truth of poetry


poems poetry

Garden grow

The Calming over the storm
The Blind leading the Deaf
in search of so much more

The Swamp, The Mire, The Moor
All sink into the hallows
Feet wading in muddy shallows
Shins blurred into bone marrow
Still we dance, Tonight
we drink to the fright
the sun rises after the night
This Swamp, This Mire, This Moor
All such a mighty sight

Light the eucalyptus
you need to lift this
and let the candle float in hell

The only time you heal, is when your alone
The only time you steal, is when your cut to the bone

Dried after the storm
like a woman scorn
A man is born, Naked and searching

Let the field of corn, be sown
after the rain, and reaping has grown

Letting the blind lead the deaf
there’s nothing let to see
Letting the mute speak to the slow
Human’s can start to be

Stand at the gate
watch the garden grow
and burn all the fate
letting destiny a flow
Through the gate and have this garden grow


Me, Maybe

This place left in a palace full of malice and pride
Carpets and tapestries all formed from human hide
Stand Focused, Awake and Aware
Stand under the ivories embrace and leave this broken mirror, looking at its own face
Believe me, sir
I have seen the black panther purr
Killed her and wore her fur
This was done with nothing pure
Will these walls fall? (As Jericho slammed to the ground)
Trumpets and voices sound (All came tumbling down)
Now bound to a voice of reason and blasphemy
Blinded by a place of the darkest unseen
Hell now seems like a love scene (In Paradise)
Fire and Brim stone lead ashes to ashes standing tall

Embrace me
Murder me
Smash my Roses and Burn my Bridges
Understand me, Maybe


She dances with the pen

Dipped in bloody ink, so the page shows footsteps of a sacred soul

Her dress flows in the wind

Beautiful and Elegant

Miss-understood to the world

But her man sees the perfect picture

Not just a silhouette in the foreground

But he sees the prelude to the a pure painting of life

Vincent Von Gogh would stop, stand and stare at

The Mona Lisa would smile with the Gods as they watch this enchantress dance

Dancing souls, Never fools

He will write of her beauty in sonnets, odes, and poems

and Never let go

He will prove this, In every waking moment

He will prove this, in every waking moment. Fore evermore

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