- Captive -

Love is quite dangerous

The vice that holds all of us.

But it’s not love in itself

That’s bad for one’s health

It’s those ideas untold

That, our attentions, do hold

Causing the pain and the strife.

For me it’s a thought, an image, a dream

A girl with brown hair, and skin like sweet cream

Her smile lights her face

And makes my heart race

I draw her in close

So her hair tickles my nose

And we live in a beautiful life

I just cannot seem, to let this thing be

This idea’s made a captive of me

Like a slave master it whips

Forcing me with its grip.

I must do what it asks

As it sets me a task

Just know that to you I will cling.

It’s the idea my mind holds

It’s a lie my mind told.

And I believe it can be,

Just her, and just me.

The idea is what kills me

Not the love that consumes me

And so I will do foolish things.

Metaphore

Metaphore

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If metaphor became reality, and similes lost analogy

Think of the poor men and women on the floor

With broken heart, literally in pieces, torn apart

Pockets empty from the cost of love that they have lost

Because it was misplaced along some path they had traced

With their finger on the back near where a knife would attack

Planted exactly there because passions flared

Leaving flesh black, scorched, scarred,

On the insane because that burning they were yearning.

Even when it’s good it wouldn’t be that good

Theft running rampant, no breathing, no hearts beating.

Parks full of puddles of women and men who are muddled

Because they were in a car until they went crazy and from afar

Other people wiz by, like magnets from the sky

Being attracted inexplicably, unable to react

To the metaphor become reality, and simile which lost analogy.