I waited for the boy in you
To become a man that was true
Until my bones started rusting
Until my soul stopped trusting.

I died for your arrival
I died for the survival
Of a love we both promised
You left me be uncherished.

Yes, perhaps 'tis true.
Everywhere I go-with all t'ese dwindling thoughts on my mind-
'tis always the same shadows that roam, and moan-
before my eyes: and t'eir never-ending business.
Crawling on t'eir lips,
poisoning t'eir bosoms, chins, and hips-
but unrelenting in their unfolded shades;
with a swamp of bruises like mazes-tangled mazes;
likening them to spoiled, yet uncherished, little pearls.
How despairing-such views I obtaineth, on my every journey!
But shalt there still be space for us, to be outstanding;
to understand this world from a pair of eyes
glistening like unquestioning gentleness; but learning simultaneously
its unvivid perspectives
with such comprehension t'at is crystal clear;
such wit t'at is far from recklessness and greed-
salutations that are pure, and distant from any blighting threats
of equivocation? For t'is world is, in spite of its minuteness,
was framed and brought into life from
awesome darkness, abysmal cells of lifelessness
and hateful ambiguity.
How terrifying!
And often have I enforced myself to wandereth into those shades,
with unmolested poems boiling up in my brains-
and t'ose windy thoughts toppling out into th' paper
on my hand,
jostling through my veins like some ghastly, furious power
t'at's unseen, invisible as it is to th' human eye-
frail and susceptible to th' weather's surly temptations-
and entrapping me in the shrieks of its wondrous grot-
so I could never wane it any further, in my guileless brambles.
How I have dreaded t'ose sights-and t'eir dormant treachery! Lessons of
guilt, teaching of such guilty flakes of harm
and abomination! And how in my following quietude have I pondered-
t'at t'is would be just a balmy prelude to some far bigger strains of
mockery, obstinacy, and destitution. Hark to how those powers
shall arise! And that will indeed be th' abjuration of our splendidness-
everything shalt stop at a halt-everything will become flawed,
and no more poems shalt be liberated-from living souls, and t'eir undamaged
blood, as t'ey still are now! How I shiver at t'ose possibilities, as soon as our
latent enemies be on th' loose-free in t'eir ruthlessness, traces of dark,
unperturbed miseries, and brutal savagery.
And shalt we shine no more-like those summer flowers that are waiting for us-
to be fed daily like th' hungry morning doves;
with their thorns as sharp as love, and innocent gladness
in the arms of their lips-'tis but a scent so dear to the heartbeat
of oureth salubrious mornings.
But t'at danger, danger indeed! And its eyes of glaring monstrosity!
And 'tis just of substantial profoundness t'at we should be
cautious-yes, cautious, my dear fellows, towards t'ose signs
of th' upcoming storm-th malevolent storm of human rage, t'at shalt attack us
one day-at one perilous night, unpredicted and unexpected is its fate-
especially when all th' battling footsteps areth
peaceful in their slumbers-and no more palms dancing around
piles of paper-in th' holy procurement of continual wealth.
How t'at moment shalt be our early Armageddon-awakened shalt be
all rivers of terrors, and waves of hatred. How t'is beautiful solitude shalt end-
in th' fierce burning, brimming death of t'at flame-credulous shalt we be,
disempowered from th' heat-which shalt bring us but our dead feet.
Thus I but sincerely hope t'at gloom shalt not conquer our race-
the noblest of all creatures on earth-on t'is dull earth, fatigued as it is
from all th' uniformed battles, hatred, and anger-t'at untiringly sneer
at th' faces of those dying soldiers.
Peace, peace, my dear mates!
Ought to realize thou now-t'at swords shalt shed blood only if instructed.
So tranquility is but in oureth hands-yes, we are but th' key to our own salvation,
and since it is so, shalt we move forward and be the charms of t'is world's
new foundation: for it is our own life that we shalt save.
Peace, my friends, shalt but break all t'ese unseen boundaries amongst us,
and enrich our fathom of t'eir unspoken presence; so t'at th' small world is but
th' most dwelling of comfort, and aught but ease to our hearts-
our very dear, dear hearts in t'is life.

I haven’t had a partner in so long that I’ve forgotten I am single.
The memory foam on the left side of my bed only knows left over books and plates.

The empty places replaced with the things I learned I loved.
Only open spaces here are for self-affirmations doused in lavender.
Most of which I loved was uncherished until I had room for it.
The parts of myself I could never find underneath the cover of someone else.

The sheets get wrapped between my legs and for a second, I am reminded of how untangled I am.
How free it feels to be in a place you didn’t wish you were somewhere else or someone else.
A brief recollection of finally not being lost in another.
Deep open breaths of I am finally here.

I am reminded how calm this place feels – the comfort of not missing anything. How the spaces in between are cultivated by a reflection of my love - not those I once loved.

This time, It's different
Have varied reasons to celebrate

Some overcame the tragedy
Others are thankful to healthy fate

Some look forward to normalcy
Others found positivity to emanate

There's one common trait
In trying times, we did cultivate

Is to cherish the uncherished
And relish this time to originate

Though,we still have a long way to go
But, we found our reasons to contemplate

The lonely form crowds on the street. They collect at the corners, letting the whole world drown in their silence. They are a flashmob without the flash, and a mob that mobs no-one. Each of them is you, a someone you used to be, and therefore each of them is no-one. No-one did this, the blind Cyclops says; and this many no-ones have accusation enough to blind the sky.
These people have nobody and, so, slip through the cracks to end up collected at the edges of the drains. Corrugating in lines that jag up and down like the teeth of a zipper: swarming, dispersing, only to form again.  Chastised by the wind, like so much chaff; chaste and uncherished in mute inevitability.

These people have done are nothing and, so, ask you what you have done for them. What crime is it that they are thinking of? Each time that a shudder of revulsion at this injustice passes through the throng it bangs louder in your memory.

Who have you forgotten?

So on the day I was born
I nearly died
(And wait for it because it's not a sad ending)
If you knew what my early life was like
You might not judge me about
My former, sometimes avid wish
That they hadn't been able to save me
And sure still sometimes when I feel
That it's just all too difficult to cope
Too hard to deal with
And I face my reality which from the outside looks not so bad at all
And I face my lack of skills judgment
And my grievous errors that haunt me
As many of us do
And then say well ok. So I'm a fck-up
(When and if we as people wake the fck up already!)
I do see it all playing out differently
No emotionally stunted uncherished
Girl with abandonment issues
(Mostly silent observer of many many things but alas, and painfully not the most obvious things, so frustrating!)
Wandering undisciplined unorthodox unnoticed kid
Who thought, uh, why am I even here?
But I'm very relieved to be able to say
I was wrong
Because everyone matters to
Someone
Still don't know why I didn't die then
Or in the dozen weird unintentional near misses since then
But I'm writing this to say
The difference is that now
I'm glad to be here

I remember the first day
I saw him.
He sat curled around that teddy bear
like it was the love of his life.
Shy
blushing
intrigued...
All the thoughts my little thirteen year old
mind could harbor.

I remember building a bond
one unlike any other.
I'd never been able to open myself up.
Free myself
Not until he,
Not until he was­­–
is–
continues to be.

I remember the way he looked at me while
driving down the road, laughing at his sister's cat.
Innocent.
Both drunk on each other's company
Addicted.
Unwilling for change.

I remember listening.
Listening to you talk about the girl you hoped to marry.
Someday.
Feeling about how much pride I'd have in being a bridesmaid.
Telling you about my fear of being unloved–
unwanted–
uncherished–
But you.
You just hugged me
promised I would not fade away.

I remember we bloomed
flourished
intensified.
Our souls intertwining
passions flairing
Heated, red-faced argument.
The way you pulled me into you
lying together
my head on your heart
your arms around my lungs
peacefully existing.
Breathe in–
breathe out–
Breathe in–
breathe out–
together.
for what I hoped would be forever.

I remember the pain.
The kind that overwhelms your senses
the kind that demands to be felt.

I remember how everything stopped.
G O N E
Like someone had ripped out my lungs,
and then told me to take a deep breath.
The lungs you once held–
So carefully–
now had gaping holes in them
created by your absence
the undeniable thought that you were gone
and willingly gone.
I remember.


I know the peace.
I feel it every day.
In your absence I welcome the immense calm.
You made your choice.
And you will make one again...
All you have to say is
'Please?'
And I'm all yours.


With two souls like ours
We will always find a way to each other.
*Always

I Always
Felt
Like An
Old
Soul
Living
Among
The Young
Learning
From
Within
My Very
Old
So Called
Mind
And Heart
Howling
At
The Stars
Clawing
At The
Pain
So Called
Mud
I Deeply
Wollow
In
Aligned
With
The Old
Strong
Stood
Stars
That
People
Look
Upon
Because
Of
How
Far
Away
We Really
Are
From
The World
In The
Cold
Cruel
World
Of The
Unknown
Frozen
In Emotions
Of Despair
That
Perfume
And Freeze
Tears
We Are
Left
Behind
Our Skin
Kept
Us
Warm
On
The Outside
But
Not The
Inside
I Claw
At The
Sky
Wondering
Was
There
Peace
That
Aligned
The
Stars
Or Was
Hatred
That
Spread
Them Apart
I Know
Not
What
I Do
Know
Is
They Stay
And Stand
Far
Enough
To Form
A Shape
Of
How We
Really
If We
Sick
Together
But Awlast
It Is
A Lonely
Uncherished
World
Full
Of How
Bright
Money
Can
Shine
In And
Out
Of The Sky
And Our
Eyes
Don't
Look
For
The Right
Of
The Greater
Good
That
For Which
Is Not
Gold
It
Is A
Hard
Trustful
Soul
That Is
The Key
To Life
~Words Of Wisdom~
~Paris Styron~

Small city, big dreams
Century-old churches,
Closed recreational parks,
Crummy streets,
Beat-up roads, huge malls
Unpainted houses, fresher air,
Homemade pancakes for lunch,
Cheap hamburgers and skateboarding shoes.

People come and go,
Uncherished moments,
and then Johnny said, "you can't put your arms around a memory."

i always seems to find too little falling stars'
worth of poetry in the night -
the prolonged tedium of day -
given to the challenge of the night -
sometimes leaves one less observant
of the actual night, and sloppy in observations
during the day...
   i took to the second liking of e. e. cummings
today - mind you:
only the selective poems from years x
through to years z -
   but then he's much more than ted hughes,
even with his crow...
              never quiet the τετραματια fiddling
of the glass marbles -
                of both huginn & muninn -
        like the graeae: the three blind witch sisters
sharing a single eye -
so unto odin - the eyes of huginn & muninn -
in the cauldron of odin's empty socket...
  the τετραματια feeds the paganistic observation
of the gods, of the one they call the
demiurge in human tongue -
            and since there's talk of twins -
as akin to h & h -
                                or rugby goal posts -
           the τετραγραμματoν is best exhumed,
best seen, with half of one sense missing -
for one eye for the graeae to share -
   four eyes of huginn & muninn share gouged
eye of odin...
     that eye surfaced in greece, while from
farthest north came the perplexity of
the merged four.
               yet i still can't believe people could
establish e. e. cummings are writing
orthographical poetry - by sImplY writing
like: and not like, what otherwise is
orthography (i.e. the need for diacritical
marks) -
                   **** in slavic, i.e.
the proper orthographic is: gówno -
             it's not guwno -
that's orthography - but nonetheless i like
the quirks of these poems, hidden, sometimes
lost, most of the time uncherished.
nonetheless, less observant during day
makes for a cul de sac of what is to be written -
unlike, say, spending the night
backwards & forwards between future-present,
future-past, past-and-present,
    future-and-the-immediate-past...
to bewilder myself, as any theory might
allow -
       to travel at the speed of light -
well, for one thing light is not a propeller -
at this stage of our understanding it's a storage
component of energy - hence speed of light
square -
               squared meaning it's vast in expansion,
but not in being contained and allowed
to trickle out of its storage unit of speed of
light cubed to perfect a source of stable energy,
and, from what i gather -
it's not a propeller, because the equation doesn't
treat the speed of light in linear terms -
        and light is not a propeller, since the object
is dragged by a solar-sheet of panels -
it isn't being pushed!
     can the speed of light become a propeller
if someone managed to mingle the speed
of gravity into an equation, that begins with mass?
back to the future are always the films to
watch over and over again -
for any insomniac - who decided to not do
a 32 hour stretch of being awake...
        as is this other bewildering fact:
if time is linear, it can only be linear
   in a converging parallel linearity -
       perhaps best represented by 0 & 1
points of origins - sine & cosine (can't
remember if respectively) -
    but to enforce a time travel concept where
the two expressions of time do not
intersect at certain degrees - converge
and then diverge - well, would we be given
the concept of choice, with only one choice
to be had? in fiction time travel is
           represented by some sort of rigidity
of a never converging parallel linearity (=),
and given this model, a single convergence
of this model is represented by (≠) -
      which means the beginning of the end -
as they say: waves... waves...
              this travels in waves, this doesn't...
then of course there's already talk
of matter, and antimatter -
    as there was in the early church by someone
with the same prefix -
        but if the two personas didn't
exist simultaneously in the same pocket
of time & space -
   then they could only exist in the same pocket
of time, but not space -
and if they could have existed in the same
pocket of space,
                       they'd be family;
history is a straight line, history is a singular
timeline, but even then there's the
dimension of: with or without hindsight -
the what if line of history...
                and they never run in a = parallel
fashion, nor do they meet in a ≠ fashion either:
for that sort interaction is a dead end
upon their first and only convergence...
       much like vita coeo mort...
  and only then - only then does this concept
of time work...
        space travel is impossible,
for the other already stated reason in trigonometric
terms of the continually interchanging
   parallels between the sine dynamic and
the cosine dynamic...
but enough science fiction,
  they gave this other movie only 3 / 5 stars,
billy lynn's long halftime walk -
now we all know the classic military movie,
the gruesome reality of warfare,
     the blood, guts, swerves of shaken nerves,
the barbarism, the madness,
   the unjustifiable motives...
  not this movie...
      this move was worse in reality,
to any platoon, full metal jacket, saving private
ryan, apocalypse now i've even seen...
it's precursor? american beauty and
colonel frank fitts...
                  these movies are stepping stones
to a movie they should actually make:
24 hours in a slaughterhouse -
i'd love to see humanity humanised a little
bit, by first watching about a dozen cows
get slaughtered: after all...
cows don't cry mama, they're poker faced
when addressing pleasure, and more so
when addressing pain, poker-faced tsars...
      but this movie, mmm hmm mmm...
absolute horror...
notably when they get shoved and punched
off the stage,
   and this guy being persuaded to by his
sister to ask a doctor for a notable discharge,
and almost doing it,
    prior hooking up with a cheerleader -
the ******* she says about god, jesus,
"connecting" - and then at the last minute
he says: let's run away together!
  and she replies: but you're a war hero!
you can't quiet the army.
   to be honest, no military movie can provide
the absolute horror of a soldier
returning from war for a brief spell between
tours... but at least when they fight
adrenaline does the talking, returning to
a police state where any violence is condemned,
after these guys just shot a *******
bazooka into a building?
   strange realising that p.t.s.d. is not actually
concerned about what you saw in battle:
but that you didn't realise you had it in you
to do what you did... to then expect to
go into a mental institute that society has become...
honest to god,
they can give this movie 3 stars out of 5 -
by far the best military movie i've seen -
        like i said - no point glorifying war
and engaging in solely the graphics -
                after all, the berserkers were real -
and making **** jokes in the army like
they make shower jokes in prison?
                 plus, the farce of the entertainment
industry is masterfuly attacked -
then these 7 guys are given
"army instructions" on how to become props on
stage, and they're like: what did
this choreographer just say?
  i can't explain it, you just have to see it -
the real horror remains back home -
      the real home remains in the horror;
i guess the only soldiers that will ever fit
into a snug place in society are the ones
   used for state functions, like funerals of
politicians, or the ones that have their pictures
taken with tourists...
       paper soldiers...
      met combat soldiers once...
drunk like skunks and outcast...
          one thought i looked at him funny when
he recanted a story of being *****
by a massive arab...
                 but yeah... the queen's guard:
take the tallest, the most handsome,
   and you have yourself an army of pedants.

Vases with flowers on countertops-
No good to those who wish for eternity,
or easy appreciation.

There is pruning, watering, replacement.
There are dead petals strewn among the granite,
drooping dying faces bending into gravity.

Beauty lasted only for a second and,
all that was left behind were holes in the ground.
Those roses left for dead.
Unnourished for but a moment.

Uncherished from muddled perception.
Like all the plastic primrose-
And artificial daises held up to mirrors,
Empty when it needed light.

It was not the lesser hand that took it,
and promised it forever,
but lack of understanding,
the message caught in friction.

Empty when it needed light.
Clipped from its roots before it had a chance to sing.

Here take this match
And this my heart, catch
Light the match quick
Don't you play tricks
Burn this heart of mine
Don't worry I'll be fine
Fuel the burning flames
As this heart has no claims
Dead in my brain
I can withstand this pain
Forget me soon
As this heart melts at noon
The witness is the moon
With uncherished boon
Gone are the days
Let's try various ways
To burn this heart
So no one can act smart
To claim it back ever
I will not allow it, never!
I feel the heat
The burning of meat
Thank you for this honor
I was gonna be your heart donor...

©sim

Ugly memories
Absurd reveries
Clumsy happenings
Untidy evenings
Uncherished coincidences
Drifting Incidences
Go buzzing evidences
Engulfed instances
Cloudy substances
Float like clouds

Intimacy's purest form, untarnished by silence.
Humming hearts in perfect synchronization
Manifesting symphonies, unabashed by conscience.

Souls unable to, left uncherished,
Consigned to a deaf roaring fire.
For god so loved his only self, that he let the world perish.

Nameless

I look to the crack on my ceiling

And the paint flaking of from my wall

The crack represents my broken heart

The flaking paint, as my emotions fall



My floor is carpeted with littered poetry

Strewn around, like cast off clutter

Pointless visions,of a myriad thoughts

Exposed emotions, as heartstrings flutter



My heart and love remain uncherished

As desirable, as an empty soul

Isolation, has become my destiny

As my heart will never be whole



A loving embrace, is something to cherish

And a tender kiss, to ignite a flame

It appears i'm to be left with my memories

When true love, once had a name