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 Apr 2017 lavendersky
Jim Davis
It's a funny thing, it is, really for two
To live in so much misery, in love
We know each other in our minds
Like pages held within a bound book

Pages we've lived, throughout our life
Many chapters, times happy or in not
Turning the pages into a long forever
While holding, the one love we took

Knowing the other's coming words
Sometimes with just a quick glance
Finding oneself, often in bit of trouble
Without idea of what was the chance

Upset with each other over big, little
Things of really no matter, such as
A **** in the night or a quick glance at
One of the younger girls by brookside

Feels like we're always kinda living in
A little bit of raving stark madness
Left over from the big, little wrongs
Done another, such a long time ago

Wishing only soothing love strokes
Of proud Leo's ego, in constant preen
Pulling sharp thorn from limping paw
Each time need is from me, of course

Given to each other, in it's holy bond
Everything we had ever each gotten
Or wishing always to keep to oneself
Just a small little part, still in freedom

To let one of the pages go unbound
Left to float in the winds of the world
Although fully well knowing,
no doubt
Sadness within, might be all to behold

Perfection of me with you at my side
Almost, makes it really a love perfect
Yet, perfect we are not, in our love
Not even in we, as one heart beating

Having lived as one in a together
Nearly all of our aged adult lives
Never fallen completely out of love
Knowing well, we soon too must die

Not wanting to live with any other life
Knowing in more misery it may claim
And really a much truer sweet love
Might not again arise in our lost time

Let's get this all right, perfectly clear
Perfect has only been found but once
How we wish and hope, our love is as
Near perfect, before perfect is here

©  2017 Jim Davis
Book love bound Leo ego perfect
Of all the gems
the best of gifts
you'll ever give

A Diamond is a girls best friend
metaphor
Jazz women clap in unison, black.
All the boys in the club move
way, way over, for your health,
sister.
Some bartenders smoke ****
while polishing glasses, big or
small.
Cartoons play on box t.v.s
while people look at hubs on
smartphones.
Some gruff guy points at you
-- and, yes, it could have been
me --
we have a phone call, I think.
Who uses a payphone, any-
-****-more.

Choir children double for choir
mice.
Helicopter parents hover their
hands above their juniper drinks.
Gesturing at poorly dressed kids
has never been this in fashion.
Be perfect for the camera;
this moment will be captured
by synthetic eye.
Moms and Brads turn to
  look at us laugh.  Which has
always been in poor taste.
They say my poetry is bad
and your music is **** -- but
I guess it's nice that someone
  gave us those views.

Columbia and Harvard
seem like distant planets.
But that's where we'll be,
supposedly.
You with your Guinness,
me with my Tito's.
 Apr 2017 lavendersky
Sjr1000
Fire and water
Immortal mortal enemies
They've never seen
eye to eye

One turns the other
into cold dead ash
The other turns the other
into
evaporating  gas

The earth,
The universe
seems to love them both
equally

One catches us on fire
The other calms the burning ember

One gives us light
One gives us life

Fire and water
when they encounter each other
touch
connect
erupt
into
their exquisite
cosmic dance.
 Apr 2017 lavendersky
hfallahpour
You
I want to see you every day
You are great and so is what you say
Of the sun of love, you're a dazzling ray
this is what I'd like to say
I want to spend my time with you every day
Because you are perfect in every way
Your smile makes me glad
without you near I feel sad
You mean so much to me
I want you to feel what's in my heart
I miss you my sweetheart
always be here and never apart
 Apr 2017 lavendersky
Christopher
Maybe someday you'll love me.
Maybe someday my eyes will be the ones you fantasize of before you fall asleep, not his.
Maybe someday every fear shall be conquered like some great hero on his quest to vanquish this depression and keep the demons at bay.
Maybe someday the compilation of the love letters I left on your skin will linger longer than my scent on you and perhaps you'll remember these marks over him.
Maybe someday I won't love alone.
Maybe someday I can hold your gaze and not feel empty inside knowing that I've lied to you.
Maybe that's the root of all this.
That I've lied to you.
That her skin haunts me sometimes and creeps into my mind like the bump in the night and sometimes I'm not honest when I say who the 'I love you' is to.
Maybe it's because I've lied when I say it's always been you.
I don't want many ties that unwind

I don't want to feel the omnivorous shade of blue over and over again

I want to be your Save By The Bell

That doesn't stop after four seasons

Giving you a million reasons

To love life more than before

I found you perched up in my heart

Don't squander the beauty

You have a deep ingenuity

That entices me like the victim I am

So helpless yet so assertive

You're too grand and I'm unsure if I deserve it

I aspire to be one and done

To the honeymoon

To the gravestones

Be the whiteness that's in our transient bones

When the doubt creeps in

Remember I pray to God every day that you'd be mine

And that you're always feeling jolly and fine

It's for real this time

It always has been.
[April 28, 2017]

Chilling rain renders through blanketed atmosphere
Piercing mist cloaked daggers slicing empty air
Tracing lines transformed drawings conjuring life
Dancing droplets falling from puppeteer’s knife

Swirling wind becomes vicious, chaotic tornadoes
Twirling strings wrap around limbs tied to elbows
Shadows reach into shattered sky, stealing light
Charcoal breathes scattered embers, puppets ignite

Flames devour greedily, consuming wooden faces
Stains sink poisonous fangs, tainting burning stages
Blazing chasms envious, swallows dignity converting ashes
Opening shameless fissures, quaking gaping compassion

Invisible thread overflows bottomless crevice slowly cracking
Despicable burst, exploding dirt, infinite dissension stabbing
Decimated bonds, drowning dread, bleeding agony worsens
Cynical depression, guilty confession, marionette master curtained
Marionette Master [April 28, 2017]
Genre: Fiction/Relative
How it feels to have no control, to be controlled. To be a puppet.
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