"unfaltering" poems
W: Waves crashed against 2020 pebbles
A: against the shoreline. Colliding with one another, the pebbles slowly chipped away at each other, breaking apart. And
Y: yet, seven constellations twinkled above them in the midnight sky. The constellations of the captivating cat, sophisticated sheep, benevolent bear, unfaltering unicorn, dynamic dragon, lively lion, and curious chick shone brightly through the dark expanse, as if signaling to the pebbles below,
V: "Venture out beyond the horizon, for there you will find the 2021th pebble and be able to turn the tides. Even if storms darken the sky, the sun will always shine again. The celestial bodies will always be here for you, shining bright in the cosmos but even brighter when midnight strikes."
Feb 22, 2021
Feb 22, 2021 at 3:57 AM UTC
I wonder what it is that I will love the most. Maybe it’s the way you say a certain word, or that one defining feature; your one crooked tooth when the rest are straight, or the fact your eyes cross every time you cough after a draw. Maybe it’s because your mouth tastes like rice milk and your hands smell like lavender, maybe it’s the way you hold me and keep me still when the entire world is spinning. Maybe it’s because you sing all the songs you know keep me calm, or maybe it’s the way your laugh seems to roll around in your mouth and then hit everyone in the room like it’s the bowling ball and we’re the pins. I wonder what you have been through. I wonder what walls you have hit in your life, and which of those you battered through and which you sat and waiting for the bricks to crumble and fall. I wonder what you will think about when we sit in silence, is it about me? Is it about the ocean, or our dinner?
I wonder about a lot of things to do with you, but I do not wonder, nor doubt that I will be uncontrollably and unfaltering-ly in love with you.
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 8:55 PM UTC
she would
crawl in bed
and tell me
she loved me
but her eyes
were cold
and closed
like the
broken fluorescent
that gave off
blue sparks
she reminded
me of an
abandoned church
what used to be
a place
where so much
happiness and
depression
was tied together
by faith and
hope was
now a
simple reminder
of how even
the place of
seemingly
unfaltering hope
dies
she was
a false dichotomy
of existence
always present
infinitely absent
and i could
see her
try her
hardest to
make me
feel like
she was
still alive
and trying
but every
word she said
was her own
eulogy
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 6:26 AM UTC
Let us paint our canvasses on WOMEN!!
Curious I stand to unravel your perception of a woman
Would you weigh her as a piece of wonder or a gruffly aggressive thunder?
She is extraordinary, gorgeously efficient, solely independent!
The love she embraces is wider than the infinite heaven and deeper than the fathomless sea.
The shallow world with its profound hypocrisy,
Banters with a judgemental frown.
The world has changed, and so has she.
It has known the beautiful rose, tarnished by its prickly thorns,
Only the delicate rose, the world, with its abysmal critics, abides by to adorn.
She knows her paths, truly determined to achieve her goals,
Her patience deserves a salute, her tremendous sacrifice only to satisfy our souls.
Dare never to shred the lovely red petals, not knowing her darings!
For also the thorns in her are perilous, to blemish a wound till your last.
With her chin up and a gaze so ferocious, ocean of wisdom she is vast.
She rises, she grows, taking a free flight, venturing to claim new heights,
She is benevolent, a ray of sanguine sunshine to your forlorn nights.
Walking proud, believing in who she is, glimmering like a star!
Born strong she is, refuses to be judged by her scars.
She is the teller of her tale, over fears and worries she will prevail.
A miracle of God, with a sweet lingering fragrance she leaves a trail,
Of patience, commitment, empathy, and unfaltering fortitude !!
by ~Mihika Rohatgi
Mar 7, 2021
Mar 7, 2021 at 10:50 PM UTC
The lonely notes flowing, falling, leap from
The thin and flitting fingers of the pianist,
The cup of melancholy, drained to the
dregs, bittersweet in that the love of happiness
and joy is tempered now, from longing for the
delicate and pensive feel, that comes from dipping into
the small and lonely pool of melancholy. Grief, a distant
specter, hovering in the fringe of chance, is nearer now,
melancholy, the doorway, slides open on silent hinges,
and admits the crushing tide. High, high, and faster still,
the pianist falls, slowly down and up again, grief, the storm,
disrupts the flow of sound and silence, and incorporates itself
into the threading melody, and so erodes the shores of joy and laughter,
the violet waves of gentle melancholy, laced with the thinnest threads of
blackest grief, sighing on, erasing so, youth and joy and light and life.
The melody falters, stills. The pianist alone, playing for an empty quiet,
rises, pauses, his fingers brushing, the cold steel of empty death, smooth beneath his touch. He grasps it, lifts it to face him, hands steady, gaze unfaltering. The man is still, pianists fingers gripping that instrument of death, and time passes, unheeded, ignored. In a motion refined to elegance by the passage of time and repetition, the pianist places that cold instrument of steel and intent gently, down upon the polished black. He straitens, slowly, and settling his black overcoat close around him, he turns, walks quietly to a closed and silent door, lifts the latch, and into a swirling night of snow and light, walks out, and closes the door behind him with a soft and quiet click. And all is silent.
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 8:38 PM UTC
you move me
the way
music moves you
the vibrations
on the chords
of your guitar
tell me how
your day went:
spilled lemonade
on your favorite sweatshirt
and 3 bonus points
on a clicker quiz
i'm not caught
in the essence of firsts
like 30 extra minutes
to kiss you in
real time
your dark features and
unfaltering movements
evolve like
the sounds of me loving
you
composed of your stiff-fingered
electricity and a continuation
of all the good
things
Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 4:47 PM UTC
Dostoyevsky said, “your worst sin is that you have destroyed and betrayed yourself for nothing.”
I've felt rage seething in my chest for as long as I can remember. I've felt as his talons ripped open my sternum, digging for a place to call home. this rage has nestled deep into my ribcage, devouring my will to survive while carelessly residing within my nightmares.
I've surrendered to this forsaken depression fury has vacated deep in the confines of my irises - despite witnessing myself across grey-tinted glasses; a smoldering storm rippling miasma throughout my body, manipulating my hands into a devout pyromaniac; suffocating every chance to heal.
I've known nothing but bitterness congesting my heart. My dreams were burdened dreadfully with the stench of wrath. it mutilated my arms; burrowing into capillaries, and asphyxiating my habit to vanish.
This incessant sin I've endured has brought me to my knees, existing only to ***** out my ability to be a mortal in an unforgiving universe. I am not a cosmic metaphor, the iron residing underneath my skin has become impenetrable.
I am adorned with stillness while this betrayal has bloomed into a supernova. the things in which I lack have ignited into an endlessly violent explosion -
Atomizing my bones, swirling stardust into a forlorn emptiness.
A world that was held by the unfaltering resistance I persevered against, it has ravaged my memories, my moribund existence trembled; shivering from the growl of the recoil - the remnants of creation kissed abysmal lips within the faraway distance of a boundless abyss, raining tears for the last time as the destruction leaves a life void of meaning.
The last words ever heard in this universe spoke softly as if to lull the existential bereft into a long hiatus -
"This was all for nothing, just as destitute as this vacant nothingness, human life is ill-fated to be star-crossed and powerless."
Sep 25, 2024
Sep 25, 2024 at 6:51 PM UTC
Through the astral plains
upon which my consciousness
rides, the vicissitudes of fate
brought about insurmountable awe.
Nebulas of thoughts gathered
distant and fleeting memories
to assess and sort the debris out.
Close to the event horizon, yet
its gravity doesn't pull.
Away from black holes and worm holes,
through thick and thin gaseous satellites,
this voyage goes.
A radiant constellation
from a billion light years away,
can be seen. Unfaltering, ubiquitous,
and seemingly sempiternal;
it's light glistens across galaxies.
The search is now done and,
as ephimeral as might be,
no stardust or meteorite owned
could amass the value
of a mere glimpse of this constellation
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 12:01 PM UTC
You were sap on my fingertips.
Amusing,
but tiresome.
I always did like sticky situations.
One must keep things interesting,
you know.
Our romance was
utterly cliché;
with the class
of the ****
you used to make.
Circa 1975.
Your capricious nature
was infectious.
And lucky for you,
the ****** had already
eradicated any morsel
of logic or reason
that should have been in attendance.
I was ripe for the picking.
With unfaltering,
unwavering decadence
you won
a child's heart,
but not without
stealing the body too.
Heartless ******* people everywhere.
Shoving young girls
flat on their taut tummkes
for better access
on beds, ***** mattresses and floors
everywhere.
I can still recall
the scent of your pillowcase
as your hand pressed,
hard,
my head to the center of the bed.
I'm sure you remember,
you know,
the way my heroin-soaked body
flopped,
nearly lifeless,
as you took
and took
and took
what you saw to be yours.
I hope I haunt
some frequented
highway of your psyche.
Walking the wet roads,
thumb extended at my side.
You know me
by the switch of my hips,
the curve of my ***
and the smell
of naive innocence.
I feel you behind me;
I always feel you behind me.
"Need a ride, kitten?"
Glorious evil pulses through me.
You're a sucker.
You'd pick me up everytime.
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 12:27 PM UTC
Those who are held back by depression are often viewed as 'miserable' or 'negative', but people really do not understand the fragile nature that these sufferers must face. It is an unconditionally delicate misconception, one of which that encourages society to hold such a stereotypical perception it can ultimately tip the scales and cause unfaltering chaos on the body, the mind and the soul. We are left to pick up the pieces of ourselves from the stone-like words that people throw at us, the icy glances when they see that we're trying to hold back stale tears that we were unable to release the night before and instead faced a daunting and relentless course of insomnia, the cold shoulder when we are desperate to breathe and release the demons that cloud our heads and our judgements in order to feel free again. It is unnerving to think that we must wander through life as shadows whilst others dance in the carefree sunlight of their ignorance. They are blinded by the sun rays of misunderstanding or lack of interest, they are educated but do not put their knowledge and understanding to the test and instead flee when the school bell of fear and commitment resonates through the hallowed halls of our hearts, our arteries, veins, capillaries, blood cells.
It is a tragic and petrifying truth, one of which breaks me a little more inside as each day passes.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 3:14 PM UTC
His rasping grumbles define hunger, louder than my stomach
complains about the seven hours since breakfast,
Grunts replace the pry of a commanding tongue, eager to devour, or a feathery graze past the
hook in my collarbone, a tender nip at the crescent of flesh that
peeks below my white plastic earring.
Gutturals guide our transition from a stained mattress to a rickety desk where
Frenetic eyes validate the arch of my back.
Wild thrusts push us perpendicular.
Undoubtedly, my howls alert the neighbors.
If not, then the neglected crashes of my plummeting clutter or the unfaltering thud of my head
pounding the half closed window can attest:
We mean business.
The tired floor creaks ‘nd cranks as erratic lunges hasten.
(grasping his shoulders tighter than a lone, wrinkled hand grips the pepper spray in her bag)
I brace that swelling itch, my hips shudder as it consumes, throbs, and then
Electrifies to axons from dendrites.
And he doesn’t miss a beat— more jabs **** my liver.
Jun 1, 2010
Jun 1, 2010 at 4:20 PM UTC
GLEAMING through the silent church-yard,
Winter sunlight seemed to shed
Golden shadows like soft blessings
O'er a quiet little bed,
Where a pale face lay unheeding
Tender tears that o'er it fell;
No sorrow now could touch the heart
Of gentle little Nell.
Ah, with what silent patient strength
The frail form lying there
Had borne its heavy load of grief,
Of loneliness and care.
Now, earthly burdens were laid down,
And on the meek young face
There shone a holier loveliness
Than childhood's simple grace.
Beset with sorrow, pain and fear,
Tempted by want and sin,
With none to guide or counsel her
But the brave child-heart within.
Strong in her fearless, faithful love,
Devoted to the last,
Unfaltering through gloom and gleam
The little wanderer passed.
Hand in hand they journeyed on
Through pathways strange and wild,
The gray-haired, feeble, sin-bowed man
Led by the noble child.
So through the world's dark ways she passed,
Till o'er the church-yard sod,
To the quiet spot where they found rest,
Those little feet had trod.
To that last resting-place on earth
Kind voices bid her come,
There her long wanderings found an end,
And weary Nell a home.
A home whose light and joy she was,
Though on her spirit lay
A solemn sense of coming change,
That deepened day by day.
There in the church-yard, tenderly,
Through quiet summer hours,
Above the poor neglected graves
She planted fragrant flowers.
The dim aisles of the ruined church
Echoed the child's light tread,
And flickering sunbeams thro' the leaves
Shone on her as she read.
And here where a holy silence dwelt,
And golden shadows fell,
When Death's mild face had looked on her,
They laid dear happy Nell.
Long had she wandered o'er the earth,
One hand to the old man given,
By the other angels led her on
Up a sunlit path to Heaven.
Oh! 'patient, loving, noble Nell,'
Like light from sunset skies,
The beauty of thy sinless life
Upon the dark world lies.
On thy sad story, gentle child,
Dim eyes will often dwell,
And loving hearts will cherish long
The memory of Nell.
2.2k
Or do I already know?
I naively nourish these fervid feelings I hold.
Moving slowly, in rhythm, matching your sway,
Questionless is my admiration in every way.
Ardently I coast on the energy waves
Of your passions
And dispassionate despondency.
Waste the day together watching good TV;
It's not wasted if it's with you.
The never-ending riddle of learning how to love,
And learning how to love the one you love,
The one you think most of.
The unfaltering encouragement of success,
Filling in the blanks so the other won't stress.
I'll sweep the floors when you can't anymore,
Get us through the boring chores
Of every day life.
Those mundane motions for the future--
So much more to look forward to
With the addition of you.
Voices soften with the intimacy of quieter talk...
And the sensuality of our skin.
The carelessness and the giving in.
The tears shed, yours and mine,
Shared as "tiny dots on an endless timeline."
The subtleties of selflessness,
The subtleties of trying to change.
The obsession over mistakes,
Anxiety that keeps me awake.
Heated fights and
The addictive rush when we make up.
The selfishness, greed and possessiveness build up.
I am broken,
Or I act as if I am so.
I am broken, but there are sunflowers I wish to grow
In the broken *** within you
So that you may feel a little less broken too.
If this is love, I wish someone could tell me.
If this is love, why must it be so delicate,
Yet so assiduously enduring?
Continuous forgiveness
And the things we let each other get away with;
The "knowing better"s.
All those firsts, all those places that were meant to be with you.
Everything I would do
To make you smile.
How naturally I could laugh and feel at ease,
How naturally you brightened a smile on me.
How naturally, despite, we could become so miserable.
How naturally, despite, I could love so unconditional.
The wanting to just feel you there
Till we were unaware of our despair.
The frankness and the fall of our walls.
The letting go.
The folding up my heart and putting it away
When I can accept
It's not yet
To be worn by you.
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 3:05 PM UTC
Glassy eye.
While one sleeps, keep the second open blankly.
People believe you when you look at them. Stare at them. Break into them.
They'll believe in your strength. So you won't have to.
Tangled yarn.
Matted hair; red. Vibrant. Stand out before you stand up and sink.
Pull it. Yank it out in devastation, frustration, desperation.
Can you feel it escalate?
Ripping thread.
Twine comes tangled; tousled ropes of faith strung out. It's all a mess.
There's a breaking heart here somewhere. Dig beneath the filamentous skin.
If anyone dares to dig that long.
Stitching smile.
I'm tearing. Falling apart at every seam.
Stitch me...pin me back together. Lift me up; I'm weightless.
I present to you a plaster smile; don't forget to stab in dimples.
After numerous unfaltering years, it's wearing thin. A tiny break appears.
All the strings are coming loose.
Iron-on teardrop; a permanent stain on a withered face.
There are many uses for a Ragdoll.
Play with her. Use her. Dress her. Change her. Throw her. Hold her. Hate her. Tear her. Tell her.
Everything.
She'll never let it go.
Dance with her. Sleep with her. Hide her. Break her. Blame her. Love her.
Trust her.
Her stitching will hold. The perennial line of happiness will always prevail.
Ragdolls look brightly into any light. Opening lifeless arms to please. Everyone. Anyone who needs them.
Now, someone needs to need her.
A Ragdoll is good for many things. Fitting any character and criteria.
A Ragdoll can be selfless, ageless, fearless, reckless, seamless.
However.
Never
worthless.
Aug 13, 2010
Aug 13, 2010 at 12:52 PM UTC
COLD, HARD flesh - a very lonely girl in a room filled with fluttering moths and fully-functional nooses
- Makes a game plan, in an effort to:
- penetrate your wavering, wandering, yet wholly conscious mind
(The fate - the fear - lurks in the futility, the fragility, of your unsuspecting ears)
- Equipped with: an anchor (the rock-climbing kind, in order to avoid a metaphor), followed by some paper (and a pen - the use of my blood as script seems overly dramatic), and - a concoction of incredible (and edible!!) proportions
THE GOAL:
- To become the smallest presence possible, to take up the tiniest amount of space in the real and imagined world, and to in turn envelope your very existence - like a Sunday driver in rush hour
- with emphasis on:
The slope of your neck - I could mount my anchor into it and climb for days; I could nest in your ****** Youth cut when I reach the top, I could build the world's smallest fire with the world's saddest hands
STEP ONE:
When secured in predesignated cocoon, I will unleash the first sheaf - a perforated edge - and enclose a minuscule fragment of my still-breathing soul (for your keychain, perhaps, but preferably your pocket)
STEP TWO:
I will mail you a fraction (incidentally, a subject I still can't grasp) every week until:
- I have decreased in size with each turn, I get smaller and smaller until my tangibility disappears entirely and the only presence left of me is a slip that reads:
- apply to areas affected (only as directed)
Wait! No, not only that- my very own subconscious now rests inside your "thinking cap"
- INTRODUCING: Your every day monotony, now littered with:
- 17 scratched mix CDs you didn't want to listen to
- 4 dogs I secretly liked (and only you knew)
- a bright pink dumpster, largely livable
- a rusted mailbox with an ocean in full
- soundless Skype calls in stolen sweaters
- alphabet soup with undiscernable letters
- the unfaltering presence of a cabin in the Alaskan wilderness - confused with the very small and haunted town I couldn't leave to see you - and last but not least -
The ceaseless, repeated chorus of "you belong to me", like an immortal fly in an endless August dream
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 12:52 AM UTC
The first day I met him I was impressed,
An Imposing stature at six foot four, or more.
Movie Star looks he seemed unaware he possessed.
Big Tom Selleck mustache above his lip,
Full head of thick salt and pepper hair,
Remarkable Ears like Clark Gable.
But most memorable still was his open genuine smile,
That told all there was to know about this big fellow.
It was much more than a grin, beyond a smile,
It was a visible declaration of his love of life,
His unfaltering humanity,
His sheer enthusiasm for the game.
And play the game he did and does still.
If there was something to read he read it.
A thing to learn, he learned it.
New music to hear, he heard it.
A boat to sail, he sailed it.
He once built a wooden rowing sail boat,
All by hand in the middle,
Of his Bachelor Pad’s living room.
How he got the finished boat out,
Of that, I’m still unsure.
He knew some things about everything,
And even when he didn’t, he said everything
With such conviction that you still believed him.
He was an exceptional and gifted Salesman.
A salesman that could have been a Brain Surgeon.
He traveled, always the seeker,
Devoured all the sustenance life had to offer,
Like a starving man just come out of a desert.
Ladies responded to his charms,
He could have his pick and yet all that,
Never went to his head.
In his game plan, he had something more
Meaningful in mind,
And he found it in a girl named Ann.
The rest is story book stuff, marriage and family
A life of fulfillment few of us actually find and keep.
Two children grown into exceptional adults,
One, an intelligent tall smiling man like his father,
The other, a bright lovely woman like her mother.
Quite a Legacy for my old friend to leave.
If there was love to give, he gave it,
Lessons to teach, he taught them.
His incredible life's journey is now ended
No one ever fought a more valiant battle.
With so much grace, dignity and fortitude.
Sail on my brother, my old friend.
You've skippered your ship magnificently.
As well as any man could sail his.
And for us he leaves behind,
forever shall we miss him.
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 1:34 PM UTC
The candy-cane stripes mingle freely among the
Saffron-clothed C moon and fourteen-handed star.
They swim navy-like in the blue.
The reds and whites alternate
Till the states are properly represented.
They ask of nothing more, nothing more.
What does it hold? What does it teach us?
The wild history of it roars and thunders
Like a hurricane that never stops.
But it did. How did we overthrow
Something so mighty, so white
As an unstoppable hurricane?
And the purpose of it all? Freedom.
Freedom and independence. Two righteous
Morals so hard to obtain.
At what cost did we attain them?
Bloodshed, shrieks, lies, torment and tears.
It was all worth it, love, all of it.
When Jack finally crawled down the beanstalk,
We never flew higher, braver or breezier
With such dignity and unfaltering spirit.
We have come so far to this place, this place
Where hatred shreds to little warm hearts and people
Are just people no matter how colourful they are.
We’re a rare hybrid of ethics: the sarong-laden man milking the rubber tree
Is no different than the blackened faces down in the tin mines
And the ones that hand-built the train tracks, woody and sturdy.
Seven chants of it that fateful afternoon
And we cried knowing, knowing we have made it.
Toiled sweat never tasted sweeter. Merdeka!
Most of us laughed and rejoiced.
Some were heard wailing and flying off to where
They rightfully belong. We don’t want you here. We never did.
The dove’s free now,
Free of thick metal bars
That caged it for centuries and
It flies now, wings spread into
A feathery horizon, windily flapping back and forth
Into a new world, a new promise called Malaysia.
Shalini Nayar
© 2002
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 9:30 AM UTC
All alone with no place to call home
A vagrant called The Wanderer roams
Destitute and resigned to his solitude
No one to miss him or care that he’s gone
Immortalized with the mark of Sloan
He thrives amongst forgotten gravestones
To restore their legacy is why he intrudes
For systemic erasure he believes society must atone
All alone with no place to call home
A vagrant called The Wanderer roams
Destitute and resigned to his solitude
No one to miss him or care that he’s gone
Empathy drives this misguided untomb
Generations of oppressors he seeks to dethrone
Reality remains an unfamiliar interlude
For to delusion The Wanderer is prone
All alone with no place to call home
A vagrant called The Wanderer roams
Destitute and resigned to his solitude
No one to miss him or care that he’s gone
All alone with no place to call home
A hero called The Wanderer roams
Complacent in his intrepid pursuit
Unfaltering ‘till the world sees glory of Arawn
Dec 6, 2018
Dec 6, 2018 at 8:50 AM UTC
**Dear Picture-in-my-head,
I wish I had you for my reality instead.**
Your star spangled banners,
your dim faded lights,
that alan walker music
misty, misty night.
Him,
from the corner of eyesight
letting his frown drop,
asking me in. Our time.
An audacious vivacity,
the merry sliding down of unhinged desires.
A mating of intellectuality,
less of skinny lust, discarded mask and pride.
Wafting smell of earth drenched in season’s first rain,
halting words breaking the initial stranger pace.
Cups of ginger tea than ***** and ice,
living the moment than getting drowned in haze.
I could whisper my secret wishes -the one that involves a mountain top,
a leather jacket, bullet ride
an unfaltering speech – woman of the moment,
a potential done right.
You could tell me about that night you cried,
That misunderstood age
Your favourite cartoons,
And their funny ways.
We could draw the clouds on our palms,
The ones that compliment a picturgasmic sunset
Feel the lightness of solitude,
the sweetened somethings in the nothing.
The breeze would crash against me,
Before it hit you softly in the face,
And it would feel just right,
To let you have a bit of me this night.
**It would be good, or even better;
but it’s just stuck in letters.
For it’s a trapped swansong – in a party with people I barely know,
and wouldn’t want to, at the end of the night.**
Nov 30, 2016
Nov 30, 2016 at 10:54 AM UTC
Decisiveness.
Swift and unfaltering.
steady strokes
unite ink and creamy paper
to herald this new day,
new life, anew.
I collect things- mostly words
written and unspoken
they hold a certain enchantment
and I gather them into my arms, my heart
like a greedy child
on seashell spun shores
and I hope to keep them here-
eternal and youthful
like the first memory of fireworks
and hot caramel
or glowing sea waves
I stack them on shelves
in between pages
in secret corners
even whispering to the wind
and in between the sheets
I keep things
and steal some things
like sunshine, rain, a kiss
because I wanted to
maybe you wanted me too
Desire is fleeting, ephemeral and often fickle
but it is decisive in the heat of the moment
sharp as a knife,
and it cuts through my thoughts
again and again
until
maybe just until-
I run out of pretty little words to collect
leaving me no choice
but to sing it out loud
the first three words I took
I took from a single glance
a secret gaze
from an electric dance
that we started
along time ago
one that seems to go on and on
like the pounding rhythm
of erratic heartbeats.
All of it means so little,
all of it means everything
or nothing.
And until that day comes
let me lie here
alone but me and the stars
to spin those pretty little words
feel their cadence on my tongue
with my eyes closed
lie here and wait
until the last sound
of your name
escapes me
And the enchantment
complete.
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 7:22 AM UTC
See badness and drabness as signs of unfaltering instability,
Righteous infertility,
Oh the humility.
When the magic of the mind disappears into explanation,
We lose true art,
Art is pure and unyielding.
To howl an unending song to an unmoved matriarch,
Move the wolves to the moon, move the tides too soon,
waters ebb and swoon to their nightly doom.
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 2:01 PM UTC
My lady is immortal and shines only for me
Setting waves in motion so that I may hear the sea
With skin a white as milk that is mine to behold
And eyes that shine brighter than both diamond and gold
Her ambience inspires those whose love has come and gone
The streaks of sultry melodies create a secound dawn
And I will look upon her sillouette with unfaltering, desiring eyes
As she reaches for me every single night and carries me up high
My lady's essense walks upon the solitary shore
Her hair of silver, so long and silken, that flows forever more
She sips dreams from her teacup and plays amongst the stars
But always keeps in my sight to she show she strays not far
Oh illustrious siren of destiny, look at your lover and smile
Realize he looks to you to carry him through Heaven's aisle
And with the kiss you lay upon my cheeks each solitary night
I dream of you on glowing shores in palaces of white
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 11:25 AM UTC
You have boys breaking all kinds of tender hearts
and you have hoes cheating on loyal men.
I try to make sense of this world and these 'customs,'
yet I seem to be lost on square one over and over again.
Living in this day and age is a constant game of cat and mouse,
filled with deceit, mistrust, and no respect.
What the hell happened to an unfaltering love for monogamy?
You walking scandals, tell me what the mirror'll reflect.
With all these social distortions we're afflicted with,
it's hard to tell where you fit in the spectrum.
You say cheating is simply a black and white absolute, so
in that moment, are you going to be the victim or the venom?
Paranoia thus is born and all that you worked hard for
seems to just dissipate, and you can't cope with your spouse.
Media *** scandals reinforce distrust to loved ones,
the heart is no longer a home, but just another empty house.
This is how the younger generation lives,
constant fear what could happen and they close all doors,
you're either hurting or will be hurt,
so you steel your heart since all you see are ******
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 3:30 AM UTC