Existence is dubitable like an ocean; waves spree there-- anywhere
Well, we can't unsee the depth of the well, a person where it can idealize darkness through matter
Feels uncertain; the moment we are not sure of
But who to swim to these stagnate waters from aquifers just to see a miracle
A coin, a peso, no, a horizontal ocean. But it can't be an ocean; it does not splash
It does, a motion where we could generate. It is the most stagnate of depth I have seen
It is too far to say it is an ocean, ocean is dubitable, well the well is too.
The one, is so calm where the other is not. EIther, it contains darkness
Say, it is just life through its motion, as far you could read it
I myself cannot even synthesize an ocean and well because of physicality, rather thinking how it could be similar
Also, I could not even write that ocean is a well, for I am uncertain where I am. I was thrown at the world!
For nothing I should conceive my own meaning.
Remiss I’d be to disavow my love for you
Opportune moments these days arise in short supply
Magical meanderings seem only to dissipate
Amorous adieus most nights all we seem to muster
Nightfall harks to all then beckons lovers to their nest
Thunderstruck we hesitate in dubitable awe
Immortalized remembrances to which we dare cling
Circumnavigating our delicate famished hearts
AP: 3rd place 2025
Submittted on February 14, 2018 for contest ROMANTIC-ACROSTIC sponsored by JOHN HAMILTON - RANKED 1ST
Making the right choices isn't easy,
if one seems good, the other must be better than defeat;
only when something doesn't meet
our expectations, we break down and feel very lousy.
Quite often our instinct is as bitter as wine
with a promination of fear, not allowing us
to cross the dubitable and unwarranted line...
wouldn't curiosity tempt us to toss the dice?
Making the right choices isn't easy as feeling fine,
at times, it may turn out well and we'll smile;
but who can foresee the outcome of one's wish
with words that are very unrealistic and brash?
Dark mocha pools welling with liveliness
pulsating pink skin beckons flesh, i crave the forms from which all words commense
heavy rain sluicing down beading upon the macadam sagaciously i dance unshod
the words I haven't said to him yet
my incorrigible heart an inept journal pening lavishly about he, loathe am I to share entry
imploringly iterate a solidarity, his spirit taking me in an unyielding upsweep
duodecennial such an entreat, we converse without words knowing they only
lead my head down to the pillow where drowse I attain a dubitable dream
which will drone dulcet one sweet day
upon our common doorstep.
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