James Darwin Smith II
Subliminal Metaphors In The Past Tense Of The Hardest Of Modes - Poem by James Darwin Smith II
Subliminal settings inside each word
Crushes into the heart of a beautiful world
Smelling the roses of a lover's riddle
Is it all just a metaphor?
This puzzle all a mess
If only this soul was attached
Rather than being scattered everywhere
Unbeknownst to tears hidden, Bestowed inside, far away
Such a fountain of emotions pouring, quietly imploring
Exploring things that are not aware, Passionate inquiries unaware
There is a price to judgement
Poor in the essence of a guiding light
Upon a fairy-tale's intrusion
Into a lackadaisical mourning
Searching for a destination, Signs devoid
In this barren journey
Why can I still smell the roses?
Mocking of a love bird
With an predication's false intent
Disguised in a predator's paradise ahead, a vulture's retrospective
Drifting onward in my own head
Day dreaming a light upon a beckon's call
A direction to tell me where to go, Invisible
Still here in a residual far from anywhere
Under a peaking interest
Screaming out aloud
Trying to catch a heart shaped torpedo
From the little yellow submarine of unknown intent
Attested in a indigo enigma of intuitive dwelling, Disbelieved
Must go all alone
Gave too many clues to this journey
Will these dreams ever be implored?
Am I too complicated to understand?
In the landscape I create with words
Why do I feel like I am on the out?
When the in tries making me feel right at home
Read this history with an open mind
My poetry is my only refuge
From a planet alien to this very soul, beyond
Some fear the unknown
Some cannot get it under control
While others pass it on by without learning
The lessons it always supplies
Under these emotions
Protected by this vessel of hope
Forgetting yesterday, Troubles so far away
Imagine if I was a more profound than ever before
Who am I?
Am I hearing too much music inside my own head?
On difficulty of hard
But easy to solve
Once you truly delve into this very soul
Come right in
Please, make yourself feel right at home
Never want anyone else to ever feel like they are all alone
Devoted in the mellow reaches of my very roam
Who do you think I am?
Am I doing an alright job?
I would surely love to know,
Flat one side, other side feeling torn,
Strong will of a soul growing beyond its home
I am a lone poet
A man who writes alone,
An apprentice to a life
I live in each stanza of my very own poems
I try to share; I try my best to venture to other journeys
I never meant to stand so alone
I just want to be more than a past tense metaphor
Subliminal metaphors in the past tense of the hardest of modes,
This games is never over,
It always goes on, with unlimited lives without any score
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