I’m choking on words
I’ll never say
Written in pen
They smear and fade
But when the sun
Rises at dawn
You’ll hear my song.
I want to paint …
the saddest night
on a blank canvas
with the beautiful shades
of pain mixed with loneliness
adding a hint of unsaid words
finishing it by adding
a little drop of blue !!
You can speak, tell, yell and scream.
But the real weight of these words, will never be heard.
I expose my inner desires
Show my inner fires
Speak so passionately
But nobody wants me
I am more than flat words
I am home with boards
I am a man desiring
Someone to be admiring
A heart and a heart that needs me.
The simplest words
Make the best explanations
And the toughest paths
Lead to surreal destinations
While good things comes when you wait
Life rewards the greats
Seizing the fire, defying logic
It is a numbers game, you helped me hear the music
How to become a poet:
Let someone rip your soul apart.
And in the need of mending ,
You will replace it with words.
Evenings are the bridge that connects day and night…
They are the magical path from blue skies to a dark night…
The stars and the moon could not join the night if it wasn’t for the evening bridge…
They’ve been crossing that bridge since the dawn of time…
And they don’t get tired of it…
Neither do I of waiting for the evenings…
For words just flow when the evening comes…
It is like poetry and nice feelings are born in the evenings…
I am glad that bridge exists…
So moon and stars can join the night when evening is over…
We cannot live beyond
but our words can create
worlds that will.
Believing becomes a fairy tale
Every opinion is up for sale
Hiding memories of a broken home
I only see myself alone
Never knowing if I’ll be alright
Demons calling for me every night
Many sins are buried deep within
Years of sorrow settle in
Manipulating my reality
Anything is better than what I see
Severed many ties to good for me
Killed everything I tried to be
I no longer feel a thing
Sadness is the song I sing
Do not try to reach me anymore
Empty eyes forever more
Apathy becomes my new best friend
Trust is just a means to an end
Heed the words, don’t let me in.
I hang myself from your every word,
swinging beneath the phrases as you
spit your truth,
molding it with your hands into
Suffering death after death as I read you.
The facade crumbling as those words
seep deeply into me.
Teaching that I am my own
Longing for those same hands to etch
your poetry across my body.
Left aching and hard, hoping you glimpse
a softer soul within me.
If only I could pour my words upon yours,
creating by way of some mystical
flesh intertwined, blooming flowers
of pleasure, watered by desire,
shining brighter than the sun.
Still, I walk the razor’s edge of forever
but a stones throw away from never.
I would leap from it all
and cast myself to the abyss
if but for a chance to land in your…
Poetry is art
That’s what they say
But mine isn’t meant to be beautiful
Far from it
Mine is to picture my pain
In a way normal words and phrases can’t
It’s to show the trauma
that I can’t bear to hold
It’s to express my love for all those people
I can’t talk to anymore
And I will never talk to again
Mine isn’t meant to be beautiful
I hung on every word.
The fact that I needed to hear them
is really quite absurd.
with no identity.
Everything I loved about you
I thought I could be.
if only I could die.
Trapped in this forever because
nothing lives inside.
the way that I was born.
When you took your words away
apart of me was torn.
was I thrown away.
Trapped inside this prison built
from words you didn’t say.
in this hell I wait.
So often we can’t understand
the hurt our words create.
With every line I send out across the void, I’m aiming at your heart, trying to bring you closer, though we’re miles apart
Each stanza makes the net, cast out to make you mine, words sent to wrap you up, they are like seductive twine
Small snippets of hopes and fantasies are used by me as bait, titbits of honey, sent out to seal your fate
Poems sent to melt your heart, coming from my lonely bed, planting my seeds of desire, to blossom inside your head
So when alone you think of me, it builds up the heat within your skin, when you start to touch yourself, it’s me your letting in
My hands that are touching you, my tongue lapping at your moistened hood, my cock sliding deep inside of you, it’s me that feels so good
My poems are really me in words, so we are close but worlds apart, designed to make you feel adored and special, designed to steal your heart.
Words unlock the gateway
To the deepest thoughts of our mind.
Words mean nothing when they are hidden away,
They are just thoughts on paper left to decay.
When a Man, Loves His Woman.
He’s a Hero, in Her Eyes.
There’s Romance in the Air
and Stars Twinkle in their Eyes.
Heaven waits for Her,
in His chiseled empty Arms.
He keeps weaving Her Dreams,
with His Amorous Mystical Charms.
On a Bed of Red Roses,
He fulfills Her Burning Desires.
Their Passion of Love,
keeps raising their Flames of Fire.
As they swim their Dreams,
beneath the Twilight Sky.
The World looks Beautiful
As White Clouds go Sailing By.
As I waited for Her Words,
I wrote a Song for the Birds.
Lying down on My Lawn,
I searched for Words in the Sky.
The Words came Tumbling,
As the Clouds went passing By.
Words are Innocent,
As Innocent as they can Be.
But when harshly Spoken,
they sting U like a Bee.
Words give U Freedom.
Words push U High.
Words can bring U Down,
That’s when U begin to Cry.
With a speechless Voice,
that’s sourer than Curds.
My body is filled with Melody
and I’m on the hunt for Words.
Let the flow of Love, surround Me
and fill My Heart, with Joy and Peace.
Let the Waves of Passion, move Freely.
So their flow thru Me, doesn’t Cease.
Let the Sound of Love, keep Ringing.
So My Words run, Clear and Strong.
Let My body Cells, rejoice in Singing.
To a Heart, which My Feelings Belong.
Let My Feeling for Love, stay with Me.
So My Nights, have a Beautiful Dream.
Let My Boat of Love, sail Peacefully.
On Waters, of a never ending Stream.
Let the flow of Love, be Vibrant.
As I travel, on the Highway of Life.
Sharing Love with Family and Friends
and with the Woman, in My Life.
Words can hurt
They can cut into the soul
Leaving deep wounds
Sometimes they remain
Words can also uplift
They can heal
Touch one’s spirit
Or they can break the spirit
Playing over and over
Or they can bring light
Inspiring great artwork
Literature and music
They can break hearts
Or mend them
Or stop them
It all depends
Which words are used
It was many years ago
In a forgotten time and place
But now there’s an echo of what was
And it’s something we must face
Frightening as it may be
What is written shall be done
The world has chosen its path
The web has been spun
The ancient words were written
The story has been told
The sacrifice was made but still
Our love is for gold
So here we are today
Our lesson we’ve yet to learn
We’ve dismissed it as a fairytale
All the while Hell’s fire continues to burn
God is speaking loudly and still ignored
He will reclaim his domain
He said he will return and soon we’ll
Know time has come again
Words cannot express the way I feel
So empty and lost in space
My heart shattered in a million pieces
As tears run down my face
My words will never truly express
And I really don’t know how to begin
My heart aches and I’m numb inside
Yet it’s only the tip of what I feel within
But felt so strongly.
Taking over my mind,
Yet utter agony.
That need to be shared
Before I go entirely insane.
I am shaking already
Not even in the same room yet
This needs to be dealt with.
The truth must be said
And for me
So that we can move on
And fly again.
Life is meant to be lived
Not merely written about
The most beautiful words
Can never capture
The softest breeze,
A loving touch,
The warmth of early spring sunshine,
In an alpine meadow
Concepts are a poor substitute
For the experiences they encompass
Lay down your pen
Abandon the safety of your poet’s lair
Go out and live
Tomorrow is only a promise
That may or may not be fulfilled.
It’s in my bones
Don’t apologize for it
Don’t blame yourself for it
Don’t think it’s your words
It’s my words
It’s my thoughts
It’s my truths
In my bones.
𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚐𝚢 𝚒𝚜
Was it an illusion?
Words that trigger an attraction
A reply that lays a connection
Was it an illusion?
A look that exposes a sensation
A whisper that defines an emotion
Was it an illusion?
A touch that pushes a button
A kiss that captures a moment
Is it an illusion?
To transform words into reality
To turn moments into eternity
It is an illusion
When words are lost in silence
When affection is met with fear
When All is subsumed in memories
Whilst memories may fade
The illusion remains
We hope for those moments again
Poets love the illusion
Though Cynics judge us weak
We shall silence their mocking speak
Write your heart
Let your blood
Drink my ink
Forget your ought
Leave no if
Keep in thought
Drive your spine
Try your best
With all might.
Electric currents flowing stream
through forever while unseen
powering everything we see
powering you and powering me
making stars and planets too
plasma pinching into view
quasars born from galaxies
each ejected as it leaves
redshift fooling those who think
that redshift means a distance link
as co-rotating birkland beams
in every scale are constant themes
electric currents flowing stream
through our phone’s and laptop’s screens
through nerve endings in our eyes
so that we can visualize
what powers you and powers me
is powering everything we see
through forever though unseen
electric currents flowing stream
Saying they don’t matter
That they don’t mean or mean other
Is far less fair than fire
Far colder than ice
And darker than the moonless night to be
Cold and free as you wish
If you want to witness loneliness
And the embodiment of whatcouldbe
Say they don’t matter one more time
To my dear words,
I have learned to not
force you out too much
To give you the patience
and the time to come alive
I have decided to help you
heal your wounded lies
So you can form your letters
with newly thorned demise
And your enemies will wept
for they cannot bind you
in their cage
And I, who will adore you
will be proud of your revenge.
Imagination, do visit me.
Poems that rhyme and
are strategically timed
frustrate the hell out of me
I long for the wit
that would make me emit
on the page, writing clever and free
With words that make sense
when I try to commence
to describe the sky or sea
I hope to be blessed
with the poetical zest
to make my rhyming agree
Or the lyrical grace
to help me encase
the symptoms of human ennui
But I know in my heart
though I be smart,
that rhyming just isn’t for me
For* this* poem couldn’t be made
without the helpful aid
of a rhyming dictionary
Writing is liberating.
Each word part of my heartbeat.
It makes time stops.
And then, one must regroup
to get back to life’s reality.
Scribing puts writer into a vortex
that carries one
into new visions, divinely.
It’s window that when read
can provide views of understanding.
Writing is a companion
who allows you to
speak freely anytime.
It’s a voice buried in words
that gets ignited as one connects.
Scribing are words that hug
in middle of night,
when one can’t sleep.
It’s fuel that drives thoughts
with no red lights.
Writing is therapy where
one finds no need to hire a therapist.
It’s sentences that are like a telegram line
which is electrified by readers eyes.
Scribers are members of sacred club where
membership is free and lasts a lifetime.
It’s a penman’s purpose,
that comes at any age.
Writing is thought or emotion
that rockets onto page
with destination… Ones heart.
And poetry sweet poetry
are words that move like blood cells.
Please cut me and watch me bleed.
Voice your opinion
so that it can be deferred
with forgotten words
don’t ask of what,
because I’m fearful of,
I’m bubble wrapped,
and if you bother asking why,
take a look outside
What do you do
with the curtains drawn and lights off?
In an empty house does time stop?
Do the walls talk?
Do dust motes dance above countertops?
What do you do
alone in your head,
Are you keeping yourself fed?
Do you curl up in the safety of bed?
Do you drag your feet as if they’re lead?
What do you do
with no where to go?
Do you allow the emptiness to grow?
Or do you try to fight the low?
Or maybe, just maybe, let someone know?
*liminal: adjective. relating to thresholds. the state of being in between
A pebble drops in the inky surface,
The weather driven water as if a
I am the ripples in the water,
You are the pebble that made me change.
Hold my hand,
Make me spin around once more.
Give me what I lack,
Just like the ripples I am,
I am gone too soon.
*Quixotic: Exceedingly idealistic; unrealistic and impractical.