Concealed Poems

Concealed Charisma Is Beautiful

Springtime facade shines on convivial tapestry,
Monet’s luminous landscape of vibrant vivacity
within sparkling blue lagoon of dreaming eyes.
On luscious lips the petals of blooming lotus lie,
painted on the satin canvas of cute countenance,
designing narcissistic features of innate elegance
with the hues of Dorian Gray syndrome subdued
by pervading pride of indomitable youth imbued.

On the withered canvas the wheels of time creep,
the spider of age weaves the web of wrinkles deep. 
Weary eyes look forlornly at weathered wasteland,
wilted lips lose luster of lotus once lovingly grand.
Hedonist psyche refuses to accept the fated loss,
even when time comes for the last mile to cross.
What is a face if not a metaphor for trait panorama,
snapshot in beholder’s eyes of concealed charisma.

Shadows Of The Mind

The shadows of the mind remain concealed,  
time’s quiet veil upon wounds unhealed.  
Treasured moments sleep in cloaked recess,  
a history bound in silent darkness.  

Two hosts bear witness, their truths untold,  
hidden, unseen, by hearts grown cold.  
Regrets spilled forth, like fractured glass,  
unexplored journeys lost, they pass.  

Divided hearts, once worlds apart,  
tangled doubts pulling threads of the heart.  
Twisted and stretched 'til bonds collapse,  
shadows of the past, in the dark they lapse.

Judged

Judged

1.
They are all liars,
Talking about others
Behind their backs,
Thinking they are better.

2.
But everyone has
Their own faults.
They don’t see
The pain a person hides,
Just because they’re smiling.

3.
A day will come,
A day when they are judged
For all the things
They have done.

4.
All I feel for them is pity—
Pity for the words
They’ve spoken,
For the things
They’ve done.

5.
Everyone has
Their own flaws,
Yet they still judge
Others for theirs.
But I am no better
Than they are.

6.
I prefer words said to my face,
Rather than whispered behind my back.
They’re all hypocrites—
They smile at you,
Then stab you in the back.
They change colors
As quickly as a chameleon.

Beauty not Concealed

She may be a poor girl 
Begging on the street
But she has a pretty face,
Like those you’d like to meet.
She’s just a beggar girl,
Having everything it takes
For a man to turn his head
And the world to lay their stakes.
She’s fit for the silver screen
For Forbes to make a claim,
She has, what it takes
To weaken a misogynist fame.
She is undiscovered 
With undercover for clothes
She has the motion
Ramp walkers dream of most.
She has the smile
That can melt a frozen heart,
She has the style
Without fashion schooled art.
She may be poor
But rich in looks and appeal,
She may be a beggar
Yet her beauty she can’t conceal.

Revealed yet concealed

Navel to throat, a shining rod,
signals within, presence of God,
which in staid stillness we observe,
with zest and zeal and love and verve,
a secret we willingly share,
with fellow souls who care to pair
but in truth we fail to reveal,
the way magnetism makes us feel,
because it is a becoming
or we may say, a home coming.

Concealed Charisma

Springtime facade shines 
in embellished topography,
embroidered enshrined on
Monet landscape, 
      luminous 
in effervescent elegance
with sparkle of blue lagoon 
in dreaming ebullient eyes,
      entranced,
and with lustrous lotus petals 
of luscious lips
      fervent,
painted on silken canvas 
of magnetic countenance,
carved with narcissistic contours 
of innate pride
with dormant Dorian Gray syndrome 
      subdued.

The sands of time 
roll over wrinkled canvas,
winter twilight spider weaves 
webs of facial furrows
of creased contentment,
empty eyes gaze, 
      forlorn 
at weathered wasteland,
the lips of faded flower lose 
passion patina,  
enticing once,
hedonist psyche refuses 
to gauge the grief of loss,
trapped in transient notion
      sanguine,
for what is a face 
if not a metaphor 
for proclivity panorama, 
the enduring snapshot 
capturing mesmeric moments
in timeless frame 
of concealed charisma,
      contained.

Concealed Dechnad Cummaisc

A bouquet of shamrocks glisten,
they call magick;
Under a rainbow they sprout high;
This sky? Classic;

Golden sunshine adds to the glow,
What a vision;
Leprechaun’s pot hidden details,
mischief hails fun;

You think it’s found so you give chase,
rushing a field;
Met with just grass and a chuckle,
coin haul concealed.

Concealed Charisma

The chromatic cords
of splendorous spring 
embroider arcane art
on convivial tapestry
embellished elegance
dramatically drapes 
the luminous landscape 
of vibrant vivacity
as dream-drenched 
blue lagoon 
gets lashed 
by idyllic eyelids 
and
the lotus petals 
of luscious lips
painted poignant 
on silken canvas 
of content countenance
the dulcet design 
of narcissist facade
of innate pride
swathes furtively 
the secret scars	
of suppression syndrome 
expunged. 

The toiling time 
revolves relentless
on convoluted canvas
etched with 
fading felled leaves
of auburn autumn
in life consumed
while
the winter spider 
weaves with strands
of twilight moments 
the ordained web 
with senile streaks 
around hollow eyes 
staring forsaken 
at forlorn fringe 
of weathered wasteland
as the lustrous lips
the fading flowers
lose withered
pristine patina 
hedonist psyche 
refuses to gauge 
the grief of loss
the face morphs 
into metaphor 
for living panorama
captured by 
the sanguine snapshot 
of concealed charisma.

The Truth Concealed

The deepest hole I’ve placed it in
and covered it with all that’s been.
Then beat upon that grave each day
in hope to make it go away.

I’m terrified that it will grow,
and so afraid somehow, you’ll know -
the secret I have buried deep.
The secret that I want to keep.

The thing that is the root of all
the reasons why I want to fall.
The reason why I’ve never been
able to give love back again.

I know that I should dig it up
and let you know my feelings but
instead, I’ll keep it locked inside…
the truth concealed within my mind.

Concealed Reality

"Truth shall always prevail", 
... Or so I have heard. 
It's merely been a year, 
Yet, can't seem to recover. 

Crying for help? 
"Oof, grow up" they'll scoff. 
Lo and behold! 
The mask of deception... I found. 

Been an open book for over a decade, 
It Can't be that knackering to tell a lie to someone's face. 
Aeons and aeons thereafter, 
Pretending seems to have adjusted herself, 
to my life with a knowing laughter. 

"Heyy everything good?" they'd pry, 
"Oh just wonderful", I'd smile and blatantly lie. 
It has been a while you know, 
Since I've seen the true face of reality. 
Now that I yearn for it, 
I just wanna get rid of this morality. 

It's too late at this point, 
Venturing further will make me paranoid. 
To conclude this on a "factual" note, 
This world houses wolves in sheep's clothes. 

I twist and turn in my sleep, 
Baffled by the fact of this mystery. 
How in the universe were we blind, 
To see the true nature of OUR kind. 

I stand here,
And I solemnly declare:
There's a concealed reality,
Of which we remain unaware.

Healed By God Who Is Concealed

God will take care and so be happy
His forces are engaged in guarding
God may appear to be damn sleepy
But, pure Justice, He is rewarding

Every step that God makes wisely
Will take His devotees to safety
He will execute His duty precisely
All His ideals are superbly lofty

God never blunders in His action
He acts with the greatest vigil
He offers an excellent protection
To make our problems a big nil

He will inflict strict punishment
Supplying us Justice with skill
Peace for us, He will implement
And take away form life every ill

God when is approached by us
Will dress kindly all our wounds
He will arrange for the best bliss
All of us, He simply astounds.

The Riddle of Shiny Helen

Love hearts and scabby knees.
Dead flies and stinging bees.
Dirty nails and sweaty lips.
Fishnets with ragged slips.
Eyeholes in a hessian sack.
Pimples on a tattooed back.
Toys that she just can’t unpack.
Helen. 
Secret Helen.

Lies from a mother’s heart.
Secrets that fell apart.
Beauty too divine to see.
As purple as a Judas Tree.
Singing from her cradle jail.
A baby crying weak and frail.
Giggle, breathe, inhale, exhale.
Helen
Splintered Helen.

An infantile brutalist.
A wide-awake somnambulist.
Mamma’s bile and Daddy’s fist.
A kiss, a slap a broken wrist.
She hides within a dark recess.
She dances with her own distress.
A monster wearing fancy dress.
Helen
Sacred Helen.

Fantasies of guilt and sin.
Concealed beneath a slab of skin.
Loathe the self and stunt the flesh.
Her impotence and spite enmesh.
To love the girl, she veils the face.
To save the world from its disgrace.
Before she leaves without a trace.
Helen
Shiny Helen.

Summits

Majestic summits
Concealed protectively in 
Foggy clouds embrace,
Captivates wandering eyes,
On a tropic summer day

Concealed Agony

Beneath chameleon’s deceptive exterior façade
the concept called color doesn’t change,
for blood flows as scarlet stream in the heart
where truth dwells beyond the falsehood’s range.

Embellished face garners hues, implanted joy
melts in unshed tears behind the pensive eye, 
in the shadow of distressed destiny it tries to trace 
the track of time to travel to stark reality, it can’t defy.

Arena braces circus, dazzles ephemerally flashing
on the clown who tramps on stage in stoic style,
and under the spotlight turns into an animated joke,
as his concealed agony lurks behind the strained smile.

July 28. 2021
Rhyme checked on RhymeZone
Contest : Alpha Lines
Sponsor : Joseph May

Concealed Fear

Of late,
I've been fearing
The slight sound of vechiles
It provokes the goosebumps in me
The reasons deeply sealed
I'd, when revealed,
Be doomed!

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