Joe's Slate

  Each exchange, yet another fruitless effort Yes, the fault is mine, for choosing you to be the one. Yet you never chose me over your cohort. Each cold gaze, that you bestow upon me, Still warmer than any sort of repudiation. Building entire worlds from the moments you could spare, And here I am, a thousand worlds created. I stand here and blame myself For all those times I searched your face for reasons to stay. You never asked me to wait,  Yet somehow I made that my fate.

  The hue of periwinkle smudged with midnight's glow, The efflorescence butchering the walls after yesterday's downpour. Water, barely seeping through flooded pot's earth, the plant, no longer alive. Four more steps. Flooding my ears are the vehicles in the distance, The professionals are barred from pushing the pistons. As the voices in my head grow louder, I scream at them and at myself, "Three more steps" The neighbours curating the same supper as before, My skin, searing as the burning tears flow down my face. I never did taste victory but I always could smell it. I breathe to myself, "Two more steps" My tongue feels the cracks on my palate, Thirsty for a win and hungry for satisfaction. As more moisture leaves through my eyes, Rendering my mouth lifeless, I barely utter the phrase, "One more step" As I take my final stride towards nothingness, My mind rushes with memories of good and bad. I smile even at the bad ones, The blood reaches my ...

  Your brown hair and eyes, Are my very sustenance. Each step you take, Further worthies my existence. The hidden pearly whites, When your lips part A strange passion they ignite, In the deepest depths of my heart. Your long locks grip my very soul. Now as you further the width, I wonder at my heart's hole, As you were never mine to begin with.

  When the last light is curtained, The sky is entirely unstained. A blink here and a wink there, And the crescent leaves it no longer bare. The oceans rise higher with each push and pull, As all the anathemic things come alive. Then gradually, the canvas gets brightened, As the stolen light, returns to its rightful owner.

  I was not like your other inamoratos I was there during your highs and lows. Though you did not give the others a second glance I wasn't offered a single chance. Your denial made the others heart ache But a single whiff of your hair and my day was made. Grey-green eyes with a cat like glow The inner child is masked and does not show. But now as I lay the flowers on your resting grave I think about the path, together we could have paved

  Conflicts between people of so called "mettle" Their propensity for violence, their thirst for blood never gets satisfied As the dust settles The innocent victims lay there, putrefied and petrified. They scar the land and the lives of the witnesses There is absolutely no support  For the people ready to purport Instead, they are ended by the witless. The reports, for a while are pedantic Then they turn nebulous The people seeking justice are frantic But the result is obvious. The countries involved are considered to be paragon But certain deeds of theirs are regarded as minuscules The nascent rising voices get immediately put down As the living souls turn into ghouls.. Does the world have any more hope Does the penchant for violence still exist Do the people still have the courage to repudiate the evils Is there any hope for these misanthropes