I step inside the yellow tracks with red roses
Only be shot down with bruises,
Until I saw,
They were more like stained teeth than blossoms.
Hopping in and out of merry go rounds
To find perspective,
Ever searching for a fuller picture
While it fades in my hands like a photograph.
Yet smiles and joy and glee ensues
The ever loving sadness.
Meeting so many of these Petals, one day to be closed
Breathing as a Flower,
Simply happy to have ever opened.
If you liked this poem then I’d recommend checking this post too! Much love. x
Photography by jano gepiga
In ten thousand different directions
Treble, Bass, and in-between,
Through puddles, grass, and dry concrete,
Rushed or Slowed,
Some walk on their tippie-toes
Through day and night,
Through Sun and Moon,
And Smiles and Fright.
Some throw change at him,
Not many polite,
Again and again
He chants to the tapping feet,
The money song
Of god and bless
And please and thanks.
Through hail and storm,
With coats that tore,
Through icy thaw,
The wind is the only change.
The Tapping Feet
Become bored of grey faces.
The song becomes the city
Like the birds and the trees
And the change and the please.
And the bee’s knee’s
The latest trend
Will it ever end?
He see’s the lesser angels
Of true nature.
Like a lame eagle watching
Prey make it’s own way
‘Till it’s end.
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All of the thousands of bristles travelling across the tips of my fingers,
And let me touch his chin to comfort my autistic hands,
To calm my waves of cerebral feeling.
My ocean of vitality
And manic energy
Tamed by touch
I brushed my hands along the fabric,
The linen and cloth button tops
And the smell of deodorant in the morning
That smelt like my dad and no other.
That used to lift me out of slumber,
Those grey streaks of wisdom
That knew the right thing to do
Turned to white.
In the night I remember
My own lonely fright
I followed a man
Who showed me what’s right
Now I have my own chin of bristles,
My own calloused hands,
And I see how we have always waded through the darkness.
Hand in hand in hand
If you liked this post, then check this out. Much love.
Written by Jacob Ibrag
You owe no one. Time has been allocated towards your existence. Each breath accounted for. Guilt is a weapon of internal destruction. It’ll tell you to do things, uncharacteristic to your identity. It’ll tell you to keep the peace, to abide according to the majority. You owe no one, not even […]
via You Owe No One — Eyes + Words