24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Growing old with me Is my little dachshund She is 17 years old Four decades older me than The hair on my head is silver Her muzzle has lost its mahogany And we both have more girth Than we should carry She still has a spring in her step Curiosity in her eye There's nothing wrong with her Sense of smell or appetite I no longer run and jump Walking is more my style But now I take my time to Smell the roses, appreciate our life
Every night I’m being seduced away by your smooth beautiful face ,
and caressing it in my hands is my only heart desire.
Holding you when everywhere is silent I always crave for,
for touching you gives me utmost joy.
I’ve tried holding something else nothing can replace you
for only you give me best feeling of companion without complain every night.
life does not owe you anything, even if you think so,
love does not owe you anything, even if someone loves you too,
happiness is not necessary, neither is sadness,
the way you live is dependent on none but you,
if you get luck and find life or love, celebrate; move, and do,
there is no assurance, or guarantee, that the next track is for you,
moving quickly as a deer does not make you succeed too
it is in the doing that you learn most, not in the schooling,
snoring under the stream will not make you a fish,
neither will wearing a cassock make you a priest,
life does not owe you anything, even if you think so,
there is no assurance, or guarantee, that the next track is for you,
if you listen well you might catch a fly with chopsticks,
or the fly will blur your vision and complicate your mission,
life will come to you if you can wait and not fly off the handle,
this is when life pays what it owes for your patience.
I’ve grown numb to beauty
preaching it’s worth from the shallows.
Making a neat fist I shatter
my vanity mirror, watching
the shards fall into non-existence.
Perhaps I’ll start a revolt against
all the mirrors so eager
to define our worth from
one puny reflection given.
Society’s afraid of me telling girls that
I’ve grown numb to beauty.
Perhaps I’ll start a revolt against
my alter ego. Will happily lock
the box myself as I
rise to the sun where I belong,
beautiful in my imperfect skin.
Silver speed in this bottle of unrest
Sweet deceit in sensuous bare skin
Falling for this wild thing brings wicked ease
Solemn confusion
Veiled bliss, enchanting power in secret places
My senses linger long
Desire awakens strong
And we’re birthing escape bruises before they mark our hearts
Birthing lust under this liquid scarlet glow
No exit; only blinding ecstacy
Silver speed in this bottle of unrest
My senses linger long
taking in shape, scent and pull of this bottle
the sin of its instigating poise
Now kill my innocence
show me all the stars.
I have raised far more than razed, the dead
At night they call and I must heed, the deep
Necromantic dread. For none who lived and
Recall the life which brought them sorrow
Are content with ash and soil, threatened
By the afterlife’s turmoil. And so they come
In heaves and droves, to the necromancer
My name unshared, their prayers unanswered
I did not ask to be their hope, salvation under
Duress. I’m still unskilled yet hopeful for
I have raised far more than razed the dead
By the afterlife’s turmoil, and so they come
Undaunted, the deep the dark the dead they
Rise like forgotten wounds, scars afraid of
Nothing, yet everything, new recruits to the
Skeleton War, deserting their posts for mine.
I’ll love you
until all color
fades from our pictures.
Until this bench
rots from beneath us.
Until the earth and sky
have no meaning.
I’ll love you
until the end
of our memories
and beyond.
The song rings out, a sweet melody of violence laced with the unforgiving butchery.
Steel whistling throughout out the rank ally way air, shots matching the butchery.
Her strike pure, my sight obscured, as crimson smog clouds the atmosphere.
For I, the audience of one, applaud the spectacle macabre, revelling in butchery.
As scene and curtain fall, my mind grows complacent at episodic monotony.
I desire a new journey, a fresh course, avant-garde introducing butchery.
Remembrance of days past, seared ever in minds eye, as branded upon living skin.
Of a frenzied scream, her demented laugh, lost limbs, once welcoming my butchery.
Time is fleeting as reality rebounds; some have escaped the purposeful culling.
With claw of hand and tearing human dentition, I complete the marauding butchery.
It was a song; I sung when I was growing up.
“Games people play right wrong, they just…keep you feeling blue.”
Little did I know life for me would be like a game of chess.
I started out as a pond with some power.
It was tricky though because my moves were limited.
“People make the world go ’round” with the games they play.”
Life is like a game for me, it’ about me winning.
There are plenty of metaphors in the lyrics we chose;
lyrics are like directions in a recipe for a cake.
The game is not to become unglued by being halved baked.
It was a song; I sung when I was growing up.
“People make the world go ’round” with the games that they play.
I rose to a position like the bishop on the chess board.
I had more maneuvering power to capture my enemies’ devices.
I learned my worth-play to keep-play to win.
I move like a queen overpowering obstacle is part of the perks.
Blurred from drink
Blurred from low light
It was not a birthday then
but it had been
Dark
Neon
New friends
Oldest friends
Stealing happiness from tomorrow
But tonight there is enough to go around