These Words

These words
Are such a limp expression
Of the rage
You’ve evoked
Within me

You cannot fathom
The pain I could induce
Were I to yield
The full weight of my mind
Upon the sole task
Of destroying yours

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This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken

Of Myself

If I could just
Monetize my pain
I’d be able
To exist
In this world
As myself

Until then
All I can offer you
Are these
Few
Words
Of myself

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This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken

Those Few Words

Those few words
Gave voice
To the silence
I always knew
Was there

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This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken

Looking In

I close my eyes.

Where once there was vividness
There is now a vague blur.

Stories and visions intermingle
A kaleidoscope of confusion.

Words and non-words alike
Are spoken and responded to.

The allure of reality is lost,
Replaced by the bliss of the abyss.

The joy of not knowing
Is ever more tempting.

Closing my eyes to avoid it all,
To get to where release was once felt.

But no more.
The avalanche of memory greets me.
I cannot escape the pain inside.
I long to let it go.

To let it all go.

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This poem is from the book Words On A Page

Verses Like Curses

I’m not feeling good today,
All good feelings gone away,
I don’t think I’ve the energy to play,
All I can do is sit and say:

That,
Words flow through my mind in verses, like curses that highlight the evidence for the nurses writing obituaries for those travelling in hearses. The words disperse paragraphs of mental inverses that coerces when it traverses then immerses. It changes and corrupts into mental cutpurses taking it all as it reimburses. The words are a game, a versus, life and death on the field of internal universes.

The worst is, that this verse is, my only respite from the inner curses. When the pen traverses the page it disperses my universes and reimburses, but only while it immerses.

I can feel it ending now,
The brief respite is gone somehow.
What can I do but allow?
Cause the curse has trapped me in this vow.

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This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken

Making The Words Go Goodly

Some days it’s hard to make the words go goodly.

Other days,
The words just flow,
I find ways,
To make them go.

Go goodly,
As they should be,
A verb key,
To eternity.

Deep lines,
Writing to be heard,
Poetry shines,
With perfect words.

Self expression,
Of a self broke
Digging deep,
Truth spoken.

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This poem is inspired by the book How To Write Evocative Poetry