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Secrets drowning in blood
         steeped depictions,
cunningly smothered
  of familial tied executions,
heredity oft an unkind
     sacramental entanglement,
deeply rooted in
   disparaging divisions,
disintegrated 'neath ashes
      of unresolved deliverance
Devoured by the intensity,
  words that quench the soul
an enchanting intoxication - -
    like a spirited ******
      whetting a voracious thirst,  
plunging in for another swallow
   of adoration's satiated ******
Bees were swarming around the eastern
shallow end, a warning that the cherries
are deepened and smattering
the pond's bank with nature's jam,
the small tree a joy to the family, but
nobody around much now to keep them
picked and eaten.
The snapping turtles have had their fill
of the cherries and basked lazily in the
center of the deep end, at least two of them
and as I'm a frequent friend, they stationed
amiably as I walked, picked up and threw
grasshoppers to the fish in the water.
The spiders will appear in proportion soon
to the apples growing on three trees
at the edge of the woods, about 40 feet
south of the pond, with a jut of the creek
in between them.
Every year I get my sweet fill of those apples,
planted 50 years ago or so by my great-grandfather,
don't know what they are, maybe Braeburn,
judging by their mottled colors of red and yellow.
written prosaic as inspired by Henry David Thoreau <3
also including fishies and spiders
You stare at your feet for a few moments,
you weigh out the odds of surviving,
and you jump.

You start falling, or rather, flying.
you get the chills.

Thrills. Sparks. Genuine laughter.

You feel free, you feel more alive than you ever have.

In the back of your mind there is worry,
will you make it? Or is this rush only going to last until the water hits?

You don't care,
in fact,
I don't think you ever did.

You scream, you feel as much as you possibly can,
and then you hit the water.

Passion, rebirth, lust.
A new beginning.

And that's what loving him is like.
I just hope I can remember how to swim.
(i.r.)
Why is this world here?
That I don't know.
Why did God make leaves green?
Or wood creak
When you step on that one board?
Why do we get that special feeling
when sitting infront of the fireplace during the winter?
Why does it bring a smile to our face,
when we see a little girl
run ino her daddie's arms?
Why are we at a loss for words
when trying to describe love?
This I don't know.
Why does it feel peaceful
when we are alone?
Why do we hurt
when a loved one passes?
Why do we grin
when we recieve a gift?
Why do we clench our fists
when we become frustrated?
This I don't know. Maybe some things aren't meant to be known. Maybe when you find out why joyful things are joyful, you loose the joy in them. And that is why we don't know. Why is this? That only God knows.
I'm sorry it's been some time since I have posted. But here is a poem I wrote while in Branson, Missouri. Hope you enjoy.
השטר של הדולר
נפילתו של האדם;
של הפתק הקטן של לוציפר.

( Hebrew translation)

( English version)

The dollar bill
Man's downfall;
Lucifer's little note's.



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
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