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"ungrasped" poems
1430 Who never wanted—maddest Joy Remains to him unknown— The Banquet of Abstemiousness Defaces that of Wine— Within its reach, though yet ungrasped Desire’s perfect Goal— No nearer—lest the Actual— Should disentrall thy soul—
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Who never wanted—maddest Joy
for every action defined there are infinite that remain utterly unnamed and are vitally spoken in whispers on the pieces never lived. these incalculably splintering, passively accumulating, terrifyingly ungrasped possibilities compile and cache and compress and comeback in the saddest seconds, where one can merely conject their meaningfulness, realizing that there is infinity in everything and therefore potential even in the kinetic.
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Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 2:52 AM UTC
Potential in the Kinetic
The evidence: a thickened chest and a dim grin, which triumph over my strong insouciance After twenty two plus hope, though yet ungrasped, the chasm between our scopes has not narrowed! I glided past you, above the whim of time, you did not notice 'We merely coexisted almost met but always messed it, spinning around like two sides of a coin' My resistance, for once as a raised voice, importunes the years! I am inclined to remain unknown, no nearer, lest I upset fate It is better; one thing to do that I have never done: send you a poem (How Do I Love Thee?) You are you; I am I What is meant to be will always find its way Espy!
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Oct 11, 2020
Oct 11, 2020 at 9:31 PM UTC
your name
Blurred and fast they race the intangible senses on my walkway dragging me through a maze of madness my perceived traverse of each day! As I try to feel them in their fullness save each as a precious find they melt away in their secluded recess leaving me to ***** in my mind! I search bewitched in their spell if can find a trace of their tint but only see upon the trail their inscrutable footprint! Thus I traverse each day seeking to unravel the maze of my indecipherable walkway obscured in yet ungrasped haze!
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Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 8:37 AM UTC
Inscrutable
The clock’s hands arrested At the time our lips came. The blood rushing in our temples Overcame the ticking. The air hurried into silence As our hearts synced, beating. The rift coming between us Traced back and forth, rekindling. Bother flees our skin And doubt sinks in quicksand. For sure, for certain, As your fingers navigate Every wrinkle in my hand, And I catch your shoulder, Yet to be chiseled, for wars, From the weight of a gun, Full of light, you let pass, Piercing through, Peering for my soul, Searching for each crevice To comfort and assure. Your other hand, Driven unto madness Of an unrelenting encore, Scouring for the ungrasped And the worded whispers To beg earnestly for. … And time up on his chamber Painted pictures just to remember That moment he arrested his hands To give two lovers an unafflicted chance…
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Mar 2, 2021
Mar 2, 2021 at 4:50 AM UTC
An Unafflicted Chance
A look in the mirror A fist to the glass A smile that’s twisted With sane thoughts ungrasped Unanswered questions Die on parched lips From a mirror now shattered Dark crimson drips A glance at the window Three stories up The blood on the mirror Isn’t enough Three steps—one too many Night air slipping by The pavement where sane thoughts Come always to die
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Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 9:26 PM UTC
Three Stories Up
A better heaven there wasn't then Nor, he knew, to find it after For thoughts were lost to smiles and laughter When Love had found its niche again. So stealthy did events unfold- Each moment kisses she endowed To whom such gifts ungrasped allowed; She kept him joyed in this mode. Her charms were more than mystic spells... His heart did not a bit detect The poisoned blood - she did infect And toxic love induced his cells. The poison ran with time its course And symptoms many he endured- None worse than when she then allured- Her absence did his death endorse. But men with kisses do give in Their hopeless hearts to attain A chance of heaven despite the pain- Thus, Love will find its niche again.
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Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 2:48 AM UTC
After Love
Words lie in wait. Ready to spring, invade our minds, ambush our thoughts. They fight each other for the prize. Born of grisly grief, lasting love, excitements, incitements, enticements, realities plurality of life, imagined hope ungrasped, surrendered souls downcast. Treasuring pleasing phrases, blessed by serendipity, and so must shout their praises, gorge ephemerality, soon returning to the feast.
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Oct 14, 2017
Oct 14, 2017 at 1:51 PM UTC
Well Read