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autumn reflectionswrinkled leaves wrinkled facesmourning dead leaves....Mark Toney © 2021.9/25/2021 - Poetry form: Haiku (for you)
For Vanessa and Cleon .
How does one survive When he doesn't care to try? When he's run out of time And is overwhelmed by lies, In whom can he honestly confide? How could one suffer When his family loves one another?
My train is always speeding; thundering down the track at full speed. It heads nowhere in particular. Whenever it stops to unload a thousand passengers, a thousand more board. Most are unwelcome.
a ten-second tears falls from bleak but truthful faces with a poultice-like mask from mistaken-youth places what are the choices to change, stop for 30 days, complain
there is a face behind my face-- there is a frown behind my smile-- there is a life beyond this hell-- there is a place that does not wait-- the ribs that stick
My mom said monsters were not under my bed, Just in my head. They aren't bad but I'd rather have some friends instead. Growing up I saw monsters in school, Monsters at work, Monsters who were cool,
They say a mirror breaks Into a thousand pieces When it is hit by By anything that contains The force to shatter it And crack the glass,that Might have been immaculate, Or might have been dirty,
Day, it is the day where I hide myself Light reaches for every dark spot, nothing to hide Talks are short, superficial, lacks any personal substance Talks are loud, ornamental, giving no inclination in anything
I dream amongst the stars Yet live with buildings and cars Two different places Two different faces Both have freedom, both have bars. I sing amongst the stars I dance along with Mars
He said this She said that You come to me asking for help because you know you know that I will even if I'm ill don't question it but when you leave and talk behind my back
Shapeless as the shadowthey creep,they lurch,they change,from the bright dayjoyous and gay,or the dim twilight,melancholy and grievous,to the black nightraging and grim.
The faces fade to ash Photographs discolored to the sickly yellow Of rotting buttercups and stagnant sunlight Captured in dust-coated rooms Disintegrating into something less than nothing
It covers everything It is our friend and enemy It shields our faces Our emotions and devestations It knows our fears It creates our fears We tell it everything,and we we tell it nothing
As I walk down the street I see all the faces; The happy, the sad, the downright mad; Some might believe they are always this way; Soon you'll know that's just not true; The mad man at the bus stop,
When you see me you would think, There goes a strong young man. Never close to breaking him, He feels as much as a tin can. And if you asked me now, this is what I'd tell. I've never shed a tear
I gaze at his eyes, a color I don’t recall; forgetful in love.
You know the meaning of stop and think, You know the meaning of filtering, You know the meaning to breath after each sentence, Even better not externally thinking out loud, Or even being blunt.
Snapshots, glimpses,sometimes mirror images of faces reflect in my brain. Once familiar people and namesare now distant and fading ghosts.
New faces bring new thunderstorms The smell of fresh rain on pavement shows change in the air The lightning flashes a bright sky for a split second The moment rips away as thunder claps the same old darkness back