Pray send a tale
Befitting the enactment
Of the exchange
Between Sinner and flame
Do we do what we do
In reverence or fear
Portraying a stage
Or as per cogs inside a machine
We interchange motion
Without emotion
What was lost in this interaction
Frequent alleyways blindly
Unaware what follows beneath,
Senseless castration of character
To choke in regret is
To let go
To abdicate of the indigenous right
That ought to mean something as
Life exits your Vessel
Whose name so longed for dearly
Spilling like Wine over the weary traveller
Anguish and torment, nostalgia and tangent memory
Knee deep, unknown and transparent in hindsight
For those outside the verge of jumping in
Recklessly like a carol travels bard by tongue towards the dearest
Season, every welcoming year
God knows the knock comes along
Regardless of invitation, of that
The tack and tac off no consequence
(Weather) Resistance {FUTILE}
Guilt absorbs neither the weak
Or the dead regardless of the time
Of the year (or how tall the tale drags)
Enter
Suspend
A while
Rest your dry lips in
A bluer portrait still
Do stand still.
______________________________________
Love is not (only) appreciation
Had told her (I) adored franticly
All at once (like) an avalanche, a tidal wave
(What) a catastrophe to lament if, but, nay
To a bitter end, twisting at both ends about spilled wine
I (never) brought, gave it up
I (was) cherish the company, not the drink
We (meant), well... a state and device to garnish the answer
Tribulations (to), sensations, experiences
Hand on pulse (be) come as confirmation, not salvation
Conversations overboard, fragmented/twisted
______________________________________________
If; Lost, at sea
I don’t speak Found, drowned
Do! I exist? Twins, departed
How much worth? Grief, anchors
Stock measured in gold! Did all, they could
Does it really matter.... Did their best, they did
Mayweather fairytale I believe them, I just don’t care
A seasonal dread set to rest The wheels may well turn, annually
One more oh, no-oh-no On, repeat
My better half was, swallowed whole
By destiny, what a life
Why should they, in turn, part for me
a siren turns a petal into liquor,
hard to swallow, making your insides jelly hollow
this fire does little to medicate my brain and numb the pain
I hate all mannerism and expressions of celebration.
