PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I hear words, sounds, suggestions.
They are not my words,
not my sounds,
not my suggestions.

Still they fly about like rambling pieces of paper
waiting for pens to touch them.

Waiting for sentences to be composed
which will flow like candy apples
melting in the embracing sun.

I merge my heart with traces of yellowed fingers
created from smoking too many regrets.

Incline my ears to hear the invitations that
will be muttered like chanting monks
lost in trances in a dusty temple.

I hear words, sounds, suggestions.
They are your words.
Your sounds.
Your suggestions.

Cruel barbs of malice thrust like tumbling
dice in a board game.

Arrows flung like careless wind,
stretching, stretching the fabric
of resistance.

Crumbling, I stumble at the
weight of your resentment.

I hear words, sounds, suggestions.

Dropping like lava streaming from
a rumbling volcanoe.

Once upon a time, a long time ago,
the words, and sounds and suggestions
were like growing hearts in
a vase of perfumed water.

Those were the magic times.
The beginning of a promising future.
The beginning of a promising unity.

I hear words, sounds, suggestions.
They are not like a long time ago.
They are like blazing bits of coal
in a firepit.

I am shattered.
Tattered beyond my understanding.

I pray to understand.
I pray to be released.

Still the grasping breath escapes
from soul compressed with anger.

Your words, sounds and suggestions
are clear. They are concise and
to the point.

Should I fall dead at your feet,
you would celebrate the moment
with a fresh batch of vowels
dedicated to my demise.

I hear words, sounds, suggestions.

Shut down my mind.
Close my ears.
I won't listen to them anymore.