Enigmatic entropy endeavours the devouring of my depressive tendencies
In the form of an effaced anonymity
Pledging a tender hand to thwart the destruction of my anatomy
Distraught estrangement of in-autonomous tailing tellings
Shall cast this faceless stranger astray
Beyond the smooth syllables of an identifying name
For these hounds that thrash in the thick of sleep
And so do weep of singularity in accompanying company
Shall chase, shall gnaw at the face, the hand that feeds the freer frailty of freedom
And chaff this chance of a chance to escape
These samsaras of silence for the requiem of a dallied day
Dancing and dashing and prancing and thrashing
In the estranged fixation of this strange savior
That wilt know not of my inner ills, beyond the disfigurement of mine own outer mutilation
K.M.P
18//9//26
October motif errand runs toward the end
A winter morn on Orchard street, New York, wandering here and there
Seemingly a gift shop is surrealism, the shop owner sprung from Walt disney
a strange double, so to speak. Adored me with a humble simper
as a blue blazer was my attire with graceful ease and altruism
The blazer and the chest a motif of deep green forest, evergreen blossomed
from a cadence , by the lake. floating afar.
(to be completed)
Orchard Street is a historic eight-block street in New York City's Lower East Side known for
its mix of immigrant history and modern boutiques. It was once a commercial hub for
immigrant communities and is now famous for its trendy shops, diverse restaurants, and
landmarks like the Lower East Side Tenement Museum at 97 Orchard Street. Visitors can
find a variety of businesses, from classic eyeglass shops like Moscot to modern home decor
stores and art galleries.
With these rings, we said, "I do,"
Never planned to play the fool.
Too young to grasp loves weight,
Too blind to heed its rules.
We were D—drifting, never devoted.
We were I—insensible, inconsiderate.
We broke our Vows, splintered trust.
We were O—reckless, outrageous.
We were R—tangled, bitter root.
We were C—careless, never committed.
We were E—estranged, unraveling fast.
A word we swore would never be ours
became the silent sentence:
Divorce.
Too immature for love’s responsibility,
we fled into goodbye.
We are Estranged But—
I hope my image stays in your mind forever
—etched in your memory until your last breath.
Whenever you tuck a strand of hair behind her ear—maybe, at least once, you'd reminisce about me.
I feel unsettled, yet sometimes, I wish that when your lips meet hers, a faint echo of my taste still lingers.
It may seem like a curse, but I hope you realize—it's just the lingering echo of my aching heart.
I'm sinking in guilt for daring to wish this,
yet longing still whispers through my restless heart.
Of course, We are Estranged —But I still yearn to linger in your memory eternally.
—Beloved????
—Just A Quiet yearning to linger in a heart that has,
moved on~
The small bowl sits in the corner
Ceramic, lopsided, and beige
Small fingers impressed in the clay
Snake curled in the bottom awaits
Made for her momma in art class
Wee age of seven or eight
Initials inscribed at the bottom
A determined look on her face
Not really meant for her momma
Never liked her too much even then
But she did what her teacher told her
And offered it up mournfully
Mementos and pictures torn down
Sweet face and blonde pigtails a dream
The small bowl still sits in the corner
Snake curled at the bottom stares through
It catches the ashes that burn
From the incense she lights every night
Snake lurking below the embers
Of the fire that’s burning her heart
as long as there be separation
how then can we ever feel complete
if God and soul tango dance not as one
distanced from His heart our joy will deplete
Estranged by you, alienated
I’m not the one I used to know
All what is me comes out outdated
As if I was there long ago
In previous times, when life seemed shorter
When I was living for one day
To meet your judgement of no quarter
Your disaffection to obey
Crushed in the rain of whatabouts
Drunk with the human kindness I
Fall in slow motion, filmed without
Supposed consent I have to sign
That looks alike a vagrant fate
When there is nowhere else to roam
Inside I go, although its late
But down inside I am at home
There we are, two lost receivers
Of ageless youth you well preserved
For me, a taker and a giver
Of love I thought would never hurt.
The power, abused.
The truth, confused.
The way, dictated to you.
The excuse, they never knew.
The mind, free to roam.
The thoughts of yours, your own.
The shackles that you’ll never wear.
The love demanded, who cares?
The pain chewed and swallowed down
The mind protected with hollows ground.
The person you know you are.
The conflict, always blamed all on you.
The creature that they created is you.
The realisation that they’ll never care.
The unsaid wish that you just weren’t there.
vibrational mismatch
attains escape velocity
burning bridges of love
in the womb of existence
yearnings of love yet await
return of the prodigal son
two ships cross in the ocean
mixed emotions arise
on reality of separation
and possibility of union
as ordained in timeless time
once trust is lost
love is tossed out
cold frost sets in
So many things I wish I
could have changed
Maybe then we wouldn’t
be estranged
Shattered pieces of me is
all that remain
My life will never be
the same
Heartache and emptiness
deep inside
My tears and pain I can
not hide
Ever haunted by words
I long to voice
Fear of your rejection leaves me without choice
Your absence cripples me
with despair
My heart is broken
beyond repair
Your love is all that I
yearn for
And will until I breathe
no more
We see siblings fall apart
because of enlarged egos
and all we can do is pray,
that hearts be love grazed.
So different yet all the same.
So similar and yet still so strange.
Behold how pleasure seeps through to the strangest places;
as if it's effects could make a river climb a steep incline.
A pink, feathered ball with a pipe cleaner neck and an old rubber nose, stands in stasis.
Or should I says hops, where exactly do we draw the line?
It's blinding pink is no sign of flamboyance nor an ostentatious display.
Flamingos are what they eat and what they eat doesn't give a damn about their mental state in the coming months.
Smirks creep, snickers descend, what colour of lonely shall it choose today?
Grey would be great but the grim reaper is not someone one confronts.
One leg to hold on and the other dedicated to keeping up appearances.
A stand-up has no chance against a desolate land with an estranged flamingo slotted in centre stage.
Spotlight focused, eyes agaze, feed upon this barren creature and forget common decencies.
If only it could choose it's colour...red, red with rage.
Sisters of mine, our love is not never-ending.
Soon, I promise, you will start pretending-
That I was an imaginary friend in your childhood.
And I can live with that- as I watch you both move on from where together we stood.
I hope I am still able to protect you both as a memory.
When you guys used to see me as an all-knowing beam.
I was mistaken as a treasure-
When really- against you I will never measure.
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