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SilentIn the silence
Your eyes do the talking;
Yet, you remain mute,
Mill-pond calm on the surface,
Unable to speak the truths
That I see boiling inside,
The Tumult of your soul-
Only lies spilling from a forked tongue.
--But I want your anger.
--I want your hate.
Then I want all of your truths,
So I can finally let you go
And you can remove your mask.
Outside the linesGifted with magic,
Creativity pouring from your veins;
Into your fingers and speech,
--your every breath and heartbeat,
As you moved outside the lines and boxes.
Splashes of colour in a grey world,
--brightness for dulled eyes.
Willingness to remain unaccepted,
If it meant remaining true to yourself.
ClashingCherry sweet lips;
Offering only bitter words and sour kisses.
Your mercurial emotions just leave me steely,
You the dreamer-
And me the insomniac.
SkirmishThis was never a fair fight.
You commanded an arsenal;
Any weapon of choice at your disposal,
I remained unarmed-- except for wit,
And used that alone to cut you down-
Before you could fire a single shot.
More or less...The longer we spend together-- I wonder
Are we becoming more
Or are we less in this pairing?
Once, we were unique;
Now one of us pales
Somehow lessened in existance
becoming just an extention of the other...
MaroonedYou left me high and dry.
Only marginally better than leaving me floundering,
Or desperately gasping like a landed fish,
I was stranded--
While you spend your time drifting here and there,
Dipping your toes into the shallows,
Toying with the surf - just like you toyed with my emotions.
But remember; The tides turn.
Be careful not to get caught in the swell,
It will pull you down like a shipwreck.
The sea is not so merciful as I--
And I won’t sink and drown just yet.
We become ships passing;
And I will sail again and cast my nets.
I will add-- in hindsight,
When I caught you
I should have thrown you back.
Southern modernizationBlack comedy market economy, banana peel political humour, cards with the cartels, the solution free room service and credit the union. Bolivar twist, ding dong dollar under control, valley of the coin desert with no value. Gangsta paradise, the victims are the people. Big mac and cold conflict interference a part of it all. In little Mexico you’d need a high horse to jump the great border wall that boasts its peak.
Viracocha melts waters unlike those it rose from, making waves of out of metal oceans to overtake the current south, re-steel, re-take, tech-mechs the entire south into neo-Machu Picchu, cyberpunk music moulding, reshaping old society into an new age, iron dynasty, fresh coat for an old, ancient look. The coattails of Quetzalcoatl if he were a modern man pull together the merge of future and long passed past..techno temples and the like.
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