Long Reinvents Poems
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How does love die, you ask me?
Under a rain of indifference, without passion, without responsibility,
Without the humor to brighten your day, without the sensuality to ignite your night.
Leaf by leaf, petal by petal, it withers, and it's too late, too late to cry.
"We treasure each other like an old, rare wine," you tell me,
But in the silence between us, words shatter, leaving us mute,
At a silent table, under the starry sky, where only the stars still whisper stories.
Our hands should meet, should seek each other, but sometimes they get lost.
"Respect," you say, "is an absolute necessity, a beacon in life's darkness,"
We learn together to face every hardship, yet somehow, words are lost,
We argue but forget to truly speak, to listen,
Our blessings are many, but sometimes we lose them among the shadows.
"Never go to bed angry with the one you love," I tell myself,
But sometimes silence becomes a wall, and morning finds us just as distant,
Misunderstood, perhaps, but not necessarily unhappy, just lost,
In a labyrinth of feelings, where love should be the compass.
Be proud of the one you vowed to love forever,
Let no one come between you, make life an adventure,
Say "I love you" at least three times a day, you remind me,
But do words still carry weight when silence swallows them?
Thus, in the flow of my thoughts, I imagine love as a sea,
We embark on this endless journey, with waves and storms,
But perhaps, if we learn to navigate together, to listen to the wind,
We will discover that love doesn't die, it just transforms, reinvents itself.
In a secret corner of the mind, where silence dances with shadows,
I lose myself in the simplicity of a moment that asks for nothing, just to be,
letting dreams unravel like autumn leaves in a gentle breeze,
without fear of absence, without the desire to arrive anywhere,
for in the absence of desire, a vast field of freedom is born,
where thoughts find rest in the peace of a diamond morning,
and love, like a river whispering its story among the stones of time,
intertwines with the simple, austere soul, yet full of a nameless richness.
Under the wide sky of abandonment, I rise without wings,
seeking not an end, but a beginning that reinvents itself endlessly,
listening as silence finds its echo in the song of invisible birds,
in a world where the compass points only to the heart of the eternal now,
and where love weaves its tapestry from the unseen threads of eternity.
Chapter 1: The End of the Eastern Gilded Age
'Twas thrice yon 'ere time clichés galore, albeit, one two many times, that fairy tale's opening wouldst hitherto a harp. History, the effects of narratives indulgences of a period, like an opening performance as a harp is being tuned then it's time to play expressively to narratives who hear a fiddle. History emerges to a gridlock, then it lies and waits for its prey tomorrow, to give its due. It forces off and reloads it with narratives for in this approach all is done kosherly being formal and beliefs necessitate reassurance. The earth learns that history never replicates itself, just the hereafter and those that are uncovered. Some inequalities are constant and relatively taxing to the accountants who are toiling the timepiece, sort of speak, it is fate that reprises since narratives are an irritant bent on annihilation ergo it reinvents itself a new chapter hoping that the old will catch up and take part but the past feels it lacks motivation, hence, it too reinvents itself, a better way, an effective outlook, they repeatedly say that the results are quite promising, with that on the table, why change history.
Young Crown Prince Imperial, Alexei, Heir Apparent to the Imperial throne of Russia, has been diagnosed as a hemophiliac, ...
*The opener of My Short Story: A Century Turns: Soviet Union's Life Expectancy
Jim-I-Nator,
chase creator,
imitates a song,
recreates a major,
sail's you to saviors,
reinvents the round,
reelects the tasers,
summons it in a bong...
Bites it right out
just like the Chong.
Waits in a mile-
just for the hump,
butts heads with the viral-
just like the slums,
does a downward spiral like a swivel,
dials 911 to spy on individuals,
random as hail in July,
hits like nails-
out on the lake in the sky-
just where I had wanted to die.
Like a Laker in a coat,
like a disastrous danger running wild and remote-
just like Ebeneezer Scrooge with a check book and the holy ghost,
just like Jesus on an electric motorcycle,
flying with angels-
jimin' with a bagel,
rotating at an angle,
fly's in the sky like a needle near the eye!
Random as hail in July!
Eats prunes,
and then pray's not to die!
Greets his shrooms with venom,
beats his moods with a pendulum,
hears through stethoscopes when he's endin' the run,
goes to the gym to have a little fun!
Waits for the time to stand still,
eats all the cops in between him and his pillz!
Says **** jail!
My ******** is a nail!
**** being out on bail!
I'll still be here until the killer is unveiled!