13-31 Part 4 What have they learned?

We shall continue the path to V day by examining bad poetry from men in order of age.  We have gone from puberty to frat boys and we now will see if the “adults” have managed to learn anything.

Sometimes you just have to appreciate it.

Live band blends into the rumble of a crowed pub.

Sometimes you just have to look up.

Even the most crowded turnpike still has sky.

Despite how hazy there is a vast beyond.

The funeral pyre always has its flame,

And in turn the clouds share their rain.

Many deserts shortly flower,

And with the same desolation my life has you.

But we all forget to look up

From the dull gravel at the feet before us.

Too distracted by the pot holes

Failing to realize what it was

That has kept one from falling flat.

But when I do,

I see you.

With dark hair laced over your face

I watch eyes from shadow pulling me from mine.

If not the sky or the ocean

The music amongst the dense crowd,

It is just what you do for me.

Sometimes you just have to look up

Just for a moment you may need to look up

And see me

It’s beautiful,

It’s beautiful

For me.

You wish to be within my breath

Without my arms around you

Even merely lovers cannot

Adjust to such a false truth

A mans vocation is what they are

What they do

So is the human bond, between two

What they are

What they do

The King never plays Prince

Nor the blacksmith, a horse

It’s a thing beyond nature

That one cannot force

Lovers are not like the moon they gaze upon

Or ocean sway

They are light, heat, the breeze

That either stays

Or fades away.

I can see it in your eyes

If there be lies

If there be pain

And the rain

And the hunger for shelter

If there be joy

If there be love

Or if the fire for me

Hast faded away

I can see it in your eyes.

Tell me what to wear

Pull at me with intimate nicknames

But still I step away

I placed it on the floor

and though you dance around it

It slowly disappears into the sand

And reappears in my chest

In which a step a day

Is farther away.

I cannot be debonair, because there is no romance with out you

I be silent, but not strong

More dark, less handsome

A knight, without the shine

Love is to sacrifice joyously, to hurt willingly, to yearn knowingly, to live selflessly,

all for but a shadow of a kiss.

I cannot be passion, for there is no flesh with out you,

A lover listless

A poet voiceless

A minstrel out of tune

Love is to nurture ones self, as the other, and the pair as a whole.

Love, is a state of being, not a feeling, not a goal

Love, is, if you know it, when you know it, if you accept it, if you fight for it,

if you choose it, if you lose it, worth it.

Fragile feminine fingers lost in the fray on my head

To spider climb the terrain

Slide down my back with a hint of passion

Trim, turbulent, tummy, supporting my head lost in the fray

To hold on and resist slumber

As fragile feminine fingers get lost in the fray

Lethargic, longing or lost in the fray

To retreat to as storms hover above

When one knows of a few safe places to stay

Whether weaken, in love or lost in the fray

Best to sail for safe harbor

in the presence of female company.

Women my age don’t care for poetry,

by the time the do, I’ll be old and bored with such,

When they be no longer worthy

Then and only then, will they pursuit this heart

Yearning for ballads of love.

I could not afford them as a youth

And I will not afford their egos then, anymore

Than they could afford the truth.

Love is innocent, and beauty fades,

So they’re left merely, a self-serving maid.

Absence

I miss her, and it’s a little not fair, dare

I say, to those in history who have had to

Lose, miss, listless days for their hearts

When soil and sea, balks at whatever

Technology or piece of mind

Promises to fill the spaces they create

Ever how short the time I may have had,

Justify the wrong to be without

Ways of saying things you won’t

Note, until you are displaced

Laced with a numbing salve of

Heart, hit lust solitude.

Absence,

A song of longing,

Of quiet gentle cords

Poured out slow along a cello

Covering skin in a nuke warm shower

Waiting for one to dry you off.

That fickle muse

She will beat me and bruise me

Tease me and taunt me

So I can sing of her darker side

She uses

Blindness and beauty

Lust and mercy

To keep me hooked on the golden line

Woman, you’re just another tool

Your mother never raised you to be so cruel

You’re just at the use of the muse

and she set you loose with the tools

to come and break my lonely heart.