For 47 years, yes 47 years
I've been writing poetry
At times I feel I'm in control
At other times I feel it's controlling me

It has taken me up the mountain
It has hung me off the ledge
If you ask me, something ain't right
Perhaps it's all in this poets head

With poetry being an emotional thing
It pushes as it pulls
I take up it's bell and let it ring
That's about all I know how to do

I slap it left as it slaps me right
Right upside the head
Smack dab in the middle of tomorrow night
Where poetry has made up my bed

Because for 47 years, yes 47 years
I've been writing poetry
At times I feel I'm in control
While at other times I feel it's controlling me

numbness to pain does not make it
non existent
floating imaginations do not make them
unreal
(h)arsh reality does not make it
fiction
big dreams do not me(a)n they're
unattainable
high **(p)es do not mean you're
delusional
sadness does not mean
depress(i)on
happi(n)ess doesn't have to mean you're
bipolar
wanting more do(e)sn't make you
ungrateful
and all these words that (s)ociety uses against you
to make you feel

weak

unaccepted


vulnerable
&

broken



di(s)card them.

all you need,
to be happy
is positivity

*this is my promise to you.

She called me,
the King of her heart,
a Jack Rabbit,
Seneca of a legion
The angel of mercy with wings
propelling love letters from its bow
sharp like the Red Jacket in her chest
The ace in her heart and she
died many times before
casted aside
I'm the message in a bottle
to be found ashore...
a lost psalm

And although the tare of her brittle
hope to believe
that an angel of mercy
could enlighten her of this scar,
I'll be shooting aerrows to knees
collecting feathers in my palms
Killing soft melodies
Good or bad deeds
Perceptions of a woman
are no excuses.
No mercy for a man.

(INCREDIBLE INK- TEAM JAGUAR HAWAII)
© Copyright 2014 S.T. PARISH Rebel of Eden