Archive for May, 2015

She Used to Write

This pretty girl,
she used to write.
They squashed her dreams
and doused her light.

Now she’s pursuing
their idea of success.
Waking up unhappy,
and settling for less.

She deserves much more
than these mediocre days.
She deserves to live her life
in extraordinary ways.

Someday when she’s older,
I hope she’ll find her path.
Taking her own steps
without having to look back.

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Oh, my dearest love, my angelic muse,
for you I rise from where I once laid dead.
The world was a graveyard, it seemed,
but because of you heaven exists again.

That I should be so fortunate as to draw
even a sliver of the light emanating
from your perfect skin, your radiant soul,
is not taken for granted by this humbled man.

Upon whom should all my effort be lavished,
if not on you, my fair, stout-hearted lady?
‘Tis wind whistling through my riddled heart:
the tune that falls gently upon your ears.

How you’ve nestled comfortably into poetry,
how beautifully you rest between these lines.

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In the Present

My soft touch upon your skin,
your blue eyes emitting kindness.
None of this can even begin
to explain these pasts behind us.

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The way they’ve been demonized
by writers, smoking cigars
and sipping their wine,

it’s important to remember:
clichés are people, too.
They have something to say.

There’s a time for burning
bridges because what goes around
comes around. That’s in the Bible.

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Little Car

The future is a shining star,
bright but oh so very far.
I can’t exist inside this bar,
so I’m leaving in my little car.

No matter what it takes I’ll win,
only because I’ll always try again.
Forgiving myself of every sin,
praying to God for guidance sent.

The air around me gives me hope,
forgetting about slippery slopes.
Through difficulties I will cope,
never at the end of my rope.

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I feel like crying,
but no tears come.
They’re stuck inside,
my head going numb.

It’s one of those days,
I try to convince myself
as I find a good book,
and pull it from the shelf.

I want to get lost.
I need to make an escape.
Focusing on words
written after that snake.

In the garden alone,
but for the single butterfly.
Where have they all gone?
Part of my youth has died.

Something tells me we’re behind it,
but at the moment I can’t be sure.
So I remain sitting, turning pages,
hoping to catch a love that is pure.

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To live your life without any purpose
is to be an ocean devoid of waves,
still from the bottom to the glass surface.

Abandon all that doesn’t make you nervous,
for taking the road that’s already paved
is to live your life without any purpose.

Comfort quickly becomes worthless
once you’ve drained the wine you craved,
empty from the bottom to the glass’ surface.

Joy isn’t given; it’s the result of being earnest.
Choose to thrive outside the grave,
avoiding a life without any purpose.

Even when your life is a mad circus,
and you feel as if it can’t be saved,
climb from the bottom to the glass surface.

Existing in fear does you no service;
only steals like a thief in the light of day.
To escape living life without any purpose,
forget the bottom, break through the glass surface.

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Autumn Wind

gangly tree sways
its partner, autumn wind, leads
I learn from afar

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Melting Winter

man of snow whispers
his breath melting winter grass
March and I depart

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These prison bars holding me back;
I scream but they just remain still.
Lost again, heading down the wrong track,
with the rain causing me to lose my will.

This life’s a game with many rules;
I tried to bend them but they broke.
Sleeping next to lovers and fools,
the glaring sun burned till I woke.

Forced to remain in my damp corner,
no windows in sight to calm my nerves.
I find that I’m a selfish mourner,
getting what my conscience deserves.

By now the rest have already fled,
while I stay tied to my dark past.
To abandonment I have been wed,
committed till I breathe my last.

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