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Christopher Masters Poem
Memories are just that.
O how I wish Grandmama were making her fruitcake.
Standing alongside the entire time
With the understanding the mixing bowl was mine for the taking.
All year she would save all her dimes.
So many she could buy Christmas she could buy presents for everyone.
Waiting for Granddaddy to get home
So we could head out to the old shed to retrieve the oddly tangled lights.
He always wondered how they had gotten that way.
Granddaddy was a great man.
Uncle Grover would guarantee something wild at the table.
Uncle was the outdoor hunter fisher type.
It was always a toss up between our house or his
I always liked going to his house.
The old saying goes “The only thing in life that is certain is death and taxes”.
Family was a most satisfying ritual for us.
When people say home that is what I think of.
It's well worth your time to remember these times.
(RICCO)
Copyright © Christopher Masters | Year Posted 2020
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Christopher Masters Poem
Arrested Development
Well i reckon I’ll just leave,
I can’t tell you the last time we have seen each other.
Seems like we are growing apart with each passing day,
I know the way home but i keep getting lost on the way,
I find myself in darkness due to my compromised agenda.
Inevitably confused by the warm thrill of the proclivity.
RICO
Copyright © Christopher Masters | Year Posted 2021
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Christopher Masters Poem
Paralyzed
This room is not the same after the steel is taken away.
Steel that pierces like a dull ice pick.
When the lights are off elusive shadows haunt
So elusive they cant be seen.
Why must the torcher continue.?
That's a question that has an answer that yet eludes.
Defining insanity is without a doubt my profession.
The potion introduced has a strong grip.
Scraping tiny specks of dust hoping it will be enough.
It never is. Still trying to catch a glimpse of the elusive.
Shouting at them only intensifies the antagonizing.
I do this to myself. Every time it's the same .
Bargaining is the next approach but still no reply.
I must find the intruder. The next round I’ll surely win.
“Ricco”
Copyright © Christopher Masters | Year Posted 2020
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Details |
Christopher Masters Poem
Parylized
This room is not the same after the steel is taken away.
Steel that pierces like a dull ice pick.
When the lights are off elusive shadows haunt
So elusive they cant be seen.
Why must the torcher continue.?
That's a question that has an answer that yet eludes.
Defining insanity is without a doubt my profession.
The potion introduced has a strong grip.
Scraping tiny specks of dust hoping it will be enough.
It never is. Still trying to catch a glimpse of the elusive.
Shouting at them only intensifies the antagonizing.
I do this to myself. Every time it's the same .
Bargaining is the next approach but still no reply.
I must find the intruder. The next round I’ll surely win.
“Ricco”
Copyright © Christopher Masters | Year Posted 2020
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