A tale of many cities confined within
Deep dark secrets stacked in.
Lies, the world presume as sins,
That’s how the story of ‘The Black Box’ begins.

Cramped amid the four gloomy walls,
‘The Black Box’ is what he calls.
Looking to unscramble pieces at the bottom,
He rolled up his sleeves to the problem.

Not knowing, this can put him in a ditch,
And ‘The Black Box’ can act like a *****.
He went on in the search for a prize,
Unaware of this forthcoming surprise.

He knew, many have tried to look inside,
To find a package of perfection in the hide
Disappointed to see the shattered glasses,
They closed the box to put it with a stack of more boxes.

Still, he preferred to move ahead,
In spite of knowing he will lose his head.
The minute he thought he was nearer to precision,
A way distant he was from the actual incision.

The time will come, when he will have his threshold,
Sooner or later, he will have to fold.
After all, no one can alter the history,
No matter what! ‘The Black Box’ will remain a mystery.

Stories, truths, lies, all these lines,
So confused as to what is happening.
Like riding a rodeo, Dust and rope, rain and shine,
Been a year thinking, and breaking bones,
Healing, taking bumps, watching phishermen
As they try to pick the lock of my heart.
The truth is no one knows my story,
No one knows his story,
They take letters, unscramble them to make a sound
A sound that is not yet proven to be true, either way.
I have time to think and make my move.
No one is rushing it, I am not, he is not,
We are on the same page, but the healing begins.
The only way you will get the answer is not by words, Understanding math, and finding the common denominator
Is the only possible solution.
I am the solution to the problem, not the problem.
Math can sometimes be difficult, because
There are ways to finding the solution,
But if you're not careful, there may be many numbers
Not useful, and the remainders will have to be
Reworked until there is a clear denominator for Solution to this equation.

Rumors have it that I did not show my right to him.
However, truth says that time and space heals wounds.
I do not have to doubt my love,
Because I see where the common denominator is.
Rumors have it that I drove him crazy,
Truth is that I feared love and he opened me up to it.
Rumors have it that I am not right for him,
Truth has it that solutions are sometimes painful,
But only the one can be the solution to my problem.
Rumor has it that I think I am the one,
The truth is the only common denominator that seeks
To make the math problem whole is the one.
Rumors say, that I will not feel loved again,
Truth says, it is love that is opening me up from a distance. Rumors say I do not belong in his life,
The truth says, I already exist in his life,
I am the one he suffered to fix me, and I accept it.
Rumors say I have no peace because I have no love,
Truth says he is the one that opened me to love.
Rumors say I am a broken dream with no hope,
Truth says I am the hope that brings peace to dreams.
Rumors say I am nobody and fat and ugly,
Truth says, my heart opened and my ugliness has Moved on to peace, love, and understanding.

Rumors say, why you like younger people?
Truth says, my youth is what brings me the joy I seek.
Rumors say leave it alone, you will never have him,
Truth says, I already did, and now I am more open.
Rumors say you will never last,
Truth says, true love, lasts a lifetime.
Rumors say you caused the separation,
Truth says, my heart was inseparable and I will prove it.
Rumors say, distance ruins relationships,
Truth says distance is what heals obstacles and barriers.
Rumors say I have some many barriers to open love,
Truth says love is what opened my barriers to freedom.
Rumors say the foundation to my heart is broken,
Reality says brokenness is the foundation of fixing
The broken pieces that will show the one
Who is the one in space and time to fix my brokenness.
Rumors do not believe in love but fear that love exists,
Truth believes that love exists and hope is the key.
Rumors need a reality check,
The truth knows where it is heading on this journey.

Forgotten notes lie at the bottom of bags
along with broken pencils
bits of dirt

forgotten words, prayers
continually trampled
deeper and deeper they sink
as work is piled higher and higher
compressing into one

uncrumple them
unscramble the faded letters
before
at the end of the year they are swept up
into the trash
recycled to pulp and reborn

They still linger there
with the gum wrappers
and discarded things
you cannot throw out
until you have forgot them

sometimes falling for someone is like sky-diving,
and sometimes it’s like jumping off golden gate bridge.
sometimes falling for someone is like sky-diving without a parachute
and still expecting to land on your feet,
sometimes falling for someone is like jumping off the golden gate bridge
and wishing you could climb back up in the split second
before you hit the ground.
see, you and me, we’re a little like my teeth;
all the things i let get just a bit crooked
because i didn't try hard enough to keep them in place.
i think there's a metaphor somewhere in there.
i think there's a metaphor in everything if i look hard enough.
but the thing is, life isn't poetry.
it doesn't always have an overarching meaning and message.
and not everything makes sense in stanzas if you unscramble it.
so i think the biggest lie i’ve ever heard about love
is that it sets you free.
but in the same breath our heartbeats sync up
like all those people who made love look so easy, so simple.
you are a home i don't know how to find my way back to,
and i know you can’t make rest-stops into safe havens
and i know if you’re going to try to make homes out of people
then you can’t be surprised when your house falls apart
and you have to move away.
but you, you were good at making hotels feel like homes.
you were good at making things
like open roads and bedsheets and stolen moments
feel like they belonged to us.
like that twin bed and the two of us
with our feet are tangled and our wires are crossed.
we were always spilling over the edges.
you never fit into any part of my life, but you still squeezed.
and not in a bad way, maybe more of a i'm mad at you
for finding all this extra space in me
i never knew was there until you
and then having the nerve to leave it empty.
so i guess i don't really miss people, i just miss the spaces
they leave behind.
the cracks in my pavement.
and god, what a dangerous thing to think
that someone else can make you whole.
and god, what a dangerous thing to think
that someone else can save you from yourself.

Have you heard?
Have you heard?
Of the land of Scramble Doo?
It's a place of pure joy in
Scramble Damble Doo
I tell ye the truth
Of this land not faraway
I journey through it en mass
Each passing day!
Call it Damble Doo Scramble
Or Doo Scramble Damble
Or anything you want! They were but example
But don't let anyone tell you how to unscramble your own place of joy
For Scramble Damble Doo lies in every girl and boy!

Gazing into nothing
With my ghastly swollen eyes
Amazed I'm so emotional
And that takes me by surprise

Tired of being crowded
With people and my thoughts
I sneak into the shadows
And try to unscramble your retorts

At no given moment
Was I aware of the pain
Until I was alone once more
And reunited with disdain

It's the feeling of grey
A vision blurred with a cloud
A taste so greatly rotten
A silent scream, unplugged, aloud

As I melt into reality
The figure is much more clear
Much more potent to my memory
So ugly as it starts to veer

I don't know what to do with it
So I poke it and conceive
It's something I can get past
Just a time wasting little peeve

Memories of Malinda
@2013 Linda Barrett

Whenever I saw you at your computer terminal,
my heart pounded with fear
You stood five feet and two inches tall
weighing twice your size
obesity bloated you
In your tight velvet tunic and tights
Your face resembled a ball of fat
lips ****** out in a sullen pout
Small brown eyes glared
At your computer monitor
underneath  your bobbed golden hair,
you held onto vindictive bitterness
hatched plots and drama
from all the television shows
you came home to watch
after keying in millions of medical forms
for five days a week
and seven hours a day
The hatred you felt in life
came out in disgust
and revulsion for me
You despised me for being the way I am:
told everyone in the office
of all of my crimes
against common sense and logic
How I couldn’t do anything right
I sneezed in my hands
keyed in the wrong information
picked my pimples in public
forgot to wash my hands
after going to the bathroom
To get rid of me once and for all
You took matters into your own hands
When our supervisor went on maternity leave,
you sabotaged my work
on the computer
verbally abused me every day
played cruel games on me
whispered about me
to your catty little friends
as I sat directly behind you
at my desk
until I started calling out sick
then searched for a psychiatrist
To unscramble my brain
and discover


why I couldn’t keep down a job
like other “normal” people
For a final analysis
I sought out God
If I prayed hard enough,
would He hear me
and pull me from the miry
clay of my office torment
or let this woman win?
I doubted Him at first
until two others caught
you in the act of sabotage
wrestled the claims I entered
into the company’s data base
Out of your self-made drama,
you almost lost your job
When Human Resources investigated
the other department’s members
about the sabotage issue,
you escaped from their questions
by fleeing for the parking lot
and speeding for home
You tried to get your friends
to gang up and save your job
from the others
who exposed your tricks
of data entry daring  do
The quiet speaking blonde H.R. manager
decided to demote you down
to a regular clerk
You went into tantrums
when the new auditor
revealed the mistakes
you used to hide from us
slammed your document folders
over her overhanging desk lamp
spat out obscenities
In childish rage
After a few years,
you quit your discouraging job
said to everyone
you found work
at a dentist’s office
in far away Dublin, Pa.
Even after two decades,
Why do I still
fearfully cringe
whenever I think of you?

My sentences are disjointed,
I can barely unscramble my thoughts.
How on earth my dear,
Do you expect me to unscramble yours?

Out of the blue, you came back
Under a sky of a million stars
Right when I needed someone
To pull me back up
Now I'm here
Each day gets a little easier
You keep me company when I feel alone

Tonight you're so far away, and
Here I am trying to unscramble my thoughts and feelings
It's certainly not easy
Separating the logic and emotion

Outgoing, funny, kind, smart...
Never enough words to describe
Every one true

It's hard for me put everything into words
So here are just a few

Feel how you want to feel
Others will try to hurt you, but don't let them
Remember how awesome you are

You only get one life
Obtain every goal you set and
Unearth every treasure you find

what i find so
fascinating about you is that
you never seem to start or
end where you are supposed
to. no, you have your own
pauses and stops, and the
more i try to follow
you, the more confused i
get. is there any pattern or
sequence to you that i can
decipher? is there
a glitch in your equation which i
could probably unscramble? believe me. i find
that you are more beautiful in your
insistence not to be understood. i liked that
about you, as that tells me i don’t
have to struggle so hard. but, baby,
i still want to try. let me still
get my paper and pencil out to attempt
to solve you, like that algebraic equation
i can’t seem to ever get right. honey, i am
not giving up on you, the same
way i got headaches over those questions that
tested the logic out of me, eventually leading
me to ask whether i was really intelligent enough to
figure something out. but even then, even when
i am out of my zone and completely
uncertain, i will still follow this
fascination through. who
knows, perhaps, eventually
i will find the right spot, the precise
timing, the exact
variable needed to complete the solution to
us.


for j.e.
*111814

Poetry comes in many themes and schemes
Don't care much for long winded written ostentatious verbosity
Full of riddles they expect me to unscramble
To quote "Bukowski" :
" An intellectual says a simple thing in a hard way
An artist says a hard thing in an easy way"
The best for me is:  Enigmatic prose
Well structured ...That I can then define as Art
If I entertain you with what I write
Then you may decide if it is Poetry
And then If... i am a Poet

My brain is on fire with everything.
I sit down to write and end up with blank lines and empty stanzas.
Where words of intense beauty and insight should rest are frustrated scribbles.
My lack of aspiration is disheartening.
I can’t unscramble my mind for one second long enough to write a decent line,
Or anything that’s not…I lost my train of thought.
Want to know where it went?
You.
Straight to you, without consent
Like a fly to honey, I’m stuck in the sticky sweetness of you.
See? Even my similes ****,
Drowning in this sad case of writers block.
My creative flow is barren.
My muse is strangled by thoughts of your silly grin.
I set my pen to paper and waste hours on the sap that is my poetry.
Wondering if there is any hope left for me.

I wrote my first play
when I had a dream
Now I unscramble all the scenes.
                                                    What started off as a hobby
                                                     Made me a legend
                                                       Yet none shall bring me heaven.
From the day we are born
we cry for attention
vulnerable, inexperienced, defenseless.

I swear the words took a million years to come out
And reach my ears,
And then a million more for my brain to unscramble them.

Years of
Utter emptiness
Searing pain
Agonizing heartbreak.

Years spent
Punching walls
Sobbing
Screaming.

Highs and lows trading places
Like they couldn't get enough of my
Self hatred
Self destruction
Self annihilation.

Years spent living on extremes,
Over confident, over achieving
Too tired, too alone
Unbelievably alive, unbelievably in love
So reckless, so dangerous.

All of it
Concluding
Culminating
Climaxing
In four words

"Manic.
Depressive.
Borderline.
Bipolar."

I feel that the body I have been given is too small
too small for the infinities that my mind and soul create
inside of me every minute, of every day

like my brain is wild with ideas too big
to fit inside their casing
and my body too weak, to hold my thoughts

words do not come easy to me, though not through lack of language.
There is too much inside my head to unscramble the jumbled mess
of words and thoughts and ideas, too strong, too strong for me

this body is weak in comparison to the colours and feelings inside of me
this measly shell, restricting my mind from reaching out
and experiencing the true form of this world, and the next

a flesh encasing that my brain is dependant on, yet what if it were not?
what if my soul was cast adrift with ideas I was not aware had came to exist
what if once my mind was free? what would happen then?

my mind is living somewhere else,
and I think that is where my soul eternally resides
and I will find it one day, one day, one day

your beauty is so
overwhelming
that i want to open
multiple tabs of you,
crash my computer
with curiosity
and overwhelm capacity,

in the blue screen that follows
i unscramble coding language,
and spell your name and
traits that i admire,

in that moment during restart
staring at the black of screen,
thoughts of 'us' are interrupted
when i see my own reflection.

Take a word.

Take any word,
write it backwards,
say it with a smirk.
Take a word and then
take another.
Roll them across your constellations,
tickle them 'til they squeal and surrender;
take your words and breathe them,
against them,
through them,
with them.

Take a word and peel it apart.
See if it floats.
Unravel its nucleus and strip it of charge.
Pound on its door at three a.m.,
yell its name against the grain,
don't stop until it comes out and steps on you.
Take a word and marry it.

Take a word and make it bold.
Sleep with it on a drunken Tuesday;
leave before it wakes up.
Handle it differently.
Write poems about it,
write essays that don't fit,
write like words are all that matter.
Use few.
Use far more than you could ever possibly need to explain what you're trying to say.

Take a word and beat it to death,
nurse it back to health.
Show it to your friends,
hide it in your freckles,
live like it's not judging your movement.

Take a word and never give it back.
Take it hostage,
a pet for a game you haven't named yet.

Take your words and coax them into order,
let them fall apart.
Rearrange and unscramble your words,
forget about their meanings.
Use them for good and evil,
a sword to smite ignorance.

(But for the love of god,
speak up.)

“Mom!”
The creaks of the old metal bed frame pierce in the silent night from across the house.

“Mom!”
Footsteps on the hard wooden floor slowly making their way to my room.

“Yes darling?”
A shadow emerges into my doorway.

“I had a bad dream.”
The light flicks on and my eyes close tight.
A new weight set upon my twin sized bed,
the bad dreams release from my mind in my six year old body.
A warm hand grabs the back of my head and arms around my body.

“Theres nothing to be scared about, ***, no monsters in your room.” She checks underneath my bed.

A kiss upon my forehead and a rapid change to darkness,
I lay there with my eyes wide open hoping not to get this dream once more.


I hope I’m not the only one who this has happened to before.

When falling off your bike was the most unimaginable pain, but a band-aid seemed so magical.

What ***** about a split family is not being there for the other parent.
my biggest regret in life is not seeing my mom and sister enough.
But ****** mom these dreams are coming back and the only thing I can yell for at night is for the monsters in my head to go back to underneath my mattress where they belong and to leave me the hell alone.

I hate the quiet.
I hate not hearing dad watch Fox News in the living room because that meant you were in the bedroom.
I accept the fact that you and dad are never getting back together,
But I can’t find a day where I wouldn’t **** to come home to both parents and my sister at the dinner table.

Talking about how ******* the education system is,
How corrupted our government is,
I don’t even care anymore.

Mom my nightmares are coming back,
I look out the window and ask the moon for advice
and I can hear it talking I just cant unscramble the words in my mind,
when all it’s trying to tell me,
is there are no monsters,
you’re going to be fine.

loving you was kind of like oversleeping.
quiet and so, so loud
when i opened up my eyes.
i spend all my time running late,
shaking the daydreams out of my head.
something about you
reminded me of all times i just wanted to sleep the year away,
wake up next september and have everything be okay,
and how glad i was i stayed awake for july,
a few months past my bedtime.
it’s the line running on repeat in the cracks of my brain,
there’s a symphony in here playing, it’ll never be the same.
looks like the conductor called in sick,
so it’s like some ill-conceived medley
of tchaikovsky and biggie
and if you don’t know now you know
to the backing music to the nutcracker.
every book i’ve read and every movie i’ve ever fell asleep to
are so tangled up that i can’t make out the lines
i actually wrote underneath them.
what i’m trying to say is that it’s all cymbal crashes in here
and i’ve run out of metaphors, i fear  
that i can’t seem to say anything at all right now,
i am writer’s block at 3 o’clock
and the afternoon has no right to feel 2 AM like this.
i used to think loneliness only happened
when it was the middle of night and i was wondering why
i couldn’t seem to take up all the space in a twin bed on my own,
or when i was in the middle of crowd
and i kept catching myself searching for someone who just... isn’t there.
and this poem has been in process
in the back of my head for a long time,
for about as long as i’ve known you.
i keep adding lines and crossing them back out,  
i keep opening my mouth and sewing it back shut.
you see, it’s very… crowded in my head,
often i feel like i’m exceeding capacity.
like a thousand word per minute,
like a thousand poems and i could never finish it,
i guess that’s is why i “write like i’m running out of time”
i guess that’s why when i perform i speak so fast
my words get caught and my tongue gets tangled,
i’m stuck looking for new angles,
i haven’t met a cliche i haven’t mangled --
what i’m trying to say is
that there’s a lot of ******* going on in here
and you make it all go…
quiet.
and don’t get me wrong,
i love myself, in the way you’ve got to love yourself
when you don’t really always like yourself.
but still, i spend a lot time wishing i had a better handle on myself.
wishing i could press pause
just to give me enough time unscramble myself,
wishing that i was less;
less difficult, less rough, less soft, less messy.
because sometimes i feel so ******' chaotic
and you...
you make everything stop for just a second.
you make everything about me feel okay.
and now, i don’t know about god
but i believe in love and i believe in poetry.
now, i’m not much for destiny
but i believe in the way you sometimes look at me.
to put it simply, you make me want to write poems
about weezer and way you smile.
simple stuff. good stuff.
and i like you because you never pretended
that you were too cool to know the words,
our lips moving just the same.
because we are stumbling, tumbling through life
and i want to spend mine with people
who aren’t so ******* scared of admitting that.
because i measure my heartbeat in drumbeats,
in what’s pouring through my headphones,
and the fact that you get that makes me feel so much less alone.
all the chords/cords tangled like our hearts on the floor,
i’m not going to write you love song, baby,
i’m going to write you an anthem.
because you and i, we we're composed to same notes.
and i could find a lot of ways to phrase this --
we’re made of the same stuff, stardust, kindred spirits
or something like that;
because i’m so good at words,
but my words aren’t near good enough to find a way to say
that you are the space between silence and noise,
where my heart goes to rest.

I promised to never sing so sadly,
But lately every tune seems off key,
Grasping onto the notes and chords,
Trying to unscramble melodic words,
But they all fall off the lines of the paper,
They swim in brew and pools of liquor,
I find myself crying out to some hopeless God,
But my wings are stained- his crown is flawed,
Tarnished by living in this mortal world,
Where the future is the past unfurled,
A struggle that ends in only one tragic way,
The closing scene to a calamitous play,
But no beast or man is in my scene, no, just I,
Placed here to abide to a life that was born to die.

I hold you close in my chest
Along with the others
The ghosts of my past
I assign you a chamber
That empty hollow room
One of the many
Locked away in veins,
Sealed up in blood
And all of those I miss you's
You sputtered
As I slammed you shut against my skull
Are now replaying themselves
Rattling inside my mind

I think, my dear,
That the next world war
Will most definitely start
With the spark you left inside my heart
But you are simply a memory now
Taunting me with the horrors of yesterday
Sticking your tongue out
And tracing it along my clavicle
Don't you see dear?
I'm referencing all of our favorite songs
Not that they'll ever understand,
But you can bet your shortened dollar
It's still replaying in my mind
And I'm holding your invisible hand
Wishing for just once more
That you were still next to me
In flesh and bone
Not just wind and dust

I carry you with me every day
But it's simply not enough
So I sip, smoke, inject
Praying for the same fate
That met your lips
The day you deflated in my arms
We will be together yet,
I can promise you that
I **** away all my pennies
Praying for fate to unscramble these words
And snap me right back next to you
Where I've belonged
All along

To change the past.
That is the plea.
Of the many,
Who have failed like me.

Torment be gone,
From hurting hearts.
Anguish errased.
Unpuzzled the parts.

So much more simple,
life could be.
If it all could unscramble
And set us each free.

From our choices,
Now sealed in the past.
Forever imprinting,
Our days to the last.

Welcome, to the tragedy of my mind.
This distortion you see, you feel;
It's mine.
Take a peek inside, you'll be surprised.
Bright colours, radiant,
And thoughts  scream in my dreams;
Disorganization, puts me sleep.
Unscramble my words as they stay itching at your ear.
Say it out loud!
What's there to fear?
I'm the sunset!
Exploding across your indigo skies!
But you were the night.
You extinguished my flame,
You turned out the lights.
I was a bright orange, but you remained dark.
You turned my vibrant sunset,
Into nothing but burnt embers.
Now I can't conjour a sunset,
I don't remember.
Shades of grey float in my mind;
Words, dull and tasteless,
Falling flat to your feet.
Thoughts of lonliness comfort me to sleep.

A stinging sensation
Similar to that of a bunch ats having their way with you
A burning unscramble itch
Simlar to that of a couple bee stings
The uncontrollable feeling of anger
Like acid meet metal
Fumes and bubbles
Smoke everywhere
Ready to ignite watever comes close
This burning hot feeling
This uncontrollable yearning for something that someone has
Could it be?

An ordinary morning
Noise everywhere
Not wanting to get out of bed
An errie feeling crept up to me
Like a sense of dejavu
Telling to stay down
Dont get up
It felt like a thousand bugs
Crawling under my skin
Wat i opened my eyes to
Is this the reason why u shouldn't check your phone in the mrng?
Could this feeling be wat i think?

Wait.....it could be it
But why
I hve no reason to be
We never had anything to begin with
Then why does my heart feel like this
Like a rag doll..... bound in twine
Untill the thread is almost cutting in
Then like a yoyo
Thrown around only to come back to the thrower to be thrown again
Like a soccer ball being passed around teammates
Only for the striker to give it a more powerful kick
Every second i looked
The string got tighter
And as i closed my eyes in thought
I could taste blood in my mouth
What irony
My head laughed
But only the sound of gritting teeth could be heard
As i endured the tugs froms my hrt
Yes this was it
Its the conclusion i came to
Yes indeed
It was jealous

Trust is not commercial, because trading or exchanging wears upon one's very truth isn't exactly well thought out. It only comes about, when one's very truth isn't (not) exactly commercial. But when trust isn't truth, when one's very wears aren't as thought out as it was to begin with. Scrambling many believes until one most tired (thought out) engagement, began to unscramble back into "trust is not commercial"!

Much like a sestina repeats it's hook
Our lovers and idols, ever prophetic,
Sew meaning into quivering arcs.

Desaturating the still, all becomes clear
Unscramble the motion in the film
The cover image foregrounds.

Remove the chaos of every day
Plot points pinned to a story-line
We spin ourselves back in time.

As one song may last a lifetime
Churning the same harmony,
Of the few who never leave.

Worry changes no forking paths
So worry not and sonder still
Time clarifies, distilling all.

A viewpoint in the stratosphere
Changes the night sky forever
Yet, the seasons remain the same.

One prolonged glance into the sky
Listening to this primordial beat;
Here, true lovers, idols and myself
Glide through space eternally.

What are poems
Just lines on a screen
Or the deepest places
The minds ever been

Feeling the emotion
Feeling the pain
Reading what flows
From a writers brain

It's a way to release
Not a chance to impress
A way to unscramble
A way to express

A beautiful connection
Between thought and line
A unique way to show
That this minds mine

Life comes and goes
The person you are now could be someone that everyone back then would walk right past and never even know
You could take your compass heart north and let it lead you for the better
Or you could go down south and let it tear your very name up, letter by letter

You could choose the love of your life
or the love of the night
That would be gone by the next day
And you woke up alone wondering why you just didn't stay
You keep walking, hoping that your family is still where you left them that day
But you forgot that the letters that made up your name aren't what they used to say

And maybe they would take you back with open arms
Maybe they would give you the love you forgot in the midst of your own ocean storms
Maybe they would tell you the jokes you missed out on while you were shipwrecked and your compass broke
Maybe they would remember your name and help you rebuild it even though the last letter is barely hanging on, like a tattered edge of a rope

Life always gives you a choice, it's not just one or two.
There's numerous paths to go on, what're you going to choose?
Are you going to let a town beat you down until you aren't you?
Or are you going to overcome the obstacles and make it out alive and see this battle on through?

And your
Name was always known
Though, who's to say the letters make any sense
How can we fix the way you willingly let your ship get
Overthrown?
No, our hearts are passed being punched and kicked
You can't Unscramble this

LEND ME A WORD

It seems such a waste to look & look through all of the letters that help form all the words

Would we so quickly condemn a vagrant on the road with a sign stating "Will work for verbs"

With so many how would one know which sound or function is missing,simple flock or huge like the herds

One language severely limiting in what is perceived, at a loss to what is received ,something new like a gem or clutch of pearls

Fainting memory hiding even more, a simple caption brings out a new score, bringing something from the reserves

Finding is easy ,aligning much harder,start with one barter for another,leading sentences into new curves

The lender should not hinder,maybe the new text will bring the world abreast and giving the writer what he deserves

Unscramble with a new game of scrabble anything to break up the ramble,the more we're left looking the more it gets on our nerves

Exploration and hidden expectation,some become obsessed in for the duration,like a tornado of talk lost in the swirls

So much energy into inquiry of analysis for a simple product  ,but importance is placed
on explanation so maybe each comment will have it's own chauffeur.R.C.

That flickering star has been sending Morse code. Translation turns out no definitive message but the dots and dashes are unmistakeable. Now to unscramble the letters, how to make sense of it?I know I can do it, but it will take time, a team of highly paid scientists and a lot of government funding. There was a bullfrog whose croaking had absolute calculative exhaustive expression last night. I think he should be employed on this team of scientists. I'm certain he knows something. There were moths dancing in front of my headlights where I parked by the pond. Their syncopated flutterings seemed to tell a story, though I can't be sure it was in relation to the star or bullfrog. Still, it shouldn't be ruled out.

This is the story of a singular.
A story of a loner; stoner, a solitary lover
An isolated dreamer that sleeps with thoughts of a **** killer
This is the story of the smile stealer; grin eater; mood killer, sadness keeper
He is the self-professed love-hater.

This is the story of the secret admirer whose iron heart is filled with empty desires.
A womanizer who appears to the blind as a pure semblance of an ideal lover.
This is the story about a game-changer; king-maker
The story of a feminine murderer who shall smolder your rapture and abandon you bitter

This is a story about a man
A man who once fatally feebly fell in the fingertips of a felicitous femme fatale
Fragile
He fell unreciprocated love to a lass whose response was a heart-ravaging silence whenever the dishes brought to the table.

"It's unsaleable. I am unavailable", with fear she opined.
"But it's unstoppable ", inconsolably he uttered. "And I'm capable to unscramble your wounded soul a path for love invariable".

"We rather not go out on the limb", she sighed. "See, intermingled feelings are not tangible And when one because the other she whines and weeps; salt shall ascend upon the other
Will you not be unable?".
Little did she know of his hematite tenderness. Unbreakable!

The way we love each other despite ourselves and the universe is insatiable. You’re the feast to my starving poetry, and I’m scrambling after you trying to unscramble all the pieces you let trail behind; I’ve spiraled into puzzling over every detail of your face and the imprints on your heart and the things you’re never really saying but silently radiating

The way we love each other with our whole arms and our whole hearts beating up against one other, magnetism pulling our bodies together all close and warm until our skin is melding and there is no more feeling or air, only lightness and the white behind your eyes

And even then, it isn’t enough—

that can’t get enough of you feeling, so tragic and profound, how it makes you move
different, that sudden onset
of warmth (and how that cool can pull you down so low)

analyzing you as if you aren’t equally a mess as I am, and you’re so deeply beautiful to me, even if the universe can’t see it yet


And yet but despite ourselves, and the universe

There are days when words are rushing through my mind, just waiting to be written. I attempted to write about you but words don't seem to add up. They can't seem to find the right positions.

It was all chaotic - the beautiful kind of chaos. I believe that there's a reason why I can't unscramble the words and decipher what I truly want to say, what I feel deep inside.

It's quite ironic how I'm in love with the idea of you, but never with the idea of us. It's a concept that I have never imagined coming together.

Just like words, there are words that are beautifully written, having the most colourful meanings, but they just don't make sense when they are combined. That's how I feel about us.