Idiosyncrasies Poems - Poems about Idiosyncrasies

Stranded with lost love, the idiosyncrasies connect, like constellations in galaxies yet to be seen, deprived, deranged, disembodied emotions drift disconcertingly into each others night. Fasting on the fruits of each others use to be labors, the loins of desire become prey to temptations succulent hunger for lustful delicacies. Astray they've stayed prudently, pampering,...

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As time ticks by you grow wise and dreams start to fade while innocence and youth vanish leaving you to deal with life’s hypocrisies and lies and extraordinary slowly disappears from your vocabulary forever. The years can turn hopes into unfulfilled wishes restricted to the realm of sleep for reality no longer supports fantasies and your persona consists of anecdotes memories and idiosyncrasies. (Fibonacci) Jan. 4, 2019 Fibonacci - Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Dear...

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********* What do we have in common Squinting after tasting lemon Scratching itches Washing dishes What do we have in common Laughing when we should be solemn Squeezing spots Getting the hots What do we have in common We are all a phenomenon The need to end pollution We hold the solution What do we have in common We all have the power of reason We all need fresh air We...

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Try talking to me without instant interruption, I may get a lil’ excited and try to guess your next words- I am known to do this beyond human consumption, and I may come off rude or you may seem unheard. In reality it’s nothing but a darn old quirk, I promise I’m not really a selfish...

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What peculiar behavior I see. That’s what is known as an idiosyncrasy. It is inconsistent with acceptances in society. Persons who have foibles in life have actions that can cut like a knife. Someone with an eccentricity requiring a nudge, is in no position to decide or judge. ...

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What if I were to lie? What, if I were lye? Don't you look at me that way. Don't you look away! The blond hairs on your back I know it's cold. Where are you going with this? Wherever you are told. Dance now, it's a stage. The machine rotors turn. The cabinets stocked with capitalism. My Beautiful Idiosyncrasies....

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