Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
934

That is solemn we have ended
Be it but a Play
Or a Glee among the Garret
Or a Holiday

Or a leaving Home, or later,
Parting with a World
We have understood for better
Still to be explained.
read a thousand love stories,
pause, rest awhile,
read ten thousand more,
and then deny equality.

If you ask for no more than you can give,
you ask for not enough

love is imbalance not an equation,
with a single solution

love has both constants and variable factors

so you write of tribulations and tributes
so you write of lamentations and liftings

you think you are on the same page
perhaps
but do we not all read at different paces?

one of you is solid, one is dotted and dashed
one of you is straight, one is bent, forever curving

when you think you are
in balance
in the same place
in syncopation

perhaps you are for a moment
a calculus of one point on a trajectory

and you say I can only ask for what I give
and am given
and no more,
you have miscalculated

this flux
flummoxed
when the old terrain is flayed flat
but thru the windshield you see the
plateau ends, the geography unknown,

when you see unknown
when you seek the unknown
when you give from places you did not know
you had to give from
when you kiss a hand
for  twenty minutes more than than the one minute you intended
when you give more than is asked
when you ask for more than you can you think you can give
the imbalance is the only concert
the imbalance is the the only constant

how do I know this?
what are my credentials?
you are not a teenage girl,
what matters of what you know of these matters?

I am who I am
a diversity of man and manner
I am past prime and in decline
but this I know
for having failed ten thousand poem times
you must ask for more than one can give

but that's not fair!

silly one, still wretched confused,
even after one hundred
thousand poem times

you must ask of
yourself
more than you can give
and ask no less
demand no less

a body in emotion is not a body in rest
when the imbalance is too great or insufficient
then you write a poem
look in the mirror that cannot lie
and move
on
or
move
off

and begin to ask
yourself
to whom may I give myself
more than is asked
then you have finally asked
the correct solution to the
unsolvable equation
~Christi Michaels~November 2014~
~ ~ * ~ ~
hard to believe
hearing you say
you did not want me
would not have us
anymore

could not control
the clench of my heart
when you told me
words so few
leave
find someone new

"Old News"
you said I was
"Old News"
and you just
did not want
me anymore

waved your hand
in front of me
to be sure I understood

Could not control
the clench of my heart
when you told me
with words so few
leave
find someone new

"Old News"
you said I was
"Old News"
and you just
did not want me
would not have
us anymore

waved your hand in
front of Me
to be sure I knew
We were not to be
forevermore
~ ~ * ~ ~

Copyright © 2015 Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved.
.
Poetry written on cave walls
Of distant planets in other galaxies
Is still comprehensible to human
Hearts.

The stars look the same
From there.

They say the American flag planted
In moon dust is nothing but a
Sun bleached white piece of cloth
By now.

All things, it seems, given enough
Time and exposure

Become requests for
Peace
In the
End.
Life descends into the vice of those who judge...
Unconditional opinions give those the nudge...
The nudge into darkness we ride...
Back into the corner we hide...
From those high on life's pleading destruction...
It's hard for us to begin our reconstruction...
People unable to enter society's plains...
Due to the judgmental's menacing claims...
It's time we stop listening to those of scorn...
It's time to know those are the ones truly torn...
For we are all beautiful in our own little ways...
It's time to realise it with no more delays...

-Joseph B Schneider
© Joseph B Schneider. All rights reserved
Our earth has turned
Our lives are torn
We are able to see light no more
If only for a second we shine bright
We are reminded of our destiny
That of which is death
We strive to survive
We strive to stay alive
Being surrounded with demons of flesh and bone
Demons who are torn
Tattered
Look defeated but are actually reborn
Reborn through blistering scorn they rise
Their numbers are growing
We do nothing for god is showing
Showing his hatred for our kind
Showing his secret and sacred mind
We scream
We cry
For he gives no sympathy
We scream
We die
For he gives no sympathy
They feast off our loved one's limb by limb
We hear their screams as he dies
As she dies
No goodbyes
Just demise
Torn eyes
Black skies
Reaching at us from above tearing our hope from our chest
Our dreams as we rest
Our lives as we suppress
Suppress who we once were
For that is no more
Only for so long can we hide our screams
We will be found
We will be desecrated
Piece by piece
Our mothers torn and brothers death through scorn
Our wives see blood and flesh before being reborn
Now one of them they fight it but only postpone
Postpone the inevitable
The inevitability of turning
Turning from who you once were to a demon
Your birthdays
Weddings
Memories become waist
As you see through the devils eyes you hunt to feast
Inoperational your emotions become
Through the eyes of evil you become ****
No way out
Our end has begun
Our god has given up
On our petty existence we call success
Given up on the killing
The thievery
The ****
The pedophiles
This is why we die
This is why black takes our sky
Why evil is now his ally
Why we are ripped apart before we depart into hell
We become the hatred we once rebelled
The hatred we once repelled
Your children ask you why
Ask you why we have to die
You look into their eyes knowing they will once too be deleted
Deleted from existence
The tattered flesh and blood is insistence
Insistence of his wrath
While we beg to his knees
He returns to his kin with this disease
This plague
This is why we hide
The conquering he takes with pride
Vague emotions to hell we ride
This rapture has become our end
This rapture has become our end


-Joseph B Schneider
© Joseph B Schneider. All rights reserved
Would I die a happy man
If I heard my name
Rumble across the Norwegian plains
And forest hills tomorrow?

Would I turn my back on all
That's mine; leave it untouched
And walk into arms
Of loving light and not look over

My shoulder?
Did I love?
Did I lose?
Did I laugh?

Did I scream?
I fought.
I sat at times and thanked.
For everything.

My hand never left my sword.
The other held glass, held pen,
Held breast.
My mouth held some of the rest.

I put pride and disappointment
In the eyes of my parents.
Put praise and curse on the lips
Of my brother,

Had many a friend, lost old,
Made new.
Did things I hoped I never would do.
Regrets like mine, are for the few.

I've seen shadows I cannot explain
Dance between trees in the
Morning hours. I've slept by a
Bonfire, face tickled by silken

Showers of morning dew, and
Knew that I didn't sit alone.
I've seen trolls hit by sunlight
Scream and turn into stone.

I've let myself down.
Put my name to shame.
My head has hurt many a girl...
But my heart has conquered worlds.

So I'll stand when I'm called
With my back straight as trees.
I've written my poetry,
Many a piece

That might live forever, unlike
My own coil.  
Buried deep within
Internet soil.

Some time in the future
When all that I know
Has vanished and died like
Last winter's snow,

And the sword that they bury
My bones with is less
Than rust coloured dust on the
Dust of my chest,

Some poem I wrote might
Oblivion resist.
...I hope to the gods it is
Better than this.
There is poetry in my blood.
Some blood in my poetry, like that
Fresh from a broken heart
On a band-aid lip kissing
Old pain into fresh pleasure,

And promising truth, comfort and
Loyalty within a blizzard of rose
Petals and cotton candy dandelion,
Being easier to believe than anything
Else ever.

There's poetry in my blood. Cells
Red as new love; white cell soldiers
Devouring infectious threats; poison
Lies and painful heartless behaviour
Such as infidelity or being broken

Up with, in a bed at night; in a
Blossoming garden, or worse,
With a pen in hand, mid-love,  
Mid-poem; mid-
Heartbeat.
Next page