Truth ignites indeed

TheThoughtsOfNeaGrigore

There is no “I” in the beginning of a story
Yet truth ignites smoldering through content,
As varnish burns, the shelf’s not even worried
For otherwise he’d show his  visceral resent.

Now needs are present, to point the finger at
Those devilish impressions, diluted and confined
Is this a time to punish the naive, spoiled brat,
Now when the odds are severed and feelings unrefined?

I miss the times when stories all started with an “I”
So much that I…I wish I could forget,
Back when the kids and grown-ups still looked up to the sky
And used to aim the clouds all tucked in the same bed.

If there’s one chance not twenty, a flicker to imply
That kids and grown-ups will ever live as one,
Today I will be angry, tomorrow I would fly…
And soon the ageless war will just be waged for fun.

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Desire is so powerful that it cripples effortlessly

Collectivus

Desire.

It tangles my gut, dragging my chest deep down into the soul.
Longing for a touch, or a gaze from whom I have yet to share the same plane.

At night I do dream, that in the twilight sky we see the same things.
The same moon, and stars… drawing pyramids and following maps to our lost past.

There can never be a ripe pair of two romantics.
Even Juliet did not care much for Romeo’s antics.

Yin-Yang and the Dao wont allow it;
to burn with unrequited desire is my cursed darkness.

If only you would stop delivering gifts,
fueling my agony with empty persistence.
I cannot confess the way I understand love is different than thou.
But I accept, any love of yours tis better than none.

But those three words dear,
Do cut deep.

I cannot confess the things I fantasize while in my bed.
Longing.

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brilliant use of words

micky murder poems

Image

Black lines of velvety ribbon pull

me backwards;

my puppet master taunts me with the thought of free will

I can stumble, but you will not let me fall.

you are in control of my life,

my movements, my words,

but only for now…

at least until i can find a way

to break free,

soon, i will be…

free to live my own life,

free to make my own decisions,

and free to fail, but then learn to get up again.

you will no longer choose the path i take.

i will stand proud alone.

these chains i break.

no longer will i move for you.

i look down at my legs-

there are two.

two to move and two to run

no longer will you define my fun,

no longer will you hold my strings.

i will show you i am capable of these things!

just wait, and…

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Sound rather like it hurt to write

storiesofmigrant

I needed to love you more.
Spend longer hours caressing your curls,
Driven around in cosier comfort of colder climes,
Lost and discovered each in the shrubs of the tea estates,
Shopped in exclusive malls for rare perfumes,
Sat by the beaches, listening to the waves,
Drenched our unread sorrows in coffee houses,
Read Lawrence and Hardy in sips and turns,
Philosophized in admiration of silence,
Swayed on the hammock defying the sun,
Played the guitar , notes that touched deep,
Stepped in reams of dreams, in tango taps,
I hesitated the, I regret now,
This is but a retrospect.

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Nice

CALLIOPE'S LYRE

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Nightingale

I’d settled on my porch today,
A book held languidly,
Watching the twilight approach,
Thoughts roaming aimlessly

When from nowhere a rustling came
A keening,painful sound,
And just ahead of where I sat
A bird fell to the ground.

I got up and I ran to her,
Poor wounded wee birdie,
As carefully I picked her up
Her eyelids closed gently.

I spoke to her in calming words,
And stroked her silky frill,
She blinked twice and trilled! Thank God!!
And then, then she was still.

I panicked and I hurried in,
Tried to revive her- no,
She would not drink, she would not stir,
Her life had ceased to flow..

I cradled her and yes, I wept,
Tho I didn’t quite know why,
Her passing had taken from me
Something unidentified…

Unwell met and too soon gone!
Acquaintance of merest sort..
Oh beautiful black…

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Beautifully written

The Eggplant Elephant

Ideally she’s an addict

But that isn’t the right word

That conveys the daze

Which challenges her lungs and energy.

I’m drawn to her emotions

A runaway locomotion of late

Dictating her next move

Or rather lack there of.

Puking her world onto a page

Colours acting saviors

A Sharp construction messiah

An insight instructional guide to who I am.

I’m critical and analytical

A cerebral libran

Caught in a square web

Confusing me

While she’s ballooning away from we

Waiting for a sigh that breathes freed

Not me

She’s got it all.

Wishing she could walk into a room

Dripping in gold

I wish I’d told her she already does.

Transcending power to scour friendships to admirers

Tiring to watch.

Trying to force each notch into a space it won’t fit

To discover later she’s got a full scripted skit

Of nothing satisfying.

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