Tasseled Dreams
By foxystonefox
The thought of the future we will never have was pollinating foul fuzzy
particles in the air,
slowly following the wake of all those tasseled dreams I held onto to for
far too long.
The most intimate revelations can often expose plagiaristic suppressions
that we most likely,
have already tried to to forget; suggesting to anyone on the outside looking
in,
That there was a rancid cowardice secreting from the pores of all those
who would deny the most basic of fundamental decencies to he equal fellow
man.
All the while,
Boasting a loud tolerance that would be found falling with the last fleeing
fall. . .
The very last of colorful arrangements made of watering oranges and bleeding
reds,
Falling from all trees never to be seen to fall again.
The thundering drumming of my own heartbeat gave my freshly dead and over
bland reactions,
A new sparkling neon personality.
But there are always those few extra fingering, lingering, successful hand
gestures reflecting a prism of tracers-birthed from the most brilliant
lasers, radiating something blindly gorgeous that could heighten with more
sensitivity.
Shadowing over the complexity of every kiss that I had ever been given
in my entire night.
Spinning a silk and gold web all around me,
That was more intricate than a disastrous earthquake.
This flaccidly tight response came at a price,
Leaving nothing but whispers and the wrong kind of impressions.
The time for Dignity and Grace were long gone and felt decades away.
Your tiny little temperaments helped with attempted to soothe me into a
very still silence.
Wooing me..
Seducing me..
with such a strong touch of Romantic Readiness…
I no longer knew how to say the word “No”
Causing a stroke of sadness pass through me at the single sentiment.
This dramatic departure killed any interest that might have supported the
abortive sorrows and short winded elation/'/s of men attempting to market
a profit off their own Tasseled Dreams.
Comments on "Tasseled Dreams "
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On Sunday, July 12, 2020, Alanarchy
(1168) wrote:
"The very last of colorful arrangements made of watering oranges and bleeding reds, Falling from all trees never to be seen to fall again." You do not write, so much as paint with thoughts. This is why I come here. Thanks again for sharing.
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A former member wrote:
Well written piece. Enjoyed reading it.