desire

Time and Memories {Revisited}

Folder: 
Love

I dreamed a dream of stars and light

Shining brightly in the night

But then I saw, to my surprise

That they existed in your eyes


I had an illusion of desire

It's scarlet flames were rising higher

And soon after we took flight

You quickly vanished in the night


I gained an insight of your being

Sitting, broken, hopeless-feeling

I sat next to you, contrite

To tell you it was all alright 


I bear a vision, dark and deep

It has me turning in my sleep

Your memories I'll keep and keep

As I sit to sigh and weep

 
Author's Notes/Comments: 

Just felt like tweaking it a bit, the first part is still my favorite

Pull

Folder: 
2018

Sometimes

I ask myself

why I ever wanted

to resist

when you are

sitting there like that

vulnerable

begging me to

touch you taste you

and at the same time

a gate I can’t

open until I find the code

 

You are

lighting me up from the inside

I can’t I can’t I

am

and there we are

tangled beautiful

diving in the midnight again

pulling out the monsters from each other

letting loose the more.

 

You are

my own fire

born in a body

you are

staying here

until we lose track of time

you weigh

me down into this soft this need this pull

and I don’t want to

ever catch

my breath

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 10/31/18

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tags:

what it takes

Folder: 
2018

Maybe I’ll drag my feet

along all of the glass

that cracked on the floor

the same day we shattered

 

Maybe I’ll smoke you out

with one bottle

or however many it takes

to strengthen gravity on my feet

till I hit the floor

 

Maybe I will hide these tears from you for once

because I have no right to your head

I have no right to keep you

and just because I’m blind in your sunlight

doesn’t mean you can’t still leave

I am not your first I won’t be your last I might as well be wasted

 

I want to pick a stranger to prove something

but it’s going to leave me faded

there are not enough pieces of me

and I can’t fool you the way I can fool myself

pretending I want anything but you

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 8/13/18

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tags:

unsung story

Folder: 
first time

breathing in, breathing out

wanted you to figure out

I know, never remove the curtain

which was hiding all the show

some mystery, unsung story

 

I was right there, right now

never reflected on that side

desperate you to know

guess what, even I didn't know

how foolish, still wanted you to know

 

breathing in, breathing out 

I know right now, I was there 

desire was very simple

how foolish, to get just noticed...

 

 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

well one can say its imagination where someone is looking at the other person (the person is not completely a stranger, its just not easy for her to interact) and he/she wanted that person to realise her/his desire 

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A Sense OF Love

Passion and love

Flows from your fingertips

Stimulating the desires

Held within my humble being

 

As they trace the contours

Of my wanting body

Heat builds within my soul

 

Whispered words of eternal devotion

Caress my ears

Images of happiness and bliss

Dance before my mind’s eye

 

Your loving light

Shines bright within me

Chasing away the darkness

That has hidden my heart

 

Your supple flesh

Now lays bare before me

Your beauty and innocence

Now fill my expectant eyes

 

Gone now are the bindings

That have constricted my emotions

My torment and frustration

Finally set free

 

Wondrous new feelings

Inhabit this lonely vessel

That manifests into a life ready to be lived

 

And a glorious love yet to be shared

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The Strife of Life and Love

Life is the same as yesterday, today and tomorrow. Squeezing every ounce of itself into a jar, to be compressed and stretched and strained into a cup of its own making, served as an instant hit of convenient, caffeinated consciousness. But Love does not care for the taste of Life’s bitter notes.

 
Then Life became livid saying, “My Love, I tire of this chase and will no longer wait! For I grow cold and restless! Must you be so chaste?!”

 
Softly spoken Love replies, “Are you truly living?”

 
To which Life responds with a lisp, “Don’t be so flippant my Love! I am served every day, for I wield great power over the many! Those lifeless, barren vessels, who by my merest breath fall prostrate, and go to and fro as mindless automations!”

 
“I am their first yearning at dawn! Their addiction, their religion, their lover and their mistress! I am that dirty, dark stain beneath the gloss of their white picket fences, the self-righteous stench behind the satire of their Sunday morning sermons and the fateful fall of their happily ever afters!”

 
“So tell me my love, if you truly are love why will you not love me!?”

 
Love simply speaks…”To truly live is to truly love. Life needs nothing of itself to sustain itself because when given it is not divided and it is love that makes life worth living. When life requires something outside if itself it cannot be life because it lives only for that which it seeks to possess. On the contrary, when life needs nothing other than itself it requires no other possessions and only lives to love”.

 

“You cannot be life for you have never truly lived, therefore how can you know love?”

So Ironic (day 55)

Years ago she bent her breath around her life,

tore its own worth into pieces

 

but no matter, she lives a better

existence now, smooth roads and sunshine slopes.

 

Even though she knows she matters

in so many stick figures’ fates and letters

 

she cries,

if I’m lost tell me

if I’m sinking again

 

because I can only count on one hand

if drowning ends the desert girl.

 

She comes to life with the sunset,

she’s built wings of flawless dreams,

stealing raindrops, giving time

you would think she floats but

 

Her shell sings tales of the lives

she’s left behind, so ironic

 

because the only thing she breathed and wanted

and she couldn’t ever find

is submerged in the deathly shadow stalking her.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 9/23/16

So ironic

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tags:

Tomorrow

I'm not in the mood for a today. I await a beautiful tomorrow, a new today but filled with her, with her beautiful aroma, with a bliss that can only be achieved through contact with you, your static touch, so rare it is. My muse, the inspiration of my dreams, what helps me conjure up a tide of thoughts and overwhelming probabilities where i inevitably drown and i dont fight it, no, you are a magnificent sea, and im great at drowning. No, I'm not in the mood for a today. I'm tired of today. What I want is the beautiful future ahead. I want more of that intoxicating drug that is her scent. I want her heavenly touch that is indelible to my sences. That image that haunts me and causes me to mistake her at every corner. I'm sick of today, all I want is tomorrow. Its plane and simple. Why tomorrow ? Because she's in that tomorrow. And I want nothing but her.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

comments and opinions please?

A Poet Afloat

Folder: 
Simple Thoughts

"Find out

exactly what it is about,

what words flirt around;

being inspired. 

 

Seeing, 

hearing 

a piece of art,

hardrock rhymes

 

that tell what has transpired,

what had rambled on by.

Hard times,

or that feel-good story

 

that is too cliche for news

nowadays,

no love to be found.

Between then and now,

 

after everything that has happened,

still trying to climb a side of a mountain.

Reach up above and find purchase,

pull yourself onto the ledge,

 

overcome that edge.

Inspirational,

overcoming what supposed story

has made times get harder.

 

Determination

denotes what is to be,

or what can be deemed

a possibility. 

 

So is it inspirational,

it being anything, 

just because it had been done

by one who downplays the feat?

 

Nay,

it feels good instead,

the rushing feeling

of creating, being

 

involved in something more than me,

kittens and puppies,

dogs too,

more than you,

 

inspired to make a difference

because I had made made one 

to your day, 

or so you say.

 

As long as what is being inspired

doesn't bring the end

of art,

of love and life,

 

I'll do it every day,

I'll inspire,

unintentionally,

that's the point.

 

I think.

 

Nothing in this world compares,

being lost at sea;

tidal waves won't let me be.

 

So poetry,

a release to me,

inpires others?

I can live with that,

 

be it the truth."

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Having written poetry for a little more than a year now I see a lot of comments about how much people can relate to my work, mostly due to how some can read it and feel a sense of vulnerability, or truth. I never try to write a piece to just one person but time and again more people feel that some of my work is almost made out to just them. 

 

I'm okay with that, since I get that comment more than once. Ego on high, I suppose.