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David Sherman Poem
I tasted your soul last night.
It left your essence to linger on my tongue.
Not to mention the scent that dances bare
there About my upper lip.
Or your aura’s nectar that has stained my mouth,
With fantom flavors of your character's own passion.
And then there’s that dribble of lust that clings to my chin
The same one that I dare to forget and wipe clean.
Only To be left with nothing But a dream.
I tasted your soul last night.
By Desi E.Sherman
Copyright © David Sherman | Year Posted 2020
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David Sherman Poem
I have been Intrusted with knowledge!
Completely incrusted with time,
Admirably holding onto wisdom,
Lost for thousands of generations.
Set free like the busting of Hoover dam.
Overflowing rapids of life altering thoughts,
Of all the great thinkers,
Hoarded up condensing it’s
Own energy from all periods past.
Released to flush the poor unsuspecting main frame for the universal nervous system,
Of yet another victim of time.
By Desi E. Sherman
Copyright © David Sherman | Year Posted 2019
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David Sherman Poem
A beast of another color;
Is when you, Pathos
have no restrictions and no worries and your Oozing out confidence. when you Freyr set your own self on a pedestal drawing a line in the sand, deviding up creadence and sceptisizem.
It is one that taunts a souls inner desires pokes at their hunger and leaves them plotting their own sexual deviancy, with the open sexuality of you Teicu at the foremost of every one of their lustful ambitions.
You Lada leave them with no other recourse but to simply engulf their utmost being into Inannas inner most delicate delights. to bath in the nectar gifted by the gods of fertility, adsorbing the youthful ambiguity that seeps forth a certain certitude, a presence of passion and covetness from your pores like a fragrance of no other on this planet.
One that seems to be coaxing those in your emidiate presence to forget all inhibitions and experience the feen of flesh, one that walks amongst beings reminding them that true beauty is at hand and you none the wiser of your power make it even more attractive!
It is my weakness, trust me I should know.
By Desi E. Sherman
Copyright © David Sherman | Year Posted 2019
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David Sherman Poem
Like the beauty hidden beneath the brook
It’s the simple dimples that make me smile
Or is it the drop of a drip
Off an old black bear’s back
As he chases the flip flop
Of a Brook Trout
Or is that the Big Brown
As he marks the beginning of the Hex hatch.
by Desi E. Sherman
9/22/2019
Copyright © David Sherman | Year Posted 2019
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David Sherman Poem
I just want to
Walk within her words of innocence
hand in paw a steady vigilance
As she goes about her path of life
till her soul is a force not a myth
and one the world won’t contend with
I just want to
Sit in silence within her insecurity
lap up the tears of invulnerability
Steady her hackle through Those hidden times
And fight threw the trying emotions when she can’t
If only this confused world would let me pant
I just want to
to taste her breath
upon my neck
and feel her words of lust
lay her stanza down in a bed
and cover her thoughts with love.
I just want
Copyright © David Sherman | Year Posted 2019
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David Sherman Poem
Amongst the freshness of silence my thoughts are brightly amplified. scaring my mind with tracks of syllables and vowels. Which manipulated in the write sequence needed, fit precisely together to map out plays of events long since discarded into the void of a fragile matrix. Extracting long harboured and self restrained emotions of repressed doubt and fear. Splattering my continence with tall tell signs, of a carefully painted self portrait of hurt and anger, on display amongst a facade of revolving galleries, in motion apon Mr. and Mrs. Patter. Stripping away and abandoning so carefully the cradled and protected inihibitions. Leaving behind a colourful residue building up a foundation of falsely represented pride.
By Desi E.Sherman
Copyright © David Sherman | Year Posted 2019
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David Sherman Poem
There could be a place, lost over the horizon.
There could be a place, way out there in space.
Some call it Shangri-La, I’ll just call it heaven.
There could be a place.
No Hints, no trails, not even a trace.
No lines, no signs, or magical scrolls to lead the way
If there was a place, it’s one we could all embrace.
It’s secrets must be hidden, well done.
No telling what pleasure out there awaits.
Never to be found, not by no one.
There could be a place.
The Search For Shangri-La
By Desi E. Sherman
09/13/2019
Copyright © David Sherman | Year Posted 2019
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David Sherman Poem
The Prodigal Son
Why do babies leave home at such a young age? Like premature hatchlings falling from the nest before their wings are even capable of flight, only to succumb to the wildness of nature. They become appetizers to those with a beating stone in the hollow of their chest, a heart that does not bleed. What causes those babes to take that leap of faith into the abyss of the unknown.to walk amongst the undead?
Does my picture read dark and morbid at times? It's only because the journey they travel is so. For most its a chosen departure. There are some who are pushed from the edge of the plank of familiar society. Those who are loved, hated, taken for granted, forgotten and forsaken. Nudged, pushed and even pulled from the comforts of their abode. Some, I'm sure, lost their edge due to the every day mundane lifestyle. None the less they left.
Some become lost into a world of trouble, chained to some addiction or another. Fated to a accident of overindulgence within the hollow of a bush some where near the edge of the populace. Some to lose their self worth, to become old chasing a soup line, to die a lonely death in a back alley frozen solid. Others to spend mortal eternity trapped in a cage counting the cinder blocks and pacing like a show animal, until their last super is served through a slot in a steal door.
Some gifted the mercy of the original prodigal son to return, two maybe three decades later to what some consider a normal life. To clip their wings and don their chains of the blue collar workforce. It is the later for me.
As to why I left home over two decades ago, I was alone in a house full of others no structure or real care. So I lunged from the nest and broke my wing.
by Desi E.Sherman
Copyright © David Sherman | Year Posted 2019
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David Sherman Poem
Soil Of The Heart
In my heart i murdered a man today!
How easy it is to fall from your way.
It don't matter how many times i try!
My lustful heart will leave me with one eye.
Excepted into heaven through my birth!
It is with one arm i leave this earth.
Painted in the heart the thought conceived!
Through thoughtful conception, sin! earth has received.
If my desire is left to mature,
I am deceived by death for ever.
If i be still and ponder in my heart,
Then i will know God and this is a start.
Lord my healer sins consuming fire,
please wipe away my sinful desire
so that my soul will soar even higher.
By Desi E. Sherman
Copyright © David Sherman | Year Posted 2019
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David Sherman Poem
As The World Slowly Floats By.
On the back of the turtle, the world does roam.
Twisting and turning through a galaxy unknown.
How far will it go?
Only time will show.
It is one of those things that we will never know!
How could it be that this world was set under me?
If there is a explanation then tell it please.
What makes me so special to be here, with you three?
My mysterious life is teasing me,
Just like any other insignificant flea.
It floats in its ocean with asteroids and stars,
Never retracting her sore and tired arms.
On going, and going
For ever she goes.
Just like the plankton on our crawling stars.
I think and drink, write and fight, is it out of spite?
Oh someone please relieve me of this cup!
There are parts of the world that are not right.
Its those thoughts in my head that are eating me up.
And just like any fiend, I am losing my might.
"Your life is special" I hear some one cry!
As the world on a turtles back floats by,
Smiles and waves at me.
Ok baby boy, its ok to cry!
Do not be afraid to jump this hurdle,
Because it is one of many portals.
Let me help by loosening that girdle,
And tell you bluntly that you're the turtle.
By Desi E. Sherman
Copyright © David Sherman | Year Posted 2019
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