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For Beauty's Sake?Is it for vanity's sake we remake
ourselves in the next generation's face?
Do eyes and lips and hair a full soul make,
or do conscience and mores also share place?
The legacy left behind lies ahead:
not in DNA strands, replicated
rather in kindnesses easily shed
and big ideas, praising words quickly said.
The world weeps with children aplenty,
hungry, enslaved, pitiful in the streets.
What use to them, rigid identity,
who, in seeking food, often find defeat?
Beauty resides not in a comely face
but in our ardor for this human race.

What's LeftThey found him hung like meat
waiting to be salted.

Accidental suicide the paper read.
Thirty-two and drunk, foolish
and wasted: A portrait strangers
might examine for poems about life
and death and the unsubstantiated
point to everything.

And we are wordless, mindless,
awed by the severity of grief;
each alone in a cavity
of communal questions.

_Un_Expected& it broke my heart so
I chose boiled broccoli
over apples, preferring
a sulfurous stench
to the perfume
of your favored fruit.

Between swallows,
I contemplated clichés.

BoyMany women will write poetry
from you. They will translate
your nose into an apostrophe
your smile to the front side
of a parentheses, the back
to tears only once admitted.

They will filter your father's ashes
into adverbs that define your fingers
quaking along skin and sin
toward fibrous paper.

They will dismiss your flaws
as improperly placed commas
or periods born before their time.
They will inspect, perfect
& infect you with emotions
you never learned to muster.

But none of them will know
you as I did: a boy, bent
beneath the waves of love
and glad for it.

Death to the ConspiratorI harbor a foolish hope that sensation might flee my body, though I know it cannot be so.

The guards surround me and make an awful commotion - boots clicking sharply against cobblestone floors, guns and belts rattling with each stride. I feel the vibrations in my teeth. A minister walking just ahead snorts loudly every third or fourth step, as though trying to clear his nostrils of the prison's stench.

I had forgotten the scent of a warm summer morning. We leave the gates and stone walls behind and step into the sun. It washes my vision in creamy white. Someone unfolds a black umbrella. My vision returns. There is green grass - rich, moist,

The First Time I Cried...The First Time I Cried While Reading Poetry

You asked if a soul can ache,
watched the tears slide toward
the hollow place in our bed.

I wondered if little girls in Thailand
sleeping in servitude and blameless sin
believe God loves them.

You reached across the sheets,
pressed the pad of your left thumb into my hip,
and impaled miracles on dull words:

"look at us, all agony and grace."

Then rolled away, content to sleep
breathing synced to my sobs.
I kissed your palms, closed my eyes

knew love to be a rabid dog.

The first time I cried
while reading a poem,
you smiled and asked

"does the world make more sense
when it's blurry?

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Submitted: November 10, 2012
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Adding Group Favorites Guidein #SolutionsSanctuary, by `Kneeling-Glory

Resources & Stock Images / Tutorials / deviantART Tutorials / Groups tutorials

©2012-2013 `Kneeling-Glory

Created for #SolutionsSanctuary because people couldn't figure out how to add to group favorites.

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~N-Tessellation Nov 15, 2012 Professional General Artist

Thank you. For me, visual information like this is what works. It is appreciated.

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Mood: Thanks

~RockyPrice Nov 12, 2012

This tutorial was very useful. Thanks for sharing!

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*rlkirkland Nov 10, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Yeah, thats me.

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`Kneeling-Glory Nov 10, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

The more you know.

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