PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

flow,  

out, from my innward,  

the mask that i hold

for days when i unravel

in shifting, fifty two pick up

my deck of cards, this face

twisted metal

turns like a machine

at times when i unravel,  

much like these,

that lead me up

to the day of  my coming,

this ever aching, ever lonely

constant lacking,  need to be.

all the depressed are living on wasted energy,

but what of a freedoom none can see?

who cares.

the empty and disfigured

suffer void and deformity

as much as me

distorted hang-ups rooted deep underneath

so much it's impossible to see,

from where these crooked flowers are stemming

in the closet where i grew up, the severed garden, hung.

sleeping all year,  

to surprise me here, always

my past that haunts me, consumed, disregarded,

hollow yesterdays, remind me of my shell

the mirror, stories tell, these scriptures, preach like hell

my love, can you see now? how,

introducing me to something new, might help

change my attitude about it all,

[  and so ]

because of you

do i find some hope, despite my doubts

you are my light at the end of the tunnel

and the beginning of something wonderful

for which there are no limits of fullfilment.

my love, you are not, for granted.

i love you.