Petrichor is a complete vernal scent,
an ache so feral it’s filled with lightning.
Waiting for new plans to make a descent
the past seems to leave the future biting.
Plans slowly unfurl and then start to run,
a hit to the soul spiking bone marrow.
With no need to outsource to anyone,
you’re in control of your own tomorrow.
That urge to defenestrate the outgrown,
when you impel it’s a breath of fresh air.
Nervously investing in the unknown
feels a bit like that initial jump scare.
Choking on such cloying efflorescence
vestige broke in exposing my pretense.
A Thousand-Watt Smile
A thousand-watt smile isn't born to hide the pain;
It blooms when someone knows they're not alone.
It rises from a heart that's danced with rain,
Yet still finds hope in places once unknown.
It reaches softly to the waiting eyes,
Where tears and laughter leave their gentle trace.
No mask, no pretense, nothing to disguise—
Just quiet courage shining through the face.
It warms the silence, brightens every room,
And lifts the weight that weary hearts have known.
A simple smile can chase away the gloom,
Reminding us that love is always shown.
When I say I love you or I miss you;
Don’t echo me out of duty.
My heart is not a script;
You're not required to memorize it.
Let your heart speak when it chooses;
Not when mine cues it.
If you don’t feel it, you don’t have to pretend;
A soft lie cuts deeper than the silence of truth.
And if you do feel it;
Don’t wait for my words to unlock your own.
Affection is not a competition;
And also, I am not that petty.
Fitness freaks fake friends,
Who want wit weighs war...
Against age and acts;
Hopeless help heightened.
Invalid aim fends,
A perfidious sore-
Words, deny its facts...
Memories sure tightened;
Slipping in-out sight,
Of shameless mind's frame
Beeping off insight,
Wishing faults reclaim:
Peaceful glumly past,
Now endures contrast.
The shattered remains of what I once had,
The hollow dreams still quite tall,
My mind of chaos driving me mad,
All behind a huge, transparent wall.
I hung my head low, slumped down.
I searched aimlessly in the darkness.
A picture lay there; on my face a frown,
But what was left of them all, they called it silence.
I caressed the picture,
My thoughts haywire,
The world is sinister,
Burning me up like fire.
Who am I? A meek peasant.
Knew no more than hardened violence,
A burdened past, a tortured present,
And what lay beyond, they called it silence.
Sorrow gripped me on the inside,
Lifeless and shriveled from within,
Merely spectating the secrets, they still hide,
Hoping that once again I could begin.
Sacked of my people, my life,
All while hiding under a veil of pretense,
Blaming me for the start of a strife,
And what they didn't need, they called it silence.
I let it calm down,
The whirlwind in my mind.
The warmth and laughter, I had them drown,
No place for joy will I ever find.
I ripped the photograph, my elixir.
The fire crackled in the distance,
All gone, I was forced to surrender,
And all that was mine, they called it silence.
Can loving you ~
ever be a mistake?
Come what may,
I won’t ever take a break.
Even if it’s pretense—
life itself feels fake.
The
pretense of knowing
more than
the immediacy
the appearance
the story
seems as futility aglow
though we all pretend
and the pretense is
it too
pointing
to that which
is not there
seems a futility
yet that
which is not there
may appear as
pointing
Ah romance — such an elevated form of make-believe,
with promises and roses that are rarely kept.
Two players, both knowing, smiles just as wily,
each coming closer, each stinging a lie.
They say love’s a puzzle, some misty dance,
but more likely it feels like an enterprise, a turn –
a wink and a promise neither has any right to make,
only two clever souls with a ruse to follow.
We went around in circles,
yet the truth lingered right between us,
smirking as if it had already triumphed.
You labeled it complicated.
I called it chaos.
There’s nothing beautiful about pretending—
about trying to bridge a gap so vast
that you can taste the deception in your mouth.
But we went ahead anyway.
Sat there.
Grinning, as if we didn’t already realize
this was the beginning of the end.
Marble-sided buildings sunk in the sand
Jumped 40 glassy stories on command.
Everyone thinks life is nothing and money’s grand.
Rolling chair hawkers spiel and cutely chide
Sunday suited daddies to pay for their brides.
So, a cavalcade of marmalade mommies ride,
(Fatted infants firmly holstered at each side),
Tossing constant comment diapers drenched with pride
To the beach where broken dreamers slept and died.
Forensic evidence is no pretense against the defense/
It will prove prevalence in the family’s ordinance/
Moronic elements that ail his laments are just sordid and dense/
More on it as the envelopment to derail inherent ends he upends/
Four chronic tipple alcoholics sail away an heir apparent out of pretense/
Tour scenic and hop the fence frail to tear a new pair of parents for greed sense/
Sore we’ve beaten it in old hallways as we dance trails to romance and breed new brands/
Bore logic that grants pathways with complete relevance and developments of freelance/
All remnants of other incidents one of which would enhance such reverence/
With immense radiance compliance and patience will lead to confidence/
Competence is of the utmost importance in these pants with no ignorance/
Encourage tolerance in the newest plans to advance these new contents
Life is graciously fair to all by birth
To live up to chances, know your true worth
Funny but the true cure, sickness admires.
That embodies joy which environmental service inspires,
To continuing its selfless humanity upkeep...
Which birthed our artistry: pens weep.
Blushing worries silent babies' trials to speak.
Inner mutterings key, fear demands seek-
How hens never wish to travel high.
Aren't they truly born to fly?
Not until been tempted; hunting chicks
For foods to make eaglets eagles
That only resulted to sensational flying conflicts,
Sometimes out of many fearful chickens like seagulls.
Dare to be, may be for real.
Dare to see, not in sin or for deal.
Be thy own cover, for chilling breeze.
Be thy sunny night, heat heals at ease.
Our Life of Cheap pretense
We could watch through a lens
For its failures to yield us a half pence
Or deliver crisp commonsense;
One’s decided airs of pretense
A mere sitting on the fence,
As one feels not life as it is tense
Nor The Original Writer help his pens…
I’d start questioning the essence
Of A Talkative playing reticence
Of the-choking-with-diffidence
Enacting Mr. President’s confidence.
Every man to the nearest lens
For his rowed-like-a-boat pretense,
In glass and water mirrors
Picking all its unhelpful errors.
Beware of the scribes
Who like to go around in long robes and accept greetings in the marketplaces
Seats of honor in synagogues
places of honor at banquets
They devour the houses of widows and
As a pretext
Recite lengthy prayers
They will receive a very severe condemnation [Taken from MK 12:38-40]
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