained by royalty, a reigning queen.
Jan 17, 2018
Jan 17, 2018 at 10:16 AM UTC
The sound of your voice,
linguistic forte
digital portrait combined,
reads lyrical, like Joyce,
the use of imagery -
elevating the plebeian,
resplendent -
the imposition sublime.
Pellucid prose, tête-à-tête
immersed in esoteric allusion
spoken with au fait.
Liberating my pedestrian
inhibition,
premise of surrender -
adrift, desultory,
delicious ambiguity.
Seduction begins in
the mind,
assets of imagination,
intellectual property;
side by side: lying supine
didactic invitation,
in assertions of diversion;
a chance to find
euphoria within our reach.
Linear alliteration;
fulgent flowing Fumé
Blanc,
fire and wine
private beach,
rhymes of elucidation
two bodies align,
I will learn if you teach.
Sensual epistemology,
curvaceous
figure of speech,
the Orphic; woeful
lover’s plight,
a porous song recite
art professor, verse confessor
tutor me tonight.
©2010 & 2011 W.S Warner
Sep 12, 2011
Sep 12, 2011 at 11:03 AM UTC
No peace in heaven
No life in hell
I had learnt .
Left by my tutor to choose
Choose between living in violence
Or dying doomed for eternity.
By my assumptions
The two seems too close for an option
By law no one is meant to sit on the fence.
They say "life is a journey"
But I wonder how I agreed to embarked on it at first
Maybe I was forced
Forced to be born
Or maybe it was my fault
My fault that I was too desperate to be born
Born into a world of wars
Where we fight against all
Against trust
Even against God.
I wish I knew the beginning before I was conceived
I wish I could tell where this path will end me
I wish Heaven is sure
Sure that I could end my journey here and cross
Cross into eternal peace without being judge
Judged by the devil for not being his follower
Or judged by God for not being as perfect as His followers.
I just wish all this second coming thing remain a prank
A prank That will end a joke contrary as plan
What a great relieve it will be
If the spirit leaves the flesh to be
So I could just sit on the fence in peace
And Losing Heaven stop being my greatest fear indeed.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 12:04 PM UTC
Once I met a kind,
and friendly old man
He'd become a good friend of mine
We talked about life and his future plans
He is too in love
with the beautiful nature
of his proud land.
Joe lives in a fantasy land
dreams of childhood days
Walks down the memory lane
He planted daisies
and plucked wild berries
the birds singing
the bees buzzing
the rhythm of nature
he loves to cherish...
What a magnificent hometown
he proudly described.
As he sits in his little fairyland
Where he dreams and writes.
He said I was his mentor
He learned to write from a tutor
He didn't notice how diligent he was as my teacher
When he praised my writes he gave me flower.
Today... Joe is older
But he'd never grown weaker
Once he marched in several wars
Made England proud of its brave soldier.
life goes on
and he moves on
enjoying the wilderness
on his own..
Dear Joe Cole
You'd never be alone
my words and yours in all good poems........
Dec 29, 2017
Dec 29, 2017 at 5:38 PM UTC
*Lost in conversation at a party
with a friendly person
I ended up almost tardy
but the event was worth it
This woman older than myself
had lost her youngest son
He had a bout with depression
and used his father's gun
A teen that never listens
comes with the territory
Blamed herself for doing the same,
called it her "horror story"
A touch of blue hit her face
as she remembered his smile
Her hands continued to shake;
they had been for a while
It got me thinking quite a bit
of what we leave behind,
be they achievements or kin,
by them we are defined
We tell the world of our struggles
with words and demonstration
and teach the kids how to live,
preventing devastation
Our legacy will continue
past their life expectancy
and through the passage of time
raise their dependency
The stench of death is rotten,
but still our biggest fear to date
is living life to the fullest,
yet remaining forgotten
And not to mention
raising sons and daughters;
we do our very best to keep them
from the guns and slaughter
Living in the here and now,
ever considered a future
where your experience today
will tutor newer users?
So* leave your mark - *be it poetry, melodies,
artistry, pedigree, even guiding infancy or
serving in an infantry, believe in your legacy
You're remembered infinitely.*
Jan 24, 2018
Jan 24, 2018 at 2:54 PM UTC
"8th March 2018
A pen found its ink
A purpose found its man
Art,
The mother of all that's beautiful
brought me a gift
A life skill that would be my passage of lift
He came to life in unhealthy mental weathers,
his soul was birthed in shabby unearthly waters
and bound to mine
in an everlasting covalence.
he was given to me an agent of healing – an outlet,
a living freedom;
a drain for my pain,
a gift and a curse he is a stain on the domain of my name – but
I take pride in our duality,
my existence paradigm was on the edge of a cliff
suicidal - I lay on my back under the roof
of a gloomy identity
my name and my frame
soaked in melancholia of a quantity
that exceeds the infinite.
DEAR WORDSMITH
You and I
Are a year older
I am a decade wiser
I can feel it in my hair
the truth in its absolute quintessence
is a universe closer.
The way you hold my mind in your gloves
gives me sleepless nights and faceless days
but who am I to question my panacea?
I promise I will make the most of what we can be.
A savior, a tutor, a sage
My poet, my light, my flame, my light.
WordSmith_Wiz
03/08/2019
Mar 7, 2019
Mar 7, 2019 at 6:03 PM UTC