Like a careful rogue you hide,
a list of words held at your side,
cannot say your eyes are dead when they never lived a day.
A song of shadow since you were young,
two word poisons coat the tongue,
A mask of psalms and eerie movement, you call yourself a human.
What it means to be in love.
What it means to tell a joke.
What it means to swallow weighted story till you choke.
Sometimes I think I get a glimpse,
someone awake inside.
Only another programmed quip, clever though, this time.
Can't smell your authenticity,
your anger stains the year,
one solid form that I can hold, the curse of all your fear.
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Author:
Quemis (
Offline) - Published: May 25th, 2017 01:38
- Comment from author about the poem: this structure makes no sense.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 71
- User favorite of this poem: LIGHT WARRIOR.
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Comments2
Very Very Well Written..Your work always amazes me brutha....another brilliant masterpiece...
Thanks again : )
About authenticity, often challenging to find in another. Enjoyed.
or, easy to find a little in most people, rare to find a lot of, and then there are some people that you cant shake any out of no matter how important it is to you that they have something genuine to give back, some real love, some real light behind the eyes.
It is very sad.
When someone looks at you and they are on board with the conversation and their eyes sparkle focused on your own eyes. Goose pimple time. Like the sparkle in the eyes of a 6 month old full of joy. (We have not screwed them up, yet)
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