A Poetry Collection of An Average Young Man - The Love

Nonetheless meaningful, but shorter and more creative. Some of deepest feelings are expressed with just a few words.

‘Maybe’

09/28/17

Buried to my neck,

And six feet under that;

For five feet and eight inches above that is where I stand steady.

I stand with yellow leaves falling in my brunette hair,

And I wait ‘til they turn grey.

I stand as my nose turns red and stiffens and leaks

And the snowflakes condense in my hair

And I become Jack Frost.

Maybe is the answer I received.

Maybe is the word I hate as much as hate.

Comes with the potential of yes:

The pain of no.

Nay; pain worse than no.

Because we are convinced the answer is no.

We haven’t gotten a definite acceptance,

Neither a deviant rejection,

But which one fits better

Is where the wind blows.

No.

Hidden Hunter, Prancing Deer

You’re a camouflaged hunter,

You made a throne in the bush like a nesting bird,

I prance past you, close enough in your scope.

My tail twitches as you speak a word.

‘It’s only nature,’

You said for fun.

But I’ve only got my hooves,

You’ve got a gun.

'Sink or Swim'

In a sink or swim world,

I am made of stone.

I do not bleed when cut,

(Or at least, I would hope so.)

Failure circles me

Like children on the merry-go-round,

Like blood cells rushing through the heart,

Like businessmen running up stairs.

So ignorant to what else is come.

And ere all those who love me,

They are figures of my head,

Those whom I hope love me,

Expose hatred to where they want me dead.

And a million miles away,

The black sheep eats his hay,

And in the barnyard adjacent,

The lamb is slaughtered and sleighed.

Neigh, I am but the shepherd,

I have a message for you:

It be a sink or swim world;

(Remember: never kill the messenger)

Glass for Metal

17/9/17

My sensitive, fragile heart of glass

Is chipped against my control.

Count my blessings,

For I am lucky enough to obtain stained glass,

But alas,

It is a cheap, thin, Asian material;

For a small occurrence,

Like gripping too hard,

May smash it in half.

Your metallic heart is hard to strike.

It is a rarity that anything shall pass the alnico.

Plus, your low heating point,

Partnered with high conductivity

Makes it difficult for us both.

Tranquil, may we meet somewhere.

Perhaps we can agree on the durability,

Strength, yet sensitivity

Of wood.

Just be careful of flame.

How about plastic.

Not a plastic spoon,

Melting on an oxidized stove burner while making dinner;

But rain boots.

Jumping like children in puddles of

Tears and sweat of the gods

Are our hearts.

But our hearts don’t belong outside.

They are prone to hyperthermia,

Pneumonia,

Anxiety.

They belong in the chest,

Locked up like a maximum security prisoner,

Because our sensitive hearts are as well dangerous.

I’ll trade you glass for metal.