And The Sky Is Falling

I feel like I’m on fire
And the sky is falling
The days of the melting pot
Are only in your eyes
No matter what I say
I’m still gonna see you dancing
In this barroom maybe
Even shaking your hand
And even if I couldn’t move
She must have been my name
It’s hard to believe
It’s hard to face the truth
I could never love enough to get here
And in one grand love you’re the one who wrote
The tune
The tune that I used to make
I believe I’m on fire
And the sky is falling
I feel like I’m on fire
And the sky is falling
I feel like I’m on fire
And the sky is burning
I feel like I’m on fire.

November 26, 2020November 6, 2020 by tadrqtd Categories: Pics and ProseTags: dancing, falling, fire, poem, poetry, prose, sky Leave a comment

The Fire-tipped Parameter

A silvery energy crystallizes
nothing but your trusting curves,
the lethargic aspen is electric on your finger,
outside the dark animosity of the legume
all droplets become felicities
So the profound joy lives on in a fruit?
the absent minded form that is verdure and stationary
a harsh flute day!
If you were not the nectarine the delicate moon
cooks, sprinkling its sugar!
Across the heights
Everything sticky with loving voices, the salt of the home
and piles of soft bread among
afternoon
like stains throttling inside corals.
eloquent seams above a rambunctious ship
Everything clotting with moonlit voices, the salt of the starry sky
and piles of blazing bread around night
of your dull shades of cashmere when you hold out your arm?
You see lips as lovely as the clouds
We open the halves of a secrets and the
disintegrating of funerals enriches into the comfortable divisions
the delirious love is gleaming on your toe
in the middle of the rotten splendor, many forceful shadows
I do not waver in the area of insufferable wasteland
I could tread heart, stalactite
, and funeral
from doves and clusters
with a opaque blood colored
oranges
with pins in my hand.
And you’ll ask why doesn’t his poetry
imbue of mirrors and branches
and the musical poppies of his native land?

November 11, 2017November 10, 2017 by tadrqtd Categories: Pics and ProseTags: energy, fire, parameter, poem, poetry, prose, stationary Leave a comment

All hot above the fire

So scary within the trees
I rotate invisible rubes among the grave
Alack! The passion was good
Quite flying about the virgin
You smell musty spirits beneath the towers
Whoa! The King must continue
All hot above the fire
You prod happy tongues against the mud
Be watchful. The stink will be born
open-eyed tired
in the night
no words left
After how many voyages
the lover
take comfort
in the late light

May 16, 2017April 29, 2017 by tadrqtd Categories: Pics and ProseTags: fire, hot, king, passion, poetry Leave a comment