—Stalled Train Wanders Off
'Tis a drag—that car
nobody operates it
—moving on waters
The streets are clean
But only by the street sweeper
Our hearts are open
But only for the surgeon
Our minds are sponges
But only for social media
Our passions are set for justice
But only for the social warriors
9 rules of temperament
Goodness
Kindness
Gentleness
Patience
Self -control
Faithfulness
Peace
Love
Joy
10 perfect laws tempered with mercy
Is all we need
To create a world really worth living in.
I wish you could see it with me instead of against me.
We are the same but our eyes see differenly.
I love you.
Words can make you happy
Or they can make you sad
Words can make you feel good
Or make you, feel real bad
Words can help you heal
Or they can make you hurt
Words can give you praise
Or they can throw some dirt
Words can raise you up
Or they can put you down
Words can make you smile
Or they can make you frown
Words can make you smart
Or they can make you dumb
Words can make you leave
Or they can make you come
Words can make you laugh
Or they can make you cry
Words can tell the truth
Or they can tell a lie
Words can bring you sorrow
Or they can bring you joy
Words can be real blunt
Or they can just be coy
Words so much
Our lives affect
That we should use them
With respect
BOEMS by JA 97
Stepping on split skulls and bones
Of bygone daughters and sons
We head into the abyss
Embraced by hell’s dear shadows
Reality’s mundane kiss
Welcomes us in the burrows
of Death, her friend oblivion
awaiting on the doorstep,
Laughs at Man’s every next step
Nearing the grave, the none.
The bow of my body lay suspended by your charms
hung in mid air with the lightest of touch
Fire glazen eyes burn through naked flesh
Shudders tentatively meet the tips of your lips
Rib cage to Belly,
belly to hips,
to thigh
Breaths lay untaken
Tension rides the sinews
Pleasure languishing in every stroke
Your heated approach has left me starving,
Unlocked, ready, awashed with drippings
Flooding senses overridden
I thought no meant no?
The light coming trough the window
showed all the dust that exploded from
the opening of that one book…
This cold light
lighting up
the warm dusty room.
Books and books and nothing but books.
Mice’s houses.
Rat’s castles.
Home of the fattest woodworms.
I cough with every step,
cause every step
is a step creating
clouds of dust.
Dust created from books.
Sandstorm.
Duststorm.
Bookstorm.
As I walk thought the kingdom of dead knowledge
towards the end of the world,
I’m looking for one book.
Even if in pieces.
Even a tiny part of it.
i need it.
A page, or a line.
A word would do.
My room is my desert,
my prison and my kingdom.
So I build my paper castles
and I burn my books to feel warm.
I drink the sunlight
and I look for the word, hopelessly,
like it would save my soul,
like it would grant my wishes.
……..
I don’t know how old is that wine.
I found it behind these books over there.
It tastes like shit,
but that’s allright.
I’m eating the leather covers some book have,
else i’m dying.
I lick my own sweat,
the rats are no more.
All their houses and castles and bedrooms are ruined.
You see, i’m still looking for that piece from that book.
Even the moths are gone.
Not that tasty,
but that’s alright.
Oh well, here we go again…
I’m a starving man,
a godless messiah,
soon I’ll feed myself
pieces of my flesh,
tiny organs no one needs.
It hurts a little now,
but that doesn’t matter.
I can devour anything,
I just need to keep my fingers,
so I can run them over my book,
when I find it,
I will find it,
gently caress the pages,
one by one, run my hands
over the hard covers, the soft insides.
When I find my book
it will all be worth it.
New rat in town.
The rat is no more.
Gave me strenght for one last search.
It seems i looked everywhere:
in all the secret rooms,
under the stairs,
behind the bookcase,
under that little door behind the sofa…or what’s left of it anyway.
The book is nowhere to be seen
so now i’m on the floor.
Breathing is almost impossible
cause of the dust i breathed through these months.
Seems like my last scar has opened up…
The ceiling is beautiful…
Andels fighting demons.
Demons loving angels.
And God is reading a book…
WHERE DID YOU HIDE IT?!
I KNOW IT’S HERE SOMEWHERE!
DAMN IT ALL…
There’s dust dripping from me.
Dust and words.
And light.
I’ll ask you in a bit… Father!
So what I’m a character?
So what my steps are counted?
I had the right to try and change that!
See you in the next book, God!
Lord help me through this time,
Lord help me through this time,
I don’t know what do,
I don’t know what to ask,
I don’t know who to talk to,
I don’t know even know you.
Wisdom is the weapon but the line is thin,
On one side I’m in agony,
On the other in pain.
I am past the anger,
I am past the fear,
Show me the truth that I seek,
Though not of my will.
I am stuck in the loop,
With no light to be seen,
But as long as I’m in it,
I will find. the end…
I AM THE AUTHOR OF STUPID POEMS THAT HAVE NO REAL MEANING
I AM THE STEPPER OF STAIRS THAT CLIMB TO THE HEAVENS
TO FIND THAT HEAVEN IS NOT THERE
I AM NOT THE VICTIM BUT THE ONE WHO SEES ALL
WHO KNOWS HIS OWN DEMISE
I AM THE MAN WHO HAS WATCHED HIS LOVES GO TO OTHERS
HAS STARED AT TROPHIES WITH JEALOUS EYES
THE WAY THEY SHINED AND WERE HELD ABOVE ME
THE CHAMPIONS THAT HELD THEM GLEAMING
LIKE THE IRON SPADES SEWN ON LEATHER JACKETS
THAT THE PERSIANS WORE TO WAR
INHERENTLY SMALLER THAN ANYONE
INHERENTLY MORE TORTURED
IM THE ONE WHO KNOWS EVERYTHING ABOUT NOTHING
I AM THE ONE WHO KNOWS MY OWN FATE
WANTS TO STOP IT
I KNOW IT'S HARD TO UNDERSTAND
I KNOW THAT MISSING SOMEONE IS DIFFICULT
BUT THE WORLD WILL ALWAYS SPIN AS LONG AS THERE IS THE BEAUTY WITHIN YOUR HEART INHABITING IT
I AM JUST THE AUTHOR OF STUPID POEMS WITH NO REAL MEANING
MISSING ME IS LIKE MISSING AN OLD JUNKY CAR
DONT BE TOO SENTINMENTAL
YOU CAN FIND COMFORT IN MY VERSES
DONT LOOK AT OLD PHOTOGRAPHS
LOOK AT THE SUN AND KNOW IT SHINES FOR YOU
I'LL BE BEHIND THE MOON SHINING FOR YOU TOO
into the dark treed forest