PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

paper cut~





the  weight of my words,  ruled by such convictions,

cluttered in a sentence, reverance, paid in full

with change leftover, enough to compensate

whatever i lose, through default collections-            

in script like thunder, i dance in a puddle,

beneath the clouds in space-

whichever direction I take, the road that's less traveled,

beside the trail more beaten, either section

of these paths, is sure to get me where i'm going-

...and i always have my reasons,

to reaffirm in me, the need to breathe your air-

i fidget nervously, an awakening takes place but rarely,

all signals guide me to exceed, no defense, no retreat

i am what i think, and somewhere out there

reflecting solely on the mirror of the things i speak,

my fate  and destiny, the rest of everything necessary to complete, me-

a soulful luster, the master of such beauty

eye's can't capture, the meaning of it all

there's more to this, than what you see,

words fill in like gestures,  the moons incandescent structure, hang's lonely in the sky

i've finally reached my peak-

self made, interpreted, misundertood,

through so much time spent getting it wrong, who knew, getting it right, would happen so naturally?

no, this fire burns beyond me, i am a scorched phoenix

in ashes of rebirth, smoldering in the heat of passion

rising to meet the challenge of new levels of earth

the day seems so short,  with my mind that runs away

imagination has a tendency,

to navigate in a circumlocutive way-

emblazoning you, imbued upon my works within,

the heart of a matter,  inspires disaster,

i remedy this quickly-  and then,

keeping right along,

my mind functioning with that mile a minute ability

revealing secret unsaid things, borderline confessions

these are my most honest innovations,

the moments that i live for,

moments, that i want to last forever-

fall is to autumn, as spring is to love,

unveiled, unescorted, like a snow white dove, descending from

it's perch, free and soaring, there above-

Is this what it feels like in all of it's perspective,

to look down upon the world with one's back to the sun?-

the observation blooms with detail,

my world unfolds and someone says

in longing preservation,  that they love me,

my head spins-

and i commit, to suffice the likeness of darkness

for a brightly lit bliss.

your soul is prevalent,  i'm into your midst,

the hours unwind themselves from the clock on my wrist, officially, i'm yours, despite how unconventional

this might be- prospects and elements,

internally digesting the process of chapters

written in our story,  

the book of such is not for the lighthearted to read-

i suppose the ending will be happy,  

so long as the truth is conceived.  



...and ever, me~