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Cole Pew Poem
If I had the girl
we would sleep days.
Put dimes in the jukebox by night,
listening as darkness plays.
But her haunting green eyes,
yet do remain.
lost among twisted highways,
searching left me insane.
If I had the girl,
I might get out of this rut.
Loneliness seems my only companion,
realization lays fierce in my gut.
I know very well,
The feeling of absent hope.
The hurt and pain you expel,
with no way to cope.
Scared of remaining alone,
another long day.
Wanting the end to save me,
to carry me far away.
Coming to terms I'm blue.
Voicing my lonesome plea.
I know now certain things to be true,
If only true to me.
If I had the girl,
who saw things the same.
Saw how a pine tree smells cold.
How being sad,
seems better when it rains.
The girl that knows the little things.
Like how a closet door is never fully shut.
She knows the comfort the cold side of a pillow brings,
and thinks pure bred no better than mutt.
Yet I only know sadness so heavy,
it's hard to breath.
Insupportable loneliness so steady,
I yearn for it to leave.
The solution must not involve,
the business end of a gun.
Cannot hang from the end of a rope.
Nor be found at the bottom of bottles,
Emptied their whiskey and rum.
Feels so old,
being blue.
getting up tomorrow,
missing today.
There is no more me,
left to look for you.
So my eyes meet the stars,
my mind slips away.
Copyright © Cole Pew | Year Posted 2014
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Cole Pew Poem
Are you afraid of the dark?
Ever see yourself thinking from across the room?
And make yourself nervous you’re looking at you?
Being lonely is hard to handle, harder in dark and gloom.
So much time amongst nothing, you have nothing left of your own.
Are you really alone in the dark?
Just because you can't see it, is it not there?
When the moon doesn't shine, is it gone or just timid?
Countless things can inhabit the dark simultaneously.
But in the dark you’re undoubtedly alone.
Are you afraid of the dark?
Are you afraid of being alone?
Copyright © Cole Pew | Year Posted 2014
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Cole Pew Poem
There it was, a stranger of sorts.
I say "It" in place of "man" as my memory supports.
A beguiling arrangement of coffee mugs,
porcelain creamer boats,
filled with lumps of matured cream.
Sour and old as would be an elder, celibate parishioner.
There where books on cosmology,
showing me the endless closets of the universe.
Chip crumbs, and dead writing, my nights operations.
With a ball point pen preforming haplessly to deliver a life,
always ends in the same habitual flat lines.
And my torn piece of paper, with words as wounds, doesn't pull through.
"Call it time of death 3:38 am"
Fifth one tonight.
For tonight this shall cease.
The stranger it seems has his own words for me.
In the shadows he speaks so gentle but abrasive.
in perfect harmony, each his voices.
"No more pity for the odd one now."
"No love less given to the average mans brow."
It chuckled and turned and hummed as it took leave.
I wrote better that day.
A poem about a man who leaves his home in Oklahoma, and travels all the way to the city of angels.
He starts selling fruit on the highway,
in hopes it will bring him interesting stories.
He meets people and attends parties.
Eventually writes a best seller about an Irish couple in The I.R.A.,
who commit treason in the name of their undying love for each other.
And the heartbreak, action, the romance, and the comedy blew the world away. I won an award for that work and prestigious publications where pestering me.
I often think of how I got here.
Then I notice a strangeness it seems.
Always watching lurking in my days and dreams.
It's stranger and friend with eyes that gleam.
A stranger who is stranger than the strangeness it brings.
Copyright © Cole Pew | Year Posted 2015
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Cole Pew Poem
If I died right now who would know
Lingering slowly
Slowly I would fade
Blackness consumes my conscious
Sad everyday
Lonely feels cold
Unreasonably cold and dark
To feel another breath would create a story
If you could be mine
I would build a sandcastle with you
And live forever in it
Copyright © Cole Pew | Year Posted 2014
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Cole Pew Poem
There is a Skelton which resides under my flesh.
As does one in every person, they just lack realizing this.
Frightening to think that maybe one day, it could jump out.
Tear itself from its prison of sinew, blood, and skin.
No doubt it would devour me so that my outsides were then in.
At night it's terrifying as I think of the nightmare contained inside.
In there plotting to emerge, leaving no place to hide.
So in the dark I'm weary, wrapped in blankets tight.
Hoping I can hold it in without much of a fight.
Maybe it seems irrational, even quite insane.
Possibly it may terrify you, the thought scratching at your brain.
So remember as you walk the streets lackadaisical and unaware.
That even after we're long gone, our skeletons are still there.
Copyright © Cole Pew | Year Posted 2014
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Cole Pew Poem
Come walk with me now
through the autumn trees
Hold my hand or not
Hear my voice if you please
Through fallen leafs in the mud
Painted beautifully red and orange
Fall is the season
That sparks thoughts of love
Air smells urgent
Stings our delicate skin
Come share this with me my dear
To you my heart I give
Stray not from my side
However long we live
If we so chose
We'll build a house
High atop the trees
Make this forest our home
sharing our lives and souls
I will hunt for food
You can tend our garden
Societies machine
no longer a present threat
At times we may hunger for our past
life’s we used to own Left far behind
Never shall we be alone
Or want for anything more
Come walk with me my love
to places far away
come stroll along the path I've made
for only you and I
Come be with me my darling
under the autumn sky
Copyright © Cole Pew | Year Posted 2014
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Cole Pew Poem
Down to the bottom again
I just don’t think that’s right
The only train departed
Half an hour now gone by
Nothing I can do
It will never come round again
Unless I construct my own station
A little further up the line
Built under star heavy skies
Built with no other purpose
Than a single night ride
There must be a platform for the conductor
To usher me inside
As well as a bench to wait
Carved entirely of pine
There must be a little white ticket booth
With little ticket booth sign
Now once this is completed
Calloused hands can rest
I will purchase a ticket at fair cost
Take a seat on the bench
Where I’ll pass my time
Waiting for my train to come
And take me another few paces up the line
Copyright © Cole Pew | Year Posted 2014
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