Murdered young
Brain-merged tongue
Jealous reprobate
Would we f k if I skate
Muddle, muddle
Unclear like a puddle,
Softly, quietly,
Like a whisper
Bubbling, corroding, invading,
Lonely bed with no agenda
A quiet unavailability
Called desperately
You were never there
Written for Ink Empress' 'Unwritten Absence' Poetry Contest.
C(ulpa)ble
Your unwritten absence unravelled much
Disrobing piteously your impure intent
Starkly exposing a ravaged soul as such
Cocooned in dark yarns of deceit, I lay spent
In golden gilded cage tarnishing from neglect
Plated with cosmetic veneer for society's consent
Yet, you were oblivious to the storm brewing, most perfect
Bidding the right time to sound its thunderous dissent
NEGLECT, tacitly accepted afore, HENCEFORTH NEVER GOES UNCHECKED!
ABSENCE
Pay attention to the unavailability,
the unavailability is the most missing inconvenience of all.
Does the unavailability make you shiver?
does it?
A presence, however hard it tries,
Will always be availability.
Does the presence make you shiver?
does it?
When I think of the inability, I see a lack of mental ability.
Incompetence, incompetence, incompetence.
Just like a want, is the paucity.
Dearth. dearth, dearth.
I saw the the emptiness need of my generation destroyed,
How I mourned the deficiency.
Does the deficiency make you shiver?
does it?
Pen Name- @Phoenixxx_Diaryyy
'Incapability,
has often been termed to as
probability;
irresponsibility,
is responsible for
the unavailability
of the knowledge
of invisibility,
Adaptability,
has its benefits,
but in this world
of artists,
a capable human
is one,
who want to become
the favorite son,
get all things done,
with a feeling of
love, affection
& compassion,
keeping his eyes wide open,
while realizing the fact that,
he's neither a ruler or a king
in this creation, which continuously
sings the songs of glory
& supremacy
of the Almighty,
working to make work,
all the lives,
theories
& stories.'
I carry my mother
like a rock in my pocket
that I just can’t seem to throw away
It serves me
no purpose,
it just weighs me down
~~~
When I first found it,
when I first picked it up
and started carrying it with me,
I thought it so beautiful –
I could look at it for hours
But, like my mother,
it never looked back at me,
never grew warm under my loving gaze
For the longest, I was blind to that,
Blind to anything but the beauty,
blind to the cold, hard,
beyond-remote nature of the rock,
of my mother,
my stone
~~~
I carry my mother,
a thought without weight
And she’s heavier
and she’s colder
than all the stones
there are
~~~
By the time I recognized her
immutable, emotional unavailability,
I had run out of joy,
felt depleted of hope –
But I could not,
for the life of me,
stop seeking a beauty, a warmth,
inside her heart
Could not stop
wishing
that one day this stone,
my mother,
deep inside my pocket,
Might just become
its own opposite –
Change from hard to fluid,
from cold to warm
But my rock, my hard burden,
will only turn to water
When my mother
stops being
a stone
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