WHEN YOU HAVE POETRY BUT YOU'RE FREAKING TYPING IT AND YOU HIT UNDO ON ACCIDENT AND IT JUST DISAPPEARS AND YOU'RE SITTING THERE LIKE "WHAT WERE/WHERE ARE MY WORDS" AND I JUST CANT UGH NO

Is this what old age
Is talking about
And why am I the last
To find all of this out
That my due North
Is heading straight  South
With all of my hair
And most my teeth falling out

For me gradually
Losing my sight
Saving me from
What I'd rather not find
The wrinkles to
My  drooping eyes
As the younger me
Dawn's an old age disguise

I seem to wheeze
More now than I breath
Check out my pants
Each time that I sneeze
When did my thoughts
Pack up and leave
Taking with them
My precious memory

Is this what old age
Is talking about
And why am I the last
To find all of this out
I used to be king
But somehow lost that crown
The only other thing....

Now what was I talking about?

Verily, verily, I wilt thole
the strenuous measure
Without thee in mine
Reach. Thine countenance do I seek in
Sainthood luster;                                      O' how I needeth thee mine
                                         beloved of cherubic power,
                 Tis the moonlight hour's I dieth to layeth mine brow
Upon thine own.

Sweat cover's me, I needeth mine
Abode, for thou art mine home;
In which I hath sought after
Since afore the age of Noah.
                                                         O' how this locution screameth out loud to the crowd's of emptied lonesome-hearted mad
Men. Mine darling, àgapi mou, best friend. Tis not the end-
Only the beginning.                        I glance keenly dearest jane-

Into meadow's wherein the pool's of life art made for one man
And his wife, as godly intended;

                                                      ­   Foregone art the soul's that shalt
                                        wait ourn arrival, they've been waiting endlessly to enter us inside.
O' Queen Jane, Filipino treasure of mine;

O' how we shalt dine and feast amongst the golden pathway's and see-through streets, bare **** feet to lead ourn spiritual direction, ourn agápi reflecting Yahweh's glow in three-
Dimensional complexion.

One day to be as babes, Unchained, not slaves to menfolk's rule-

A place wherein one enters by the amount of love they've given
And hath shown, a kingdom
                                                   Wherein we shalt be renewed.
    



©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( àgapi mou) dedicated

Raphael held my hand as I stood
at the shore
All manner of life carried the news
of the good Earth , felled to one knee ,
spellbound before living waters
The cascading word of God ,
showered before me ...

They walk by brisk
Covered in umbrellas
On high heels with ankles
Of no appeal

They grab the shaft
With both hands
As the wind tries to steal
Their umbrage

With agility
They skip over puddles
As I marvel
At the procession

With destined determination
They ****** on
As spiked high heels
Grapple on cobblestone

Rainy day women
In gray coats and wet umbrellas
Under overcast skies
With no hellos or goodbyes

Your eyes may be open today
But can I ask this question!
Will your eyes
Be open the next day?

I am the clown
In this town.

To where i am the center
Of their teasing
And jokes
As if they never see me
Frown.

All they see is my
Joker's hat,
That everything
They throw
At me
Never hurts.

I guess that's all i
Ever be...

Perhaps it's my fault
For letting them think
That way,
I never fight
A war between egos.

Silence and smiles
Are all i ever
Masked
Myself...