I walk my life on my own terms I set,
create the course on the lone pathway I pave.
I see probing faceless uncalled people pile,
break the barrier of protected privacy and pry,
asking incisive questions piercing my persona,
I don’t answer.
They want their footprints I follow compliant,
abandon what defines me on the wayside,
exist as a formless empty entity impersonated.
Caustic comments they make of me being inflexible,
on the atypical manner I behave, overtly odd to them,
I don’t react.
My heart quivers in the quicksand of harsh times,
emotions struggle to rise from the despondent debris.
Things good done for me I can’t acknowledge loud,
the bud of love for you blooms in me, I adore unexpressed.
Porous sensitivity absorbs all the feelings inarticulate,
I don’t demonstrate.
I will be doing till the end what I do, not being blunt,
even if you call me an obdurate being,
I don't care.
The world of matter bents awareness and duality,
pertaining to required dimensionality.
The mental loss by worship sense data rigidly,
quantitative measures conformity.
Reforming towards natural perfection,
which by some folks becomes a cruel intersection.
The desperation of religious handicap,
following blindly some holy scrap.
Little world in little hats banging the wall,
the egos cry for to save us all.
Considered distorted experiences,
as guilt persists in emotional glimpses.
Time in clockwork liberation,
past lives handicap attached to sensation.
Distinctions between reality and shadow,
consciousness attracted to divine flow.
Sufficient transformation by living,
as below or above all is given.
Poignant realization of what the soul is not,
beginnings of true certainties begot.
Faith that creates faith and inner evolution,
taken the image forth to all else exclusion.
Many individual emotions we have to difference,
group state temptation and wilderness.
The struggle out of the familiar in critical state,
steps of evolution where the future meets present.
The attractively impersonated desirable goal,
pictured reality for the timeless soul.
Like many, I masqueraded in shades of urban gray.
I offered my love to the midnight neon angel.
I walked the caliginous streets alone and astray.
She remained distant, alluring, always disdainful.
I courted cynicism, resignation, and despair as my style.
I wore tilted fedoras in smoke-filled reeking bars.
I feigned culture and literacy, trying to look worthwhile.
I blush now, recalling my see-through shooting stars.
Like many, I was just a child renting a man’s body.
I impersonated adulthood with stylized gloom.
I thought maturity was an act, so mine was shoddy.
I donned trench coats, my affectation in any room.
My blinking street angel had seen it all before.
My love for her was simulation and nothing more.
I walk my life on my own terms,
setting the course on the pathway I paved.
I see probing faceless people crowd uncalled,
break the fence of protected privacy, try to pry,
asking incisive questions shredding my persona,
I don’t answer.
They want their footprints I follow compliant,
abandoning me for what I am on the wayside,
and exist as a void formless entity impersonated.
Caustic comments they make of me being obdurate,
on the manner I behave, extremely odd to them,
I don’t react.
In my heart mired in the quicksand of harsh time
emotions struggle to rise from the unfeeling debris.
Things good done to me aren’t acknowledged loud,
buds of your love bloom in me, I adore unexpressed.
Porous sensitivity absorbs all the feelings inarticulate,
I don’t demonstrate.
I will be doing till the end what I do at will,
even if you all call me a black sheep,
the intransigent me.
Written : July 19, 2019
February 13, 2020
Contest : Strand Select N, Any Form. Any Theme
Sponsor : Brian Strand
The stars
descend the sky,
lured by their reflections
impersonated by city
and lights.
McCarthy got guffaws each week
on SNL dressed like a geek.
While mimicking Spicer,
she could’ve been nicer
on her souped-up platform so sleek!
Comic actress Melissa McCarthy, on a motorized
platform that moved FAST, impersonated now-
former White House Press Secretary Sean Spicer
on SNL, Saturday Night Live.
entered in Kevin Shaw's Name Dropper Limerick Contest on September 18, 2017
Even young people like Fred
went from sad to mad,
thinking that happiness
was a wish not grated;
he succumbed to sickness,
he wished he were dead.
Changing moods in him persisted
and created a split personality;
he showed thoughts of insensibility,
a pitiful man unloved and afraid.
His mother stood by him and cried,
friends and family kept their distance;
once he was so loved and admired,
his grey eyes exuded confidence.
Resigned to his fate, he became a wreck
it got worse until he went completely beserk;
smashing everything he found in his way,
he impersonated an actor in his wild play.
He found pleasure in destroying a memory
too bitter for him to endure with gentleness;
when his fury was appeased by madness,
he calmed down and laughed deliriously.
At only eighteen, his destiny is sealed forever;
in a wheelchair he spends his days in distress,
not even his mom can comfort him with hugs...
he looks at her sadly, then bursts into laughter.
Feathers torn from the gaping napes of wind began to dwindle and resist in spite of the gravity crushing tsunami.
Trapped in a facade of impersonating flowing rain every feather dived to their unplanned descent.
All drowning in the nightmarish truth of actually being smothered in tears of a blue eyed-giant as they fell from the sky of that big blue eye’s, dead decapitated face.
A face severed on a head that hid a heavenly chateaus inside a false impersonated globe forever resting among the stars.
Inside housed all kinds of dimensional beings rarely ever seen but all known to possess legendary archaic features.
They mastered all the realms and lastly rule our skies.
They are cold warriors of combat- handled by their deadly grace, poisonous envy, blinding halos, and suffocating wings…
Oh such undeniably divine things!
First plucked from you, then stolen from me!
A conscious belief known only by those who wish to remain unseen
as we become the common theory of all your pretty inanities.
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