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Danielle Booker Poem
How can I concede on the eve of pain?
When I never saw it coming
And I never felt the rain
Drops my heart beat stops
Down to the soles of my feet
I cannot breathe
And I cannot speak
Trying to find my way
But the dawning of a new pain creeps
They called me “The Wanderer”
So far off the side of love’s hill
That I’d squander even a Hershey’s Kiss
If amidst I could feel…
Numb foot steps to the left…
…I mean …
…on the wrong direction
Stealing an inch closer
and closer to its inception
The perception that I allowed
You to penetrate my heart
Without contraception
Its concepts shunned
To give birth to Heartache
and Heartbreak…
...The twin of my souls, my life long
My heart song…
“Slipping into Darkness”
Am…
I…
The Wanderer?
I can’t face this musical number
Of my tears showering and thunder
Clashes and slashes from the harsh words
That passes your lips…
Those same lips to which I’d submit
To the dance with the woman between my hips
…and thighs
I… am The Wanderer…
Wondering why there are so many people here
With no cause and no desire
No flames but wildfires blazed
Rejection, infection, bleeding to near death seeking resurrection
Cuz my heart’s been removed by C-Section
From the womb, my helpless twins without direction
They ask:
“Who lives at the intersection of Disconnection Lane
And this street called Imperfection?”
I’m guessin my wandering feet have exhausted every transgression
…And possibility
You… called me The Wanderer
I just can’t fathom my loaned existence
While Passion’s grown resistant over yonder
The distance to the South Southwest
This quest to repossess my feminine finesse
Obsessed with purity of hope’s chest
Attest to custody
Of my dear sweet departed
Or just…
…To not be broken hearted.
I digressed…
Uncharted my course
To die within remorse…
I looked, and beheld a pale horse
Divorced my heart
Beat
Stopped
Down to the soles of my feet
I cannot breathe
And I cannot speak
Trying to find my way
But the dawning of a new pain creeps
Thru a drifter torn asunder…
Bereaved be The Wanderer
Copyright © Danielle Booker | Year Posted 2009
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Details |
Danielle Booker Poem
It is perfectly preposterous not
To fall in love with poetry.
For the poet creates the air…
…And the heavens
Sweet verses we breathe.
The first time he made love to me
We danced.
He led me one word unto another
Leaving me entranced
In his stanza.
He chanced a pen stroke
Then spoke his flow
Slow, deep inside of me.
It mystified me…
Kinetic heat, in theory,
Lyrically emulsified beats…
…And liquefied my sheets,
Literally!
Over again
He cried his piece
Rekindling my misery.
The memories from his words
Stirred my emotions unheard
Upon deaf ears
He referred it to:
Open-My-Heart Surgery -
Poetically taking me apart while
Piecing me together phonetically…
…He controlled me.
I’s his faithful servant
To which I followed him fervently
Deserving his expressions commends
I married them
Condemned
To no end…
That night I became
MissApprehend:
“The Lover of Hymn”
Yet all over him
I misunderstand his rhythm.
Vague traces of symbolism
Plagued the pages like
Some “Bubonic” Organism
In spite of skepticism…
He vaccinated all criticism!
With that
Blasé Blah mannerism
Nonetheless,
I loved him thru the prism
Of unspoken words
It never occurred to me
That Karma’s relevance
Was written in silence
Benevolence was the medium
He needed me
And I needed him
We are the “HE” and the “POET”
Though it stand to be no other
Voice of My Poetic Lover.
Copyright © Danielle Booker | Year Posted 2009
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