Finding An Edge To Life

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Finding an edge to life
Loose thread; ripping out the seams
Setting out for an independent life
No purpose if they’re not your dreams

Perplexing choices to those
Who forgot to shake in quaking fear
You hope to wither in the memory
Of these who are content to remain here

Red Lipstick & A Tight Ponytail

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Red lipstick & a tight ponytail
The pretty piano player; a punk rockette
The domestic goddess with a need to be clean
Living on the edge of the cosmopolitain set

Hoarding her guilty pleasures fiercely
The moral ambiguity is a stubborn crutch
Ignoring nature’s perfectly placed laws
But she’ll only accept the light’s soft touch

Wearing an evening gown at her elegant leisure
Within her mind, no better way to take a selfie
She’s blunt with her standards & expectations
But lucky for us all, my poems are gluten free

 

Image by Kelsey Vere from Pixabay

These Stories Are Figments Of Hope

Photo by Monica Silvestre on Pexels.com

These stories are figments of hope
Simple words from a mind of an everyday man
These theatrics of an unknown sort
Living through each day without scope or plan
Journey to the water’s edge to find a salve
To bathe our souls in God’s great sea
I’m not close to your idea of perfection
But I’m forgiven; a better concept to be

Midnight’s A Fine Time To Take The Jacksonville Train

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Midnight’s a fine time to take the Jacksonville train
Rolling double boxcars to decide our fate
Gotta get back to my lover’s bedside
‘cause women like that don’t hardly wait
Been dreaming of her since the days of steam
Finely dressed woman with incalculable sense
I’m lagging behind schedules & timetables
Hindered by a world of devastating pretense
Spellbound, in the terminal cloister, trying to keep track
Our destiny dwindling, chanced by the tumble of dice
Fearing snake eyes when we need eleven
For lightning isn’t going to strike us down twice
Separation has me feeling on the edge of sincerity
Bleary eyes blinked time & again for some sanity
I’m not emotionally set up for these tribulations
Fear of failing, yet no marks upon my frivolous vanity
Memories of forgotten moments in the text
Perhaps it’s time for me to remain fully alert
But I can’t ignore how my insides churn
The notions of the woman so beautifully pert
It’s risky to return my heart for ante
Somewhere she’s loosening her bustle
This venture is getting out of hand
When she’s applying her legendary hustle
Pulling into the station, I know my lot
A few hours late; enough for passion to be reclaimed
I’ve tried my best, but crapped out again
In my weakness, I become loved; that’s when the angels came

 

 

Image by Khusen Rustamov from Pixabay