Unfinished,
unpolished,
unfurnished;
unpublished.
Like us, a draft
of what can be called
"the both of us."
A draft created
that's open for change.

A change
to be better
---better
than who we are
or what we are
in the midst of the conflict
that floats around us
for the sake of us
for the both of us
---for each other.

A change
to be smoother
---smoother
with no mistakes,
with everything
in order;
consistent,
and coherent
even with the dialogues
we say that matter.

A change
to be clearer
---clearer,
meaning it is
at least what it is
meant to be conveying
with no underlying
vague wordings
when it comes
to our feelings
---for one another.

But that's there all is:
a draft
of what could be called
the both of us;
a product
of what we can become
if we make it become;
a product
of the possibilities
of what can be us,
of what might be us,
of what is it between us
between the fragments
of the words,
the lines,
and the series
of all of them
that constantly paint
faint descriptions of us,
descriptions
created [fabricated]
in my mind
like a work of fiction,
of pure imagination.

Unfinished,
unpolished,
unfurnished;
unpublished,
l­ike the poems
I wrote for us;
like the poems
about us;
like us, a draft.

He is a poet
And everybody knows it
Though sometimes they can be a little hard;
He gives them wordings
As easy as is speaking
And does it with pride and truly without regard.

Sacred words are left out in stone,
the carved wordings will remain for long.
I don’t see why curiosity, always catches me at the sleeve.
It’s like I am a pet of the devil, wanting to find the light within.
I walk around like the cat, watching every single spark.
I embrace the lovely patterns, wondering when my light will shine.
I saw the gorgeous skies, shade away into purple cloths.
I remember seeing your light, for the very first time.
It shone brighter than anyone’s, I don’t even understand why.
You aren't the greatest, you aren't the best,but neither am I.

I saw the words being placed, down onto the cards to heaven.
I looked at the lanterns, fly away into the sky.
Dim lights of yellow and orange too, remembering how much I loved you.
Death is a sweet embrace, yet why do I yearn for something to waste?
It shone brighter than anyone’s, I don’t even understand why.
I don’t see the point, in disposing love or life.
She walks down the dark road, with traffic lights flashing at her,
she remembers every single day, that she needs to keep on living.
Through every shade, of red, yellow and green she needs, to remember you.
Walking down a path of remembrance, leads into a list of names.
When the first child is bared, she is labelled with your name.

You are just an ordinary girl,
with the red lipstick as your shield,
Breathing in the pleasant wordings,
that society itself spills,
You are nothing but a sham,
Beneath that black mascara,
Locks the origin of your charm,
shows the end of your beautiful era.

Oh False Goddess,
You were once pure,
just an ordinary girl,
so ordinary yet extraordinary,
an idea came before that we should marry,
but look at you now,
I feel so displeased,
a thought came into my mind,
"as long as you are pleased",
Today I  lost a friend,
a woman that i knew,
the relationship is at its end,
but every end begins a new.

Oh False Goddess,
I'm begging you please,
strip away the red and black,
to make me feel at ease,
Don't do this to yourself,
for attention and the fame,
you throw away your dignity,
and burn it down to flames.

Oh False Goddess,
My False Goddess,
You are no longer a Goddess,
nor an ordinary girl,
Just a corpse of false beauty,
that's what you are,
the so called Goddess.

Petrified,
        Obsidian stones,
Fire understood,
      Superfluous verbiages;
The mangled butterfly absorbed by light,
       Hope is born at the tongue,
Confirmation contorted,
     Clarification of the crystalline cries;
  In the whirlpool of the first
Swirling at the tip of the tongue
     Chanted in a litany of animalistic
Nature,
       There is only a man,
Singing solar solstice,
     Staring into sun stars
Splitting solitary shadows,
     The end of the beginning,
Man and fires
Speak the dust,
       Tears of the evocative death,
Rebirth in memory,
Memorial in melancholia,
Misty eyed men mention losses,
      Speak the grief,
Speak the rage,
         Man that is man,
Tongue of emotional images,
                Speak as the first word,
A tree of names,
      Yes, the word,
Words,
       The poem everlasting
Longing to be unspoken.

Ill never write with the constructs
of ink no matter its shading,
                as it has no edges, no fear or freedom.

Instead I use a scalpel to cut clean words
even though not evidentially visible
             all cuts have meaning.


But ever metaphorical stain takes
         time to show its meaning..


You may not see what I mean
         i write in a different manner to


                                    you.
            

But let time show the interpretation
                     that was there but never understood


till you looked beneath the incise significance
               even if not seen now,

                         just realise its there...

The fearless instraction.
The love of things, willow.
The newness of strings in a row.

A topic injusted,
A fated carnation.
Lapelled in your silkiest glow.

I want you not nearly.
Horizoning sunburst.
You're the fewest that I'll ever know.

I'll meet you on morrows.
With clumsiest wordings.
You're the seeds that I've not seen to sow.

Oh how the saying makes me sick while excuses, there are not,
Decisions to decisions, word's weaponed from thought.
So, a new turn of phrase; is born within the dark;
words I whispered to myself, a lone,

                                              A Sky-cyphers Scribble-sailing mark.

For the first and only time,
Not of me but you
These writing's wordings weave a web,
of synthesized virtue.
To be spoken allowed to oneself,
read, written or thought,
Of each word that's now misused- their purposes forgot.
examined, explained, investigated my life
As if speech were the blade, written words are the knife.

all of the meaning and every moral, we tether to our mortal coil
Life and it's significance- of time, distilled in transience .

The concept of fate & of destiny, too
Both insinuate journey, the movement through
How, now, can our destinations insue
We'll come Home, its depths, are dreams of blue.


*between the church hymn
And under haiku
It is,
Ravled in deep bules

Observant misconstrued glances weaving conclusions
of what is above your paygrade of perceptiveness.
imperfections of what you glance upon.

A child in the confinement of misunderstanding,
Only the turbulence of reality like ocean waves.
Solitude of emotions then surges of confusion crash.

Lost in the tall trees of emotions as the leafs of
disorientation venture to cloud a mind of needed calm.
The conciseness needs the rhyme of routine to balance.

Heed this thought those of ill-conceived notions that
when this little miracle has a moment of uncontained
emotion, it is not for your misconceived wordings.

"My little one mummy is here, daddy too,
"Hear our voices like a calm ocean over you,

A mother embraces the worries of your thoughts,
easing the confusion of the world away..
Others may stare in ignorant stances.

*"But nothing is wrong with you, you're our baby
cuddling the confusion of your surroundings away.

Do you take thee with this pen
             to forever weave the musing words.

Binding both of you in the blank pages
                        that will be versed upon joining syllables.

Never fading
only getting deeper in meaning

                      with each verse read.

Have you ever missed someone so greatly,

till your heart grieves dolefully from dawn to dusk and dawn,

your soul achingly starves of rendezvous,

yet you let the innocent remain as is.



Only, surreptitiously hoping,

that you two would run into one another unpredictably,

as if mother nature coincidentally let you two converge,

or as the God unexpectedly grants your bedtime prayers.



Because, you barely can stand

having your very own deceptive, polished outer shell

cracked down.



You hardly let the scrupulous persona

envisage your constant cravings

for his perfunctory good mornings, eloquent wordings, and dainty giggles.



And, by no least,

you’re afraid he will sneak into your ice-masked, truthfully fragile personality,

only to discover your non-seraphic quintessence.

My ear itches
for those whispers
in the dark
Which once made me calm

Darkness was friendly back then
and reality was dreamy
Immortal lyrics
Played my soul like guitar strings
When wondering eyes jammed.

We were both young then and love was painted like Lions den.
But deep within we yearned for a song whose lyrics were as few as the stars in the milkyway,
but it's soothing surpassing ice in the desert.

Far apart I could still feel your hands in mine.
Far away I could still hear your songs rewind.
I'll keep sending you smiles across the miles hoping someday you would be mine.

My heart will still trickle from the grave when those wordings and melodies resonates in my ears 'I miss you'

The coffee was too sweet as I mentally sketched a blueprint for each sentence I hope to speak. My tongue eagerly bounced between the most eloquent wordings to express thoughts that even you probably know are too complex for me.

I firmly grasped my the frigid mason jar, afraid that the same twilight that illuminated all the right parts of your face and highlighted your rogues strands of hair like golden thread would be enough to knock me from my seat. If I explained that, would it be romantic?

I pondered whether geeky comedy could be my niche. Decided against it. My hands grew colder from icy condensation and hesitation.

Every calculated consonant passing through your lips becomes fuzzier as i balance my focus so you don't notice how distracting you are. I struggle to pretend this is effortless for me, too.

I wished with each passing moment that I weren't one moment closer to death, one less moment sipping sugary coffee in your company.

I wished each passing moment elapsed quicker. my coffee is dwindling, the lump in my throat is a landform in of itself.

Though I'd rather babble about the universe and love, history and life, your small talk captivated me. Vowel after vowel. Of ambient noise, you could compose symphonies, your stare a screenplay, of simple Walmart trips, novels.

Of me, I'm but the fly on the wall in a fleeting moment of daylight in a rocky chair in a café in a day of your life upon which I couldn't even confess that I think about you more than the universe and history and life and coffee. Until you know that, I'll see you next time and we'll order the coffee black.

Dead petals collect in the shallow sockets
vacant for eternity,the fragrance scratches
beneath the decaying waves of nothingness

Feathers scar every reflection, wordings
distorted in finite scratches barley visible
but lacerating deeper than thoughts hanging.

In my veins twilight and luminosity were
dangling from my fingertips scratching them
till fingertips bled radiantly, fading to disillusion.

I was a cloud of confusion, raining shards of
insecurity inwards. Convulsing with each kiss
of positivity that was riveted in my empty skull.

I'm a mirage of imagery, my smiles hanging on
meat hooks, my hello's, how are you. A collection
of stapled wordings, I'm dead inside, a shadow walking.

By now this Parable your Mind compels
At Arm's Point shift Targets your Heart's pursuit
Retrieve Correction; And a Soul which sells
A ****** whose Career begs his Debut
I'll leave it at that, your Frost-Fingered Friend
***** your Sphere to whose Raged Interest provide
And Ricin - the Elder's Pleading Tongue - rend
Hapless Wordings for your Sapling confide
Still, at this Level of your Tender Waves
Bring Olives made tasty for you to swallow
Just leave the Credit for your thoughts and saves
And let Inspiration plead you follow.
Put it down. Twenty Voices already cried
To carry their Lives; Of Illness has died.

Mother of a thousand words to
get lost in, but the only one that
mattered to us boys was
                                "I love you all,
We respected her in motion but
were lost in testosterone wordings.
Never did we venture to disrespect
after all she taught us the ethics we
verse to day.
               Life's lessons..
"Cooking,
             "Ironing
Manners,
she sacrificed much,
so we are better in ourselves today.

Don't read this
I warn you
You might be able to relate too well to this

Huh still here are you
Alright I guess I'll have to go on then
My friend, my advice is simple

Never date a poet

Unless you want to be endlessly romanticized
To be able too see nothing but a torn form of affection for you and writing in the eyes

If you don't want the burden of being a never ceasing muse
Being paired with someone who's hearts taken all kinds of abuse

And if you abhor not talking, but constant wordings about what's truly on the brain
Then for the love of God don't do it,  it'll drive you insane

So please, unless you want these things and aren't afraid to show it.

Then don't,  Just don't date a poet

I've just written two hundred or so pages of prose.
I've cradled each word in my arms
And dreamed about their futures.

I've mapped out every interaction between the characters
I've created them and given them their instructions.
And they know what to do.

I've sent my multitudinous children off to the editor.
I've made sure all my wordings are whole
And healthy.

And I have made some mistakes on purpose, I must admit.
And I hope they distract the editor from noticing
I've emptied a dime-bag of ****** into the manuscript.

That should keep the little buggers reading.

Fall like leaves and wind and rain
the eyes that you control are pain
The rides that you have ridden gain
Momentum in your wordings strained
there is nothing to redeem the chained
Branded banded clamped and stranded
Depth of ire in your motions
Death and fire fill your oceans
Beckon more remain you frozen
More to store those cruel notions
Hammered gore glitters the roses
Phantom touches scoring open
Staring blankly, you've been noticed

What are the ingredients of a lasting marriage?
What are the ingredients of a lasting friendship?
It is honesty, trust, openness, patience, hope, humility and love
Honesty is the first principle; the first policy
Trust is the salt and the oil needed to eat the yam of friendship
Openness like trust is the engine room and fragrance
Humility maintains these engines and invigorates them
Patience is the safe-fall mechanism; a virtue
Hope is the expectation that all will be great
Anchored on the heptads that are there to manure the soil of friendship
Hence, they keep the vegetation lush even in winter

Love is not the only bastion of long lasting relationship
Yet love is paramount to a sustainable relationship
It gives meaning to the sacrifices and self denials
It is at the centre of the vortex of passion expressed in those votive wordings
The wordings of commitment and exchange of hearts
Love cannot support the heptads of relationship alone
It can only open the door for its off springs:
Kindness, respect, faithfulness, and affection  
They come in to strengthen and secure the bond of friendship

When lies and mistrust creeps in
When one party trades but in these woes
It weakens the heptads and erodes it of Trust
Honesty is murdered and openness buried
Patience slacks and love cringes
Humility scurries away and Hope is gone
The same applies to the off springs of love
That loves turns into hatred and resentment
In truth, the depth of love is always the depth of hatred
It can bring down every good thing it once erected
That it takes grace if not divinity to mend the walls again
Love is needed but without these others relationship crumbles

They should love me, so they should
Long and slender, short but good
Have I got it, what they need
Lust for beauty, not to breed
Sharp, in context, understood
Lovely wordings, so I would
Much perception, live beneath
Rusty weapon, sharpened sheath
Played against you, harp and string
Notes I give you, words I'd sing
Head so clouded, feet on earth
Destined wholesome, since that birth
Wide in image, not in hips
Perfect toenails, fingertips
Hollowed cheekbones, not in flesh
Simply lost on simple breath
Not to say perfection lingers
Once again I'm drawn by fingers

There were places in the above and below where souls
weren't as they were meant to be. Reverberations of what
had been but for some reason not known, they had dissipated
in to inconsistent particles. They were congregated to a
place of between the realms of passing where they were
reinstated into one. Many pieces made the collection of singular.

A rebirth of separation, that which was collected into a shell
of purest mortal coils. In moments that ebbed away on thoughts
and maturity something was noticed upon the eyes of those
classed as the shepherds, They were of flesh and bone but a
vessel of angels essence, no beat was felt but life of our own
non understanding reverberated in these vessels.

So long had these chosen gathered the pieces that were rebirthed.
a freshness not tainted by either as in the fire the dead the
soulless shards were consumed in the eternity furnaces.
Some gathered in moments, others lingered in their, as if
like ash in a breeze they were inadvertently kept asunder.

Like a leaf they eventually descended and lingered amongst
others that had scorched for longer than even those now
gravitating towards its centre of rebirthed oblivion.
They never thought for a moment that what had been a
metaphysical collection of particles was anything but echoes
of voices incoherent and desolate.

But now as what has happened only a few times in eternity
is spilling like water from a broken vessel. So many have
spoken in the dead language of even angels understandings
but the fragmenting scribbles that vacate their minds saturate
in a repeating rhythm.

"We burnt with our eyes wide open,

So many voices expelled in a pool of white, transparent
vestiges lingered beneath but no ripples were ever realized
till they had gazed beneath and where censorship was
consummated overhead so the lingering wailing below
was all consuming so much affliction was bestowed on
these now seeded souls.

They were never broken remnants of whispered echoes
but were indeed a embryo of a matching of heaven and
hell a new partnering that was misread as feathers lingering
in the winds of eternity. But where a new higher purpose
was meant to have been birthed so now do they burn not
for but a flickering moment but an inaudible amount of time.

Speech of what was singular now birthed into a perplexed
culmination of uncooperative wailing incensing each others
needing's. That was for those at least the yearning to not be
entwined in the illuminated combustion of self. But they were
imprisoned, fashioned into a vessel of multitudes not meant
to be, but only a singular existence was meant to cinder into form.

They wallowed in surreal thoughts, memories of a life that
was a broken picture frame and the faces were etched out so
not even they knew who or when they were from. but the
shepherds were there salvation or so it was thought.
They simultaneously gathered those that were swallowed
in a realm of an uneasy reality. Then they chanted, for hours
they spoke the words, Our wordings will set you singular again.

But what befell those that guided shepherds was unexpected.
They screamed in either ecstasy or writhing pain, but then as
If a curtain fell. Then all that was mortal shed into oblivions
grasp and it consumed them the shepherds were engulfed in
shards of personality till they themselves were twisted in visions.

Their eyes wept one like onyx bleeding frosted tears of all that
was pure, the other like snow but as the raven tears cut upon
there features and blood teared on the floor they grappled
with what had befallen them for these acolytes that for this
instance that joined in ceremony now had not fallen or ascended
But were the rebirth of neither but vessels of everything.

Those of fractured echoes, those entwined with the crematorium
of broken vessels now ascend and descend to the places which
greeted these seeds with such distain. After a time all went still,
silent, within each  realm and they just sat their. Each hand greeted
the flame or light and within their grasp a new spirit was born
not burnt but eased over time and like a seed they grew once more.

Walking hollow
eyes can't hide
Palindrome wordings
Betray efforts beside

And beat within the moths abound
Harder harpings hold to bleeding fingers
Snuffing candle flames to hear sizzling
And all to come so all around

Standing upon that earthen mound
Glitter in nights like shattered hopes gone
Flicker in and out like reasons too
Where they flew no-one yet knew

But slanderous intent called the rout on
Flaming again, but only singing that song
And floating in dreams like lilies
Though that was before the fog

Holding to strength by the color of red
The tasted iron reminded ideals lead

Drudge on despite complacency
But ever glad for absurd ambitions

People are like books,
And unfortunate for me
I am the dusty book on the
Corner of the shelf.
I sit with my soft leather binding
Waiting to be picked up and read.
I'm the Words unheard, The
Stories unsaid...
But no one picks me up.
For I am seemingly too much work,
A book that's too thick,
The writing is too small,
The pictures are nonexistent,
And the wordings too long.
They don't even open me,
Just glance at my blank cover and then
Just toss me back where they found
Me before, simply dying to be opened again.

I die in within the moments that are coalescing
                                                          inward­s between
                                                   a fraction of  breath,
and I revive to expel the moments my
consciousness that fled to oblivion.

Welcome to the bereavement of my
                            wordings decaying
to nothingness before your eyes/.
Translate them before they
are inert, and are the
                          voice
                           of the
                                dead.
No longer dead and unnavigable in verse.

‘Love’ is just a made up word
But the feeling which is defined by love
That is something more than four letters
More than two vowels and two consonants
More than anything that can be described with words

Then why is it so hard to keep it in?
Why do I have to cause troubles and problems
When I have to verbally announce the feeling of …
… Of it
… Of ‘love’
Of the feeling deep inside that cannot be worded.
Yet needs the presence of wordings and descriptions
To keep it going
To keep it living

To keep me crying