Some new work sorry cats, I been working a waiting job now and writing flash fiction, well this was written after...oh well you tell me what u think it means. Enjoy
To make one's eyes grow weary
My heart weak and my feet burdened is to regard the idea of you and another,
Dancing to the beat of our former song decayed,
Smile,
Smile as vast as you can,
For if you left my realm,
Flew two-thousand miles outside my already awkward grasp into nullity,
the dagger at my throat
is not so salient,
My pores bled with envy
For the idea of your beauty wavering in soft zephyrs,
outside the soft serenade of one's willows whispers,
Over the shoddy palisades
into plain view of another's hubristic clench,
A gardener within a rose field that I once attended,
would be the decisive slap to the face,
conformation of my malcontent,
A shattered window in my house of once prude intuition.
Should one's blood boil broth within a cast iron pot?
Should one be trifled with resentment to stew within that pot and name it non existence?
To label me a consort today would be a travesty,
Me not to love you enough as my wife, than your portrayal of camaraderie,
I rather be without friend,
For you to covet as siblings,
I rather be without brethren and childless,
For when I found and lost Vatican with an egocentric endeavor,
For you were as common as my burdens,
Mine, and mine alone to keep.
Standing in a single soup line with hordes of desirous men,
to be at the end of said line makes one ponder:
Do I stay?
Do I go?
Do I stay in the shade of a fool beneath a precarious bridge,
Or shall I venture out and scrutinize the possibilities in the eye of a storm?
I shall be my friend in this end,
For I know whom to blame when I'm let me down
I naught more than a spectator in a abject sideshow
taunting is not my destination,
nor hatred in all facets credited,
a mirrored past to where you want to be,
and whose bed you make now,
and now,
for better or worst, you lie down in your bed,
and dream O' peaceful slumber
for today is now tomorrow,
and tomorrow is gone before we can see the early morning fog rise on the water.
Poetry by wolfthepoet
Read 824 times
Written on 2006-08-10 at 10:01
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Smile Like you Mean It (Working Title)
To destroy the heart would be the simplest task,To make one's eyes grow weary
My heart weak and my feet burdened is to regard the idea of you and another,
Dancing to the beat of our former song decayed,
Smile,
Smile as vast as you can,
For if you left my realm,
Flew two-thousand miles outside my already awkward grasp into nullity,
the dagger at my throat
is not so salient,
My pores bled with envy
For the idea of your beauty wavering in soft zephyrs,
outside the soft serenade of one's willows whispers,
Over the shoddy palisades
into plain view of another's hubristic clench,
A gardener within a rose field that I once attended,
would be the decisive slap to the face,
conformation of my malcontent,
A shattered window in my house of once prude intuition.
Should one's blood boil broth within a cast iron pot?
Should one be trifled with resentment to stew within that pot and name it non existence?
To label me a consort today would be a travesty,
Me not to love you enough as my wife, than your portrayal of camaraderie,
I rather be without friend,
For you to covet as siblings,
I rather be without brethren and childless,
For when I found and lost Vatican with an egocentric endeavor,
For you were as common as my burdens,
Mine, and mine alone to keep.
Standing in a single soup line with hordes of desirous men,
to be at the end of said line makes one ponder:
Do I stay?
Do I go?
Do I stay in the shade of a fool beneath a precarious bridge,
Or shall I venture out and scrutinize the possibilities in the eye of a storm?
I shall be my friend in this end,
For I know whom to blame when I'm let me down
I naught more than a spectator in a abject sideshow
taunting is not my destination,
nor hatred in all facets credited,
a mirrored past to where you want to be,
and whose bed you make now,
and now,
for better or worst, you lie down in your bed,
and dream O' peaceful slumber
for today is now tomorrow,
and tomorrow is gone before we can see the early morning fog rise on the water.
Poetry by wolfthepoet
Read 824 times
Written on 2006-08-10 at 10:01
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text|
Amanda K |
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