“stitches”

Miles seem like universes apart
No longer a skip and a hop from my heart
Riding around site seeing or finding food
Giving in to temptation, just like the dude
Energy of your presence, I will surely miss
Giggling laughter, big smiles, and lips I desired to kiss
All that time, I waited, and waited far too long

Getting passed up, for another person’s forever song
Time is now behind me, and the days grow short
Love is no longer a driving force; that mission, I abort
Favoring the hunt for a few more smiles, moments, and dreams
Before this stitched bear, bursts at the seams

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“The Tale (part 2)

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“The Tale (part 2)”

Etched on the bark, a memory left behind to be the sign for the future prospects of love

Mind absent, under the shade of a tree, a poet sits and writes from the heart, so it be

“I, for thee, will do anything, should it make you happy.”

Love or lust, a trust that that evil hasn’t gotten the best of us

Yearning, when the feeling of ignited passion is deserted

Jilted, leaving future prospects with a poet languid of their time

Ubiquea memory or moment flashes behind my eyes

Reminisce, simple bliss that I miss; one amongst many on the list

Adhering to the practical, a place of comfort; so desolate from the world
Chasing hopes and wishes, a dreamer by design, with a fragile state of mind

Karma’s beautiful balance, carving a future forged from his feeling and past

Obscurity, dwelling plains for the tale of a poet; his heart longs

“The Tale” (part 1)

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S’was a beacon of felicity

A gaze of alluring mystery

Tickling the molecules of thy being

Releasing endorphins; freeing

A delight, weather light or night

Tantalizing in voice and sight

Catching breath – exhale, inhale

Thy poet’s heart, a bleeding tale

“To be kind”

 

Kind, it’s how I am in nature, to the fellow man, to my colleagues and peers,

Smiling, humble, not better, not worse, just kind enough to give input from the heart,

Helpful, lending a hand where needed if can, standing alongside when the rough times come,

Sharing an ear for the weary, the uncertain, the needing, and the ones I call my friends,

I have bent backwards, dirtied my hands, and stained my name to help,

Patience has grown thin, the sun light fainting dim, and I’m going on a whim,

This therapist, this ear of all hearing, this shoulder of tears, this heart that holds secrets,

Has it not been there repeatedly without fail? Has it not been the crutch? Yet it never seems to be enough…

How would the world I know react, if I quit being so kind?

If I said to go talk to someone else, or to forget about me when you have a problem and need to speak,

How would it feel to be left on the cliff waiting, no ride, no destination, nobody around to keep your sanity? 

In the end, it doesn’t even matter; ashes to ashes, dust to dust; the truth…

 

To be kind… nevermore.

 

“Sunday”

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Taste the bitter sweet; it rolls off the taste buds like the lemon it was squeezed from

Tequila, sun rise, salt splash and that pucker face, gulp – six down, that’s the sum

Feather like, morning muscles tight, retina red with a sunken look of sleep impaired

Docile, enduring the slump of a hangover, consequences of whiskey and tequila paired

Dry mouth, chapped lips, stomach growls, and its feeding time for the beast inside

Bare box of a fridge, storing condiment packets; time to hit the road for a ride

 

Dim lit small town diner, bacon grease and sausage inhale, nostril-gasm, mhmm coffee

Menu, “No I’ll take the usual” while browsing the fresh baked pies; look, free toffee

Cream colored, bean roasted, white like the foggy mist lingering in the valley

One, two, three stacks of jacks, maple liquid rush, a side of bacon to tally

Sun dazed through unwashed glass, a yawn, and I’m ready to pass

Out of sight, mind, too kind – cash out, tip, a final sip before mass

 

Church bells ringing, singing, perfume lingering outside the open oak doors

Men dazed with their wives, sitting still, updates whisper of the scores

Gathering of the eldest and the youngest, the sinners and the saints

A miracle, it’d be just what the doctor ordered, and the fat lady would faint

Herding the doors as the pasture lets out, the choir sings one last song

The gospel, biblical, don’t ridicule; there is only forgiveness, no right or wrong

 

 

 

 

 

Quote of the Day

“My soul is alight with your infinitude of stars. Your world has broken upon me like a flood. The flowers of your garden blossom in my body. The joy of life that is everywhere burns like an incense in my heart. And the breath of all things plays on my life as on a pipe of reeds.”

Quote brought to you courteous of Rabindranath Tagore