Aweeeesome free verse poetry...

May 2020

Graff1980

At times
I have made light
of their crimes,

turned grievous wounds
into weak bee stings
so you could see these things
in softer shades than me.

I have turned night into day
and watched those I love
dance and play
embraced by beautiful rays
while I stay awake
in the darker hours.

I have used poetry and levity
to elevate strangers above me
despite our shared suffering.

I have scoffed at my pain,
lay bleeding to death
while I stifled tears and dressed
pin ****** and paper cuts.

I have felt your sorrow,
and put your comfort
above my well-being,
but now I am seeing
that it might not have been
the right thing to do,

because you
have gotten far too fat and lazy
laying in the excrement
of your own ignorance.

Though, I have doubted much,
I do not doubt this,
and I am tired of trying to educate
those who no longer wish
or have never even desired
to be better than
the racist redneck men
who inspired them
to give in to fear and hate.

May 2020

Graff1980

Untitled 501

My dear I know it should be clear,
but I fear to tread and tarry here,
because your madness is so appealing.

Revealing
eyes of passion blue,
that burn with the ill-intent
of what you plan to do,

the furies you will harness
going from seriously harmless
to sinister in seconds.

Yet, red wet lips are made for stealing
the warm affections that I’m withholding,
withdrawing deposits, I should be saving
for another worthy lover,

but your disposition is enslaving,
ensnaring me in in your insanity
as if it was a bear trap.
I can feel my bones snap
as my will collapses.
So, I lay back
to submit to
what you will do.

Until, you leave me dying
and drying
from an unquenched thirst
and a deep hue of blue
that hurts worse
then the pain you caused
while you were here.

May 2020

Graff1980

Untitled 500

I am not depressed.
I’m just revisiting
similar settings
where I was possessed
by depths
of melancholia
that I thought
no longer had
any hold on me.

I am not crying
except in dreams,
from which I wake
to escape sad scenes
of strange things
that never happened.

I not despondent.
I’m sure I will
respond if
someone
asks me to.

But this room does feel cold.
I have been sleeping a lot today.
Need to workout
but my gym is closed
and I have forgotten
how it feels to be passionate enough
to workout at home.

I am fine.
I swear that everything is ok.
I’ll see you tomorrow
whilst I stew over
the pains that slew
my yesterday moods.

May 2020

Graff1980

Untitled 499

I’ve seen one fragile body
go from zero to sixty,
go from nothing to anxiety
and shaking
then to thin arms of rage
and a voice made for breaking
those she loved.

I’ve seen the thin lines
on her skin
as the child tries to
take what tears her up from within
and pull out all of her feelings.

I’ve seen a grown man
break down and cry
unable to verbalize why.

I’ve watched the world
and felts its pain
but seldom got up
to save them all
and that is my personal shame.

May 2020

Graff1980

Untitled 498

Life’s the poison that you make
to take as your breakfast shake
just to go out and face
the coal and the rake
that runs you down
and burns you all over the place,
and the symptoms that you see
are the result of our shared social disease.

Some grow immune.
Some just get dull,
and nothing is all
that they can feel.

Some spend a life
in states of stress
burning through
the brain they have
till they’re broken
and raving mad.

May 2020

Graff1980

Untitled 497

The director,
stage setter
for this actor;

What matters
is the placard
that they place there
to mark a space
for time to air
a multi-verse
of unanswered prayers.

Axe dropped,
action stopped,
“Cut!”
I hear,
because we are
being very clear
that every movement
is staged,
played for some purpose.

Perhaps to breaks us
of the meaning we love
to make out of chaos
or maybe the design
to help us find
the opposite
of chaotic.

Razor shifts,
cutting through the mist
of madness
as we paint this
world with a stained plaid dress
that turns from two shades
to darker wet reds.

What a mess this **** is.
I say we edit it at the end.

May 2020

Graff1980

Untitled 493

I once held
high ideals.

Hoping that I
would not sit
idly by
while others tried
to use and abuse
the disenfranchised.

Hoping that I
could use my creativity
to wake and relate all people
to their dormant humanity.

Hoping that I
would not turn
a blind eye
to a person in pain,
or a person being shamed
for that which
they have no power
to change.

Hoping that I
would never act unkind,
betraying those things
I held dear to my being,
such grand moral standards.

I failed and still do,
in favor of self-comforting,
in accepting the view
that nothing I do
matters.

I failed faltering
in moments of weakness,
and sadly I
still fail to rise
to the levels
I wished to reach
and fly.

May 2020

Graff1980

2013 reflection

The best artistry enraptures its creator in a fugue of furious activity that is almost beyond his/her control. They are overcome with inspiration and must follow it. It is the unconscious mind ripping and taring at the fabric of the creators mind, and it is is the closest thing to ecstasy I know.

May 2020

Graff1980

Untitled 492

If I could live in
an eternal state of
the sun setting and rising
with dark night
starlight twinkles
interspersed
in cosmic bursts
of transient glory.

If I could **** the chaos
of daily moving
from one maddening moment
to the next mad rush
as we brush by people
we will never meet
on these cacophonous
streets.

If I could feel the quiet
invade my being
going deep and drawing
from the dark depths
that I possess
to create poetry
that is less of a mess
then my usual
lines.

I think I would be fine
with all that lonely time,
with the inevitable ache
of being awake
in a world void
of people.
Even though,
I know
it would bring
some old familiar sting,

the beauty of creating
something
truly inspiring
would be worth the price.

May 2020

Graff1980

Untitled 489

It’s too late to be forgiven.
In truth I was merely living,
not trying to fit in
but still getting
too comfortable with
just trying to exist
in mere moments.

I wasn’t a pretty party guy
who was trying to get high.
I’m pretty sure I was
sound of mind,
so, the fact that I did not make time
to visit my transient treasures
that were slowly disintegrating,
that fact that I left loved ones
alone and dying
without really trying to go see them.

That is my sin,
and one I seem hell bent
on sadly repeating.

May 2020

Graff1980

Untitled 486

There’s a whisper in the darkness.
There’s a shallow breath that calls us.
There’s a moment in the shadow
when the light comes bursting through.

As the blackness is dispelled
and the cold weather retreats,

As the winter returns
all that lost spring heat,

As the bird begin their seasoned production
of life’s renewal,

I will recall your small gentle smile
and how it was a glimmering jewel.

There’s a whisper in the darkness.
There’s a shallow breath that calls us.
There’s a moment in the shadow
when the light comes bursting through.

Tomorrow does not exist
and yesterday will not be missed
there is only these fleeting moments,
let me enjoy them while I can.

Till the light I see collapses
and my body cannot move.
Till all my memories are lapses
and I never find the missing clues
to glue them back together.

Then the light will retreat,
and the shadows will descend
and there will be no more whispers
or softs breaths from any friends.

May 2020

Graff1980

Untitled 485

Not a country simpleton,
not the typical bumpkin.
Don’t have time to try and fit in
this redneck city I’ve been
living in
since before I was ten.

I am the last and first
best and worst
of my kind.

Devoured too many books to count,
searching for the fount
of knowledge and compassion,
searching for new question
to great unknown answers.

I am the last and first
best and worst
of my kind.

Lost myself in star lit skies,
with clouds that stretch back
far enough to revisit my past,
admired the massive black tapestry
that seems to be punctured by
light holes from some unknown
set of new realities,
each one having its own star’s
worth of gravity.

I am the last and first
best and worst
of my kind.

Not looking for the eternal soul,
and any form of immortality
just seems like a sick joke.
Instead I keep pushing on.

I am the last and first
best and worst
of my kind.

I’ll keep going on till this particular
configuration of particles
ceases seeking
new ideas that keep speaking
poetry into my being.

I am the last and first
best and worst
of my kind.

May 2020

Graff1980

Untitled 484

Paperback writer,
write a worthy
tale of a dreamer
dying in a
sleeping city.

Little novelist,
tell the stories
of life’s goriest
victories,
when irony
overcame sanity
and we suffered
the saddest defeat
at our own
oiled winner’s
seat of cold
winter stone.

A hollow helping
of hordes of harpies
seeking happiness
in grand acts of
capitalistic solidarity.

Weary weaver
unravel your yarn
and spin me
a better ending
then the one
I see coming,
because your twists
have become
too easy to predict.
Your stories usually
play out like promised
by the unartistic establishment
and I would like that to
change just a bit.

So, lets fix this ****
and turn reality
into the work of poetry, I know it can be.