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Constance Human Poem
My Psychedelic Warrior?
What has become of you?
Where have you gone?
I see you yet you cannot be seen...
You seem aware,
Yet is unaware
In the saddest and most heart-breaking of ways...
How do I know this?
I am one of the nameless, faceless Few you so carelessly play to.
I am one of the nameless, faceless Few you so carelessly disregard.
I am one of the nameless, faceless Few whom you take from.
I am one of the nameless, faceless Few whom you disrespect by insulting my intelligence.
I am one of the nameless, faceless Few that reflects the raw soul you project.
I am one of the nameless, faceless Few with total trust placed in you as
The Artist, Performer, Guardian
To my Psychedelic Journey.
I am one of the nameless, faceless Few
Dependant on you and only you
for the Poingaintly Craved Release.
I am one of the nameless, faceless Few
whom needs you to know my needs
before even I.
I am one of the nameless, faceless Few
whom you set about on a journey
of YOUR choosing.
I am one of the nameless, faceless Few
whom you wound
as you tear my Beloved Psychedelic Experience apart – beat by painful beat.
I am one of the nameless, faceless Few
whom you’ve committed your being to.
I am one of the nameless, faceless Few
whom demands your undivided attention.
I am one of the nameless, faceless Few
who wants nothing but your best.
Nothing but You...
Yet,
I am one of the nameless, faceless Few
whom loves and adores you
without fail when you play for ME.
Love Me,
The Nameless, Faceless Countless
whom will follow you without question
without fail.
Where,
Have you gone,
My Psychedelic Warrior?
Copyright © Constance Human | Year Posted 2017
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Details |
Constance Human Poem
How oft must the Seemingly Blind witness the act of Pathetically Hidden Fascinations,
Seemingly Stolen Stares and, lest not forget,
the Ever-Quick Dismissals of Spilt Emotions with the onset of Guilt.
Surely the Blind would Blush for the facade leaves much to be...
No! Of course there is no room for Desire here! It is currently pursuing its own Lust.
The Seemingly-Blind left with the Gift of Front-Row-Seating.
Tiresome it is...
So very weary the Seemingly Blind Soul,
the Unpleasantness of Human-Nature thrust upon it…
so Heavy to bear.
How Bitter the taste of your Sweetly-Stained-Cruelty.
How Grief-Stricken the Silenced-Cries of Seemingly-Blind-Souls echo through your Cold, Dismissive and Annoyed… “love”...?
Self-Denial might be rife within you, but know this:
My Love Languishes within this Dismissive, Reward-Based love…
Your Passively Silent Torture…
Your… “love”…?
Copyright © Constance Human | Year Posted 2017
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Details |
Constance Human Poem
Mmmmmm...
Where are you to be found?
for my lust beckons
and my Hunger without End...
Hear my Call most Urgent
beckoning desperately
in the softest of whispers.
For truth be told
as you hear no sound
strummed from the ordinary
vocal cord.
It is choir of heart and soul
that stirs you,
that wakes you from slumber
Tempting you to warm embrace.
An embrace hollow and cold...
Hollow and Cold...
Waiting for You...
Only You...
Forever Only You.
Primal the Perfection
in its Intelligence.
A Beauty...
A Most Innocent Presence.
My Tempered Guard...
Your Silently Weeping Muse...
Copyright © Constance Human | Year Posted 2017
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