His Lies

His Lies

Don’t be naive under constant gazes, breaking oaths while relationships pass through their stages.

Naive, so naive.

String tied on a little black bird’s wing, sweet words he spoke until they sting.

Oh, the hardest part is that I believe,
Hoping he holds me, but footsteps always leave.

Constant sleep.
Countless stars are miles away.
I am so sorry, so broken.

Locked within his colored eyes, lips mutter while my ears listen to the lies.

Just cheap excuses laying out inside my mind, tears blur the sight of what I want to find.

Is there nothing left while I make my bed, little moments, forgetful thoughts of what he said.

Don’t look away from the truthful lies, read the story played out inside my eyes.

Lions on a Main

Lions on a Main

Lions on a Main

Do what’s morbid, like a twisted string around my neck, kissing black sails while watching ships quietly wreck.

The cries of hopeless human demise, clouds bring a cover to shade this grace of lies.

We are kings, lords of a nation.

This cliff we stand on harbors death.

Our crowns darken against the winds.

Manes flowing in this eerie storm.

Hear us call upon the deafening mist, let the water swallow your ship with our approving kiss.

Repentance cannot save your faithless heart, commanding the sea to commit it’s dreary part.

Waves crash against rock.

The fleets cripple on our main.

Us kings watch with all of our grace.

Imagine sea and stone and nothing more, Lions on a main, Kings left in mythologic lore.

Jane’s Letter

Jane’s Letter

Jane’s Letter
Sweet dear, I’ve always thought of you.

I press inked pen against paper of white.
Spilling hearted truths that wrap my weary mind.
Stamped and sent away for your eyes to hopefully read.
And all I feel
And all I sense
And all I know

Is that I love you.

Mr. Blueskies

Mr. Blueskies

Mr. Blueskies
I am but a man with a simple wish, I want to believe that my love melts her with a kiss.

Sitting at an airport that carries silhouettes away, my eyes are wet, thinking upon yesterday.

I was sitting there.
Holding a card just for you.
Oh dear, you’re somebody I knew.
Our table holds black coffee stains.
My insides shook like a storm.
Hold out my heart dear, it crumbles like a stone.

And when I left that doorway to go, she had my bags packed, darling is it so?

Rain beats down on my brown Panama hat, drinking the moist air as common sense lingers on her doormat.

Was I the one worth leaving?
Tell me love why?
Plane tickets show distance.
You said where you go I follow.
Guess there’s something better.
Don’t eat away the truth while you build up the lies.

Humming noises of the metal bird, but I look back to utter one last word.

This room is blank as I suddenly appear at a shop it seems, hard swift scents of coffee beans.

My mind is tired from the traveling altitudes, hazy breaths as I envision altered moods.
My name I cannot recall.
A sky is over me and below my feet.
Close the shop door and see.
She’s gone and I’ve lost all of me.
People walking by, ghosts of conversation.

I look down then up to see why it’s wet, clouds cover the days as each one sets.

Please turn around.
Hold my warm heart.
Muffled calls as I still hold your card.
Written for her delicate loving eyes.
Tattered strings wrap the paper.
Why did this happen to me?
Goodbye it seems.
You said we are the ones with everything.

I know why the plane carries people away and flies, I remember my name, water colored, Mr. Blueskies.

Winter’s Fall

Winter’s Fall

31 Days

Talk is simply not there for my uncertain body language, hard shouts recollect days of home as I contemplate the carnage, past memoirs speak like the tones of future cloudy weeks, they’re in ruins as I lay down the arms and pressure the leaks.

Nothing has given up such shocking views as I pass the river, armor and blood mix with the water which swirls into metallic silver, raise up your hands for you and I, cracks echo as frost gently falls from the sky.

Thunder stretches to the north as fires escape from the lighters, to and from the sun as cries of public applause thank the fighters, swirls of darkness bring me back to the snowy fall months, the mind weakens as bodies are packed into the trunks.

Did I see the gun which resembled you at last, counting of bones crushed between wheels powered by gas, something’s worth dying for as the eyes turn to the air, the snow melts as the ground becomes flooded with scares.

Boots damp as the dead stream sadly by infused with gears, I stand alone as bystanders wish a bullet would pass before my tears, employ yourself to accompany the haunting souls, whispers rush through the camps as my eyes reflect the coals.

Winter has come to bury the actions of my hardening deeds, You and I feel death as blood drips from my knees, the trail seems never ending as I stumble on, shadows of guns kiss trees as clouds forsake the dawn.

Living on as we crash down a slope of snow, distant tongues seem the same as footprints lead on the foe, within my heart I feel something calm and certain, I know the trees shall cover the view as I draw the last curtain.

You place the gun as I press upon the cold metal, snow is crushed as a bullet drops to be settled, I can’t get anymore sighs as memories relax inner frays, the winds are chilly as time seems longer than that thirty one days.

Nostalgic Poetry

Nostalgic Poetry

SLEEP

I seem so out of societal loving surmise, crows scavenge with the beak of deathly suffice, nostalgia whispers crude images of hurtful chances, my impression broken and crippled from the modernity stances.

There I lay visiting scenes of hopeful acception, but to you windows spin of ones mindful perception, complex gazes swoon loving hearts, but doubt can arise from our broken parts.

We were the guided few so intangible like sunrise’s sky, now my future collapses as in the bed I lie, nervous for the dark like a child who’s mother turns off the lights, bewilderment sighs as time rocks me to smiling brighter sights.

Only things of happy accord sharpen the realistic pain, but forget the past as like reverie I stay forgotten sane, sleep is fantasy for my approving desires, to me there are no towering binding wires.

I know the style of when to paint a recollection, in a blurry perplexing talk of hopeful connection, underneath the white cloudy deceiving charm, is a restive mind of multiplying harm.

Voices go according to my sensible disclose, skipping now I panic as the weeping man tearfully sews, keep me here is the pleading cry of showering doubt, but nothingness vanishes as has my immanent shout.

Keep me tied to this momentary idea of place, holding hands temporally through continual space, black hands seize the grasp of false bliss, to awake from love with a weighing kiss.

Looking to the clock I sigh as you stay in the dream, but to wait another day is the  forever recurring theme, time sails past the deterioating aspirational leap, I enter oblivion with you as I gently voluntarily sleep.