PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Mouth like a fist.

Two bubles above the chin

Just below the mouth.

Long hair, darker than blonde.

Straight, like its simple, life.

Smart, as they say, face and eyes.

Giant mushroom hat loose as the blouse.

Sandals from the beach.

Out of reach

But name a work that isn't?

Hush, desperate children,

It's just a poem,

Though I guess we call these songs.

It's as though you dream on lazy afternoons

Of saying, Hello, I love you to someone.

Blame it on your youth

For you to fall in love

With anything short of Di Vinci's,

The Sistine, or meaning.

Who here's on empty?

Who here tires of trite?

Who here's trying to comprehend loss

Without the advantage of villains, a vampire's bite?

Who here still reaches out from moments

They're now ashamed to compare to hell?

In music, literature, or cinema?

How about drugs, romance, now church?

All these stages of life come back at us

Sometimes when we hurt.

Mona Lisa's been cut a little on either side

But watch our movements rise and fall,

Do battle with one another and go.

What do you think?

Do you think maybe she knows?

Paint her again, you whisper.

You need a center.

At ten we were animals and acted accordingly.

I'd give you everything I've found so far

But I'm trying to concentrate.

But okay...Mouth like a fist.

Two bubbles above the chin

Just below the mouth.

Perhaps the nose is a little fat...

For some reason it's like they hurt us

We hated frauds so much,

And woman was always an idol

But I guess we'll still call her God,

The Virgin Mary, paradise.

Forever, child, as in heaven.

And now we're back on earth.

And now I battle that for freedom

Come what may, what have you,

What's still to come.

Develish, yes, bu life and I go on.

Sunday says it's what He wants

But Monday's trading can get tangled,

Mangled, broken like a group of boys

Too grown to groan over loss.

Then I wake and realize that I, too, am reaching out.

That once again I'm crying and looking up.

Then there's conflict where once there was home.
So hello, please take me back to that place

Whether your name is war, religion, sex, or love.

I prefer your country, Ellis Island,
All of the above,
And a common silence found in moments like accidental vapors.
They're authentic, even when they're gone,

And more or less like us.