Act I
I saw the fairest of maidens besides her safest haven
Buried beneath the sands of Father time–Her father's presence
Across the stone-cold cross, her beauty caught my stare
Before I knew it I was there
Shedding her share of tears
I felt a great debt of satisfaction
Fill my nerves apart
The pitch of peers that pressured
satisfaction
Finally depart
I've played my part – a part of masculation
A part of me still numb
So I thought loving her would ease the tension
Fill a drying heart
Act II
With every passing day with haste we bed
for pleasure till' we're dead
A streak of bleaker weeks grew weaker
Bicker twists to bitter sex
The verge of virgin walls that flooded
Numb from numbers of contractions
Act III
Having her haven taken
I Hurt her Wholeheartedly
Every breath from her taken-
The hollers, the hollow pleas
For pleasure I had forsaken
Her, Bound her to only me
It's time I give us our break and
Forever let ourselves be
Not being woke..the system or cistern is definitely broke
Leaders plunder.. provoke under an asylum seeker cloak
Bleaker bloke masterstroke.. definitively immigrants choke
Poke meeker critics who spoke & weaker skeptics who croak
Cynics cast asunder by the bespoke thunder they evoke
Stoke the pariah fires as entire empires they revoke
Entire dire elite liar denier cheat quagmire is a complete joke
Which's why broken folk have a smoke.. become a token soak
Smooth what's wrong with a line of coke.. or bong to toke
Because not being woke.. the system or cistern is broke!
The nights now seem a little colder,
Each morn I wake a little older,
My view of life keeps getting bleaker,
And my will keeps growing weaker.
That star has dimmed that used to guide me
And helped me when I lost my way,
And though there's no one here beside me
Somehow I still get through each day.
But life is just what I have made it,
I've some remorse but few regrets.
When comes the end, I won't evade it
But hope that the reward I get
Is someplace far away from harm,
Someplace comfortable and warm.
Author's note: Dear reader, I'm considering this to be a sort of elegy for my **th birthday.
Dear, My Sweetheart !
On my part
Only I would like to say
I love you,
but do you ?
Days are running bleaker :
Forced to sip tasteless liquor.
The bitter I face
it hurts my ego.
'You may come
or you may go
whatever !
but I love you forever.
That's my endeavour.
My Summer
hitting hot hammer
Chilled Winter
at centre of heart
Colourless Autumn
to welcome !
Flowerless Spring
to swing !
Yet I would like to say
' I love you '
and I pray
bright sunrays
to illuminate
my fatte :
You must reciprocate
to my love !
' Dear, really I deserve .'
My eyes are getting weaker,
Tho' I seem to see so much more.
My days are getting bleaker,
Tho' I laugh more oft than before.
A laughter so unnerving,
It seems an echo from the Dead,
With off-key music serving
To bait the phantoms in my head.
I see the creatures Helpful,
As they surround his final bed.
They sway in rhythm woeful
Of the transition close ahead.
I step aside; I'm knowing
That they don't want me in their way.
The tension keeps on growing.
I simply bow my head and pray.
I feel the body leaving,
But see it still upon the bed.
My heart begins its grieving.
His soul is gone, but he is dead.
Every singles seeker
becomes weaker and weaker
unless he believes in himself
Meeker and meeker
bleaker and bleaker
'til he puts his lures back on the shelf
Old age can be a lonely time for some;
friends fade to acquaintances, slip away.
Though life's achievements bolster your resume,
they've stagnated and morphed into humdrum.
The cult of the internet's left you numb;
morals decay when hate's a stowaway.
And as your future grows bleaker each day,
you're left discombobulated, and glum.
Children have lost the enjoyment of youth,
comparing friends to likes: they interface.
Love's still spontaneous, but unlike hate,
it's an elusive, transitory truth.
Hypocrisy and lies are commonplace,
and death becomes a less frightening fate.
She drifts into oblivion.
For the web’s branches stretch
Their ominous nature unbecoming.
Caressing her thighs, feeding her lies
Frolicking in their sins, unashamed of their nature.
The web tightens around her throat, suffocating her lungs
screaming into the abyss
reaching for salvation of honeysuckle bliss.
Tablet of honey, round and small
Whispers its sonnets of love and devotion.
Cracked lips, pale face.
Drowning deeper with haste
The world grows bleaker each day.
Dazzling light shines afore me,
“Please tell me I didn’t overdose.”
Who are you when the mask has lost its stitches
How could the cost of the sun be so little
Vultures and ravens surround the sound of cultures and havens
Utopia turns to dystopia
The skies face turns so sad
As it's clouds cry out for bad
omen meticulously woven
Gloom doom monsoon
Elements bloom
Within landscapes
The rain will pour soon
Fresh gale cleanses this lonely spirit
Wet knees engraved into warm soil next to a broken ricket
Darkest before the dawn
Brightest before the storm
Voluntarily blind unkind rewind the clocks back to a bleaker time
Black room
More like a tomb
Resting in a dead womb
Conceived deceived
Plant a seed
And then bleed
Please no more weeds
Laying upon empty leaves
From autumn to winter frosts
When all is lost
A tear from a rose lightly cascading onto cold toes
My face so soft
In this place of frost
Breathing as if it's my last breath
Leaving as if it's my last step
Away from these hallowed sounds
Away from the battleground
Think Again
I think of stuff all day
I think of stuff all night
Sometimes I think stupid
Sometimes I think bright
But I never think it wrong
Cos I am always right
At least that’s what the missus says
If we have a fight
I get ideas that turn out good
And some that turn out bad
Once I wrote a poem
That made me seem quite mad
I get all sorts of ideas
When it’s time for bed
No light bulb popped up ever
I think we’ve been misled
There’s never been a ‘Ping!’
As an idea hit my brain
No eyeball exclamation mark...
That would be insane
And if I ever find a cure
For a life that’s getting bleaker
I’ll take you on a bet...
I’ll never shout ‘EUREKA!’
But as a prosperous poet (yeah right)
Thoughts are my bread and butter
My notions come from angels hearts
And some from in the gutter
Sometimes when I cannot sleep
The thinking must be stopped
I lay awake to find a way
But the penny’s never dropped
Ideas float into my brain
But then sink like a brick
For each of Shakespeare’s sonnets
I write a limerick
One man designed a paper clip
And one an atom bomb
I guess we’ll never know
Where our deepest thoughts come from
Please get something through your head
When we're cut we all bleed red
Our emotions are the same
So there is no need to blame
The differences you think we might
Have on something wrong-- not right
Beating hearts are in us all
We all stumble-- we all fall
The decisions we all make
In our lives can sometimes break
Us into people that are not
Acting from their inner heart
Don't be rude and don't be mean
Like other folks that I have seen
Bullying with no remorse
Every move is way off course
From how a human should act
It's making a huge impact
On the world and how we live
Something has to really give
Before we leave our children A
Bleaker darker earth where they
Can't come back from our reactions
Sadly leaving earth in traction
Broken because all we do
Is be hateful all day through
My dark fantasies are growing bleaker,
Blithely flogging this attention seeker,
Why am I so pissed?
This bore must insist,
To take all his phone calls on speaker.
With Playful Eyesight
With playful eyesight he became a peeker;
Through tough times which were bleaker;
When we had read,
What newspaper said,
We realized that the source was a leaker.
Jim Horn
He's reluctant to make friends,
and shows little or no trust
in people who reach out
and smiling he pretends!
He doesn't follow those positive minds,
every joke and laughter bothers him,
and seeing no humor in a silly whim...
his moods become bleaker than shadows!
What makes him act the strange way he does?
Was he bullied as a kid by his schoolmates?
And not having the strenght to fight back,
he lost his confidence in clever counterattack!
Oh, pitiful loner, be warned that a sucidial mind that
contemplates death has no worth, but bears distraught;
you live in a cheerless home that has closed windows
looking over a street where others exchange their hellos!
A bright teen barely twenty has willfully thrown away
his chances for glory by listening to internal voices
coming from the netherworld hindering his senses
from enjoying life by making his skies completely grey!
written on 6/19/2017
DAYS RUNNING BLEAKER
Adverse ambient turning bleaker,
day by day.
Hope for the better, sitting indolent?
Or to watch and carry on accepting worse and worse?
Or to struggle with intense zeal!
The bitter I face, it hurts my ego.
Determination arouses running stronger
to attain better and best achievement,
overcoming blemishing factors.
But I have much to declare.
06/13/17
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