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Happy Thoughts

To these thoughts,
which freely ejaculate,
never shall I forfeit
the opportunity to remember,
this unwanted hindrance
being cast aside in replace
for a symphony of memories
which everlastingly play.
I needn’t ever attend
the memorial within my mind
dedicated to antagonistic
plight, for wholehearted goodness
is exceptionally unchallenged.

An Ode to Memories

There will be no rebuttal
when I admit to the ghost
of Spring, which lingers
in the Summer air,
that never have I had
a memory quite like the one
of my graceful paramour
and I. Swept up upon the beach
of our unflinching admiration
for all that is perfect
and true, I was able to study,
with intimate satisfaction,
the physicality of you
and your life’s prose.
Never had I sown the seed
of romance like I did that evening,
beneath the gaze of the moon,
the two of us intertwining
a connection unlike any united before.

To The One I Hold Most Dear

My eyes had been making love
to your irises from the moment
you noticed my expression;
tempted by the exotic flavors
of your flesh, yet embarrased
for being caught red handed
with my heart grovelling
for your attention.
Vain flattery is incapable
of grasping the perfection
of your features, as the depths
of my passionate, yet imaginary
love affair with your corporeal self
blossoms irregularly. I realise
time has all but expired
and history shall never run its course
the way that I truly wish,
but if you were willing,
and I only have a dream
at my disposal, my fatigued admiration
for your features will humbly
undo your blouse
and let temptation relish.

What Could Have been

A drop of sweat could dangle from the hairs
upon your brow; your hand could brush against mine
as we lay enchanted in bed; you could sigh,
after having my passion injected into you,
and know my words were real; you could taste
the tenderness of the flesh which coats my lips
and drink my love eternal; you could sleep
beside me, and dream of all the happiness
we enjoyed the day before. But never will this happen,
for I failed to take a stand, and you forgot
to alert my heart that yours could have been mine
forevermore.

Death of Love

Like a wilting flower, the death of a heart
is a slow process, the petals falling like
leaves, until not even one remains. It is
not in my nature to be verbose about my
feelings, but to stand aside in silence,
allowing the passions of other men to
find happiness and comfort in the
pleasures of great women, whom had
originally captured my affections with
but a single glimpse. As the rose bud
perishes into the ground from whence it
was born, my heart falls deeper into
shadow, until not even I can determine
if such a muscle, was really ever there at
all. The emptiness brought about by the
absence of romanticism’s roots, travels
through me like the deathly frozen
hands of a specter, my body becoming
a husk of its former self. The lack of a
woman’s breath upon my lips, her hair
tangled on my cheek, her fingers
wrapped around my own, causes me to
sourly forget what should never be.
Love becomes too difficult to even
comprehend, and as the dawn arises
anew, I must prepare myself with the
uttering of a mantra, in order to
understand that love shall never be
mine. Happiness forgets me, and in its
absence, only sadness remains, and as
I pull a coat tighter around my chest
after having the warmth of the world
forget me too, I must inherently
acknowledge,  that from this day
forth, my choices have inevitably
forbidden any potential owner of the
skeletal remains that make up my heart,
from ever noticing me forevermore.

My Romantic Convictions

You were once the blood in my veins;
the beat in my heart; the breath in my
lungs; the spring in my step; the oh so
sweet voice within my mind. But now,
only the emptiness of your departure
remains where you once bloomed,
and I shall forever go without what I
suspected to be love evermore,
because the absence of your soul is
worse than death itself, and I know
that reducing my wrists to bloody
ribbons will do not a thing to stem
the endless pain that will continue
onwards to haunt me, even in the
after life. So what cure could I dare
take to be rid of the agony that
cripples all that is left of a once
passionate human being, forced to
cry myself to sleep at night for
your image is no longer there to
bring comfort to the oceans of my
heart?

I was intoxicated, always, on the
inebriating fires of our passion; but
maybe love is just for poets, as to
have themselves a written word of
romance everlasting, but not for
me is such an emotion of the heart
so it would seem, albeit with a
fortune that be foul in its upbringing,
rather than pleasantly stupendous.
It would be a gross miscarriage of
romance though, to bid the
allowance of the woman who puts
the rising sun to shame, to be
removed from the custody of my
treasured soul, even though it be
theorized on many a moment before
that when someone is loved they
ought to be excused, and maybe it
is out of jealousy or greed, but
never in a million years could I
allow this occurrence, that be so
wrongful in its existence, to transpire
here today.

Relegated to a piece of dust in a
world of brightness exponential; a
mere shadow of dirtiness and grunge
that does not deserve the tolerance
or acknowledgment of your adoring
heart, I become an avatar for the
hardest of all emotions. My rain of
tears falls upon me, from my face
that be defaced with a sadness that
does not comply with any such
definition of the word. On this
final note, if you believe I do not
love you, then ask me to remove
myself, and like the legions of men
before me, whom have fallen upon
their swords in the name of love, I
will honor your wishes and gladly
take my life, if but at the conclusion
of my final breath, you believe the
honesty of my romantic convictions.

The Pivotal Passion of Light Dreams

May I hold your hand this night
to remove the loveless
connotations of the day? I long
to be more than myself, and
your presence will certianly
beautify my existence
evermore. Never do I wish to
be a man commandeered by
unflinching regret, and deep
within, buried beneath the firey
embers of my soul, I know true
happiness shall be ignited the
moment your presence blesses
mine. Without the touch of
tenderness provided by the
graceful effigy of your
corporeal self, I feel so entirely
useless and find my mind
questioning every endeavor. I
wish to not feel as though I am
undeserving of what falls upon
my path that comprises the
many hurdles of my life, and
instead of accepting avoidance
I want to be a man cloaked not
in nostalgia, but lovable
content.

Dear Santa

Dear Santa, I am uncertain
if I want to believe in you
this year. You have granted
to me in the past many a gift,
which I did watch, read,
listen to or wear, but never
have I received anything
that’s me; the me that
remains unseen within the
chasm of my heart, burried
under the bulk of year’s
which have rendered me
forgotten. I know that I’m
an unlovable fool for
believing in the semantics
of wishful romantic
promises which my
undying soul breathes life
into almost every year, but,
although I know this is an
impossible ask, might you
kindly give to me this
Christmas Eve someone to
wholly love, who shall
happily love me back? Too
often have I been told how
I am destined to sometime
soon find the woman of
my dreams, an action I do
realise shall never come to
pass this day or any that
will follow, and with a
heart that can remain
lonely not a moment more,
I ask that you consider
this to be my only
Christmas wish. I am sure
you know the identity of
the young damsel who
has captivated me, and I
am certain you have her
number, so would you
kindly give her a ring for
me and discover if she’s
available?

To the Beautiful Blonde Haired Woman

Hello stranger, with your blonde hair
beneath your beanie, you captured my
attention with ease. You stand out like
a lonely dream boat at the mercy of the
sea, and if my arms were a lifebuoy, I
would happily sacrifice my existence if
it meant your beauty could live on. But
if I be gone, look upon you again I could
not, and bereft with grief will be my
heart, whether I be alive in this world or
the next, for a world without you in it, is
a world I do not wish to live upon. Your
skin, a ghostly white in colour, looks to
be reminiscent of the cool Antarctic air,
and I would love to hold you in my arms
as to bring the rosy red of heated joy to
those diminished cheeks again. Not to
say your features aren’t extraordinary;
no ma’am, my intent this is surely not,
the rare purity of your ice cold features
putting even a snow flake to shame. Like
a bush burning magnificently in the
wilderness of walled fire, your hair be a
hot blonde in colour, and yet, ironically,
the many strands would be cool to touch,
moving with gusto to every beat of your
stride, like grass gently flowing in the
dewy mountain air. Your smile cuts me
to pieces when there’s that crinkle in
your eye, and like a bladed instrument,
you cut me with your scissors of surprise
that be your brilliantly white teeth, that
you plunge with unknown intent into
the farthest reaches of my soul. I am
shocked light lightning every time I be
witness to your enthralling grin that
delivers upon my mind an indoctrination
from which escape is not an option, but
why would I want to run, when you are
all I have ever wanted? Your voice, like
the soulful melodiers of a decent
harmonica, tastes like a sweet English
apple grown in the winter season,
glistening radiantly to every tone of
your silky speech, like a duvet, wrapped
around the bodies of all who are lucky to
hear that which floats out beyond your
lips, warming our mortal frames whilst
the sun is incognito, hidden behind the
late autumn clouds. Now, if you may,
place a treble clef before this sentence
writ; the polyester of your jacket, that
be the colour of painted Earth, and
those jeans of yours, emboldened by
the sound of raging blue, burns like an
effigy upon the ocean floor, that be
defaced with luminescence. These
colours cannot breathe, but choke, in
the same way that my eyes weep at the
sight of such rare perfection when
admiring your figure, that mirrors the
definition of a sensually relaxing
paradise that any man would be lucky
to explore. The stud within your nose
glistens like solid silver when touched
by the light that glows from up above,
whilst your big eyes, ravishing in
appearance, shine like emeralds, and
the farther from me you are, the brighter
these jewels shimmer. Combined, your
physical frame comes together to create
an image I cannot help but watch with
trepidation, a nervous tick bubbling
up inside me at the thought of seeing
you again. Could I say a word of two
without fear of a reprisal for speaking
with such an honest tongue? My eyes,
with their heart shaped pupils, stare
with lustful longing in your direction,
and never do I wish to lay my eyes
upon anyone else again but you, for
who could possibly contend with the
woman of unimaginable beauty? Ma’am,
I cannot halter my heart’s desire, for
only you be strong enough to conclude
these feelings with but a snap of your
swift fingers. As for me, I would happily
die a million deaths if it meant I could
buy you a coffee when the time for
lunch is served. If want to know the
writer of this verse you do, wait around
when lunch time arrives and I will make
myself apparent; if not, that be your
conclusion of choice, and I shall respect
your decision forevermore.

Hey guys; I wrote this piece a while back for a certain someone. Long story short, she shot my advances down. Anyway, this poem was gathering dust, so I thought I might unveil it for others to read. Hope you guys enjoyed this poem?!

Oxygen

Your lips kiss mine with
an unrelenting strength
of heart, breathing new
life into this cadaver.
The soul of a heartbroken
interloper is replaced
again by the romantic
within me, who I believed
had been permanently
lost. Your affection caresses
every muscle of my
interior form, and removes
the bruised appendages,
safeguarding my adoring
heart with the spirit of
passionate intensity. As
long as your romance
propels me forward
across the rainbow of
sumptuous delights, I
will happily live through
the days which spawn
before me, if only to die
at night when our flesh,
covered in the sweat of
pleasurable contact, does
touch within the apex of
a luscious dream sequence.