#345
All the messages
rest here, in the
negative space, hidden
so obviously in the
boldest of places, between
each word, its there
its fine, the meaning lays
between the lines.
#346
Where does that hero dwell?
They say he lives within,
but when will he come save me,
share his strength to live?
What if he sits drowning? Sucking
my fears rather than than cool crisp air,
what if he’s dying? Because
my will struggles to care?
Perhaps i am completely mistaken,
and that victim that’s waiting
is fighting until i finally start
and realize the role of the hero
is simply to push me to do my part.
#347
Three AM, five minutes from the Atlantic
some rat face DJ spinning i don’t know what.
i’ve walked miles today, both levels on the bridge,
through cramped tight alleys
in old European streets,
beside the bathers, sun and ocean evenings,
watched the light paint park canvases, listened to
the musicians serenade the sunset,
found friendly foreigners, wiped gentle rain
from my brow, never alone in the strange city.
My knees ache and yelp, and this is night one,
starting Summer with the last of Spring’s songs,
in a few hours the metro starts, all that’s left
is the last of the pacing, perhaps i’ll leaf through my book
theres no time for wasting, as i sit on the cold concrete
in Porto, with nothing but this rat faced DJ, a few pages,
and new memories to keep my attention.
#348
At a wild low in ages,
you can feel the love
of many, in love with few.
Theres more friends,
expanding family, a full inbox,
yet when she retreats, that single piece
disappears, and i come tumbling.
Some how its all meaningless? Tall untruths,
the foolish i, to forget the resonate
love, sitting below the surface,
perhaps not mine, but mine enough
to climb, to amplify, to sing.
#349
How surreal to want you
next to me while my armpits stink,
why my days rot by, riding
a boring, threadbare couch,
holding back tears while watching
a cheesy, albeit, moving, tv movie,
a moment i’d make fun of alone,
with friends, why is it at my worst,
my most pathetic, i want you as my witness.
The one i often strive to impress, the
one i move to charm, i guess thats
whats different, my indifference to masks
in-regards to you, and our time, you’re
simply allowed, within the hidden,
the sacred, the private, that your
company is so coveted, so precious,
to lose a single second, over shame,
or imperfection, would be an untold tragedy.
Thanks for joining! Find poems through out the week on my instagram @monsieurwrite
Don’t forget to check out the poems being recited on The Write Stuff podcast!
Take care, call your family, tell them you love them.
wazoo!
-Mr. Write