Always concerned with mental strain
Anxiously hiding it to numb the pain
Not quite living more like a mode
However life will always prod and goad
Dragging you out from behind your cloak
Whether or not you’re positioned to cope
Dropping the ball is nearly a certainty
When every minute is a storm at sea
Difficult to stay in the framed moment
Reality has vanity and plenty of wit to show it
feeling buried deep
afraid to face tomorrow
you saved me from me
Freshly brewed fog and a fall rain,
the mist could transform to a beast;
Winds might swirl becoming a frog
pulsing so loud inside your throat;
You’ll second guess and feel insane
when elevated fears are greased;
Hit that plot twist with no prologue
left rolling in those tales remote;
Bring that quill back to analog,
tranquilize this poet’s stained note.
Graceless facades---
The tiring age old game
Of mindless testing
Grows heavy beneath the brow.
The charade is hard to sustain---
Sometimes impossible---
Yet we must bear it
Time after time after endless time.
The cold fire keeps rolling,
Pushing testing the old confines
Beneath the eyes---
How much longer.....
Bodies are always turning up in the bayou.
I stopped scarfing down my sandwich. My ears perked up.
I wondered what he meant.
He must have been sitting behind me in the next booth.
The waitress came by and tried to be friendly.
I usually am, but I was missing out on the rest of the story.
“At least fourteen foot long,” He said.
I heard laughter.
Did he mean tall? Or is he talking about aliens?
My ears strained to hear more, but whispering began.
More laughter.
I wished I had brought a better book to read.
Strength seeping out of every pore
Pain creeping in through every core
Eyes weeping for each aching sore
What's ailing me in this night hour?
Strength failing me, got no power
Tears trailing behind this dream dour
Eyes raining out their misery
Limbs paining in some mystery
Strength straining in troubled worry
09.06.2020
Relations in Pain, Relations in Strain!
People mad over financial gain!
Wonder why we have gone mad over such worthless gains that make our relation ships strain!
We talked unknownst to each other, that,
All hell would break loose.
What could possibly come of two talking in harmony?
Us, filmy for a film even,
Shattered beyond cry or wail.
Crying for spilt milk is adagedly a vestige
The value of milk spilt resurfaces only then,
And crying for lost value,
Is it a vestigial adage too?
After all, none can rue when they have what they crave,
Two people desperate for each other,
One voluntarily cocooning, the other involuntarily so,
Nothing of what we had felt fake,
Though people make it out to be.
Trust, on which everything should be based so,
Even that ensured,
Neither of us get why each of us is separate.
All four desperately wanting the other,
Too egoistic to spell it out
And yet still confined,
And shackled to persons they bear less of the love to,
Or is that false?
That sliced harvest Crescent
rising erubescent ,
weaned from previous Orb shining,
looked down on lovers pining,
separated by distance
at tragedy’s insistence.
As it slid across the sky,
the lovers asked it "why?",
But nought was said by that celestial Slice;
they both knew ..
they were paying the price.
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