(2015)
I once felt the sensation to Rapture, hence this poem. It was fun to feel like I was being Raptured
Modern day ennui, for the daily malady. My true self is hidden, see? Masked ego, set me free? I am guilt-ridden,
The rapture had finally hit, as the music in this stadium rocks the beat and pulsates like a living creature ready to bu… My friends and I are celebrated i…
We shoot for superiority. The best of the idea, the winning match and set game for the domination. I, with masculine energy,
“You gotta let your poems sing, ma… the old poet said. His red ball cap perched atop his… like a lonely old moment of youth, covering a mind alive with creativ…
You must be you. Truly. Inner truth, intuition, unrepentan… that sings the songs of days for d… I will hear that greatness, let us… Rising to the world,
Rock 'n’ Roll kept me up nights until the morning lights of the ne… became battered reminders of accos… that threw itself on my near-awake… Scrreeeeccchhhh! Long, Angry Yel…
Everything is a reaction to everything. This sentence is a reaction to the last. The periods at the end are all rea…
You let them run free. guided, sure, but still free to make their mistakes and live li… You let them experience their pove… Let them earn success through dest…
Stooping low to face the gentle wa… that drifted under my influence. Heard these waters held sickness t… and a simple drink taught desponde… A hidden path felt through the unc…
A sight of sympathy for the man, who never thought himself too gran… or even fair to look at for long, The ballad entails his fateful son… Afraid of estranged looks and whis…
Why choose misery over the joy found when mugs on the table hide their secrets and pour out everything
The little needle spent its life b… Taken out for another ice moon esc… I dubbed it, at my discretion behi… the life-saving, life-changing, Hi… Like a vampire’s fangs biting into…
Little black rocks dotted the side… as I held my gaze down there. What was I doing here... almost crippled by fear No, I’m doing this.
I have seen my own death, it isn’t pretty. My face as a corpse is unkempt. It’s ok, I wasn’t perfect. It is strange,
I remember the tired streetlights that emitted their hazy glow, discoloring the grass in the park. I remember the playful screams of my fast rambunctious friends,