Poetry: Orphans Of Summer

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The sadist and his darkness, hand in damned glove,
One felt before the other is heard, heraldry.
Broken souls in transit, no waiting in the alcove,
Transform as soon as you can, do it, wizardry.

The ground is wet again, tears from emotive skies,
No apologies, no hugs, just muscles and bravery.
Like it is weakness to show pain, they tell lies,
From one bondage into another: slavery.

Peace in conflict with itself, warring hearts,
Alone is not best but it’s been chosen, safety.
You’ll trip over yourself, your clumsy parts,
You’re too quick to live, should life be hasty?

Left behind by the shadow, frozen soul,
Too frigid to feel the chill in the ice, gone.
Transiting, not scattered pieces, not whole,
Stuck in oblivion, slowly coming undone.

The Believer

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“Spin the bottle, there’s a selection to be made,”

“Not by us, but by fate, the great selector,” he said.

But I do not believe in dice and other such charades,

I am the decider of my destiny, no palms need be read.

 

The hell-bent charlatan, he wouldn’t give up so easily,

“It’s written in the stars,” he mentioned in a whisper.

Horoscopes are the fates of fools hurrying about busily,

Tricks of the mind, an injury to commonsense, a blister.

 

“The gods will it,” he pressed, desperate for greedy gain,

But there is only one God, and a thousand pretenders.

And following after idols is the harbinger of eternal pain,

I have sworn eternal allegiance to my soul’s Defender.

 

My resolve is a dead horse, a flogging of which is a wasting,

Of time and energy, a mindless reasoning for no reason.

I am the believer, my faith unfading through life’s hasting,

And from sunrise to sunset, unyielding through the seasons.

 

Grains (On Stony Ground)

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Out here in the concrete jungle, without a friend,

Walking in a crowd of strangers all alone, unloved.

The path is unfamiliar, nothing is known of its bends,

Yet our feet are home upon it, like a hand in a glove.

 

We were made for more, for a much better world,

There’s a higher purpose to our earthly existence.

Human, man, it doesn’t matter what we are called,

We are beyond labels and names without consistence.

 

The spirits more than the flesh, the souls even more,

The hearts within us all, alive, beating to set us apart.

The Maker’s breath moves, a fluid fire lit in our core,

Masterpieces, creations of Heaven’s science and art.

 

Every spark lost, every piece of Paradise given away,

The candles blown out, the artificial changes, stains.

The blending in, the bandwagon life lived for a day,

Celestial beings strewn upon the stony ground, grains.

Heaven or Life With You In It

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365 days, lived a second at a time,

The moments pass, without an end.

A hundred ways, a thousand crimes,

A million positions we can’t defend.

 

We fall, always alone, never together,

You rise, inch by inch, by yourself.

Perhaps not, maybe you can do better,

If you lived by the clock on your shelf.

 

But there’s no schedule for mistakes,

No clairvoyance allowed, no warnings.

Life unravels once, no second takes,

The candle cannot reverse its burning.

 

So what if I didn’t have you here,

Would I not be miserable and broken?

Would my life not be measured in tears,

And all those comforts left unspoken?