All Eyes – Poetry

 

All Eyes

By J. A. Weymouth

 

All eyes are broken glass,

Fractured away from a whole,

Expression imprinted loss,

Nothingness – a black hole.

 

Tears are but a ripple,

Wavering across that loner pond,

Mirroring life as nothing but a cripple,

Despair dares not respond.

 

Loss breeds the need,

The need to see greater impressions,

Of souls born to be greedy,

For the better to question.

 

Left to shudder the anticipation,

Of crumbling sorrow,

Leaves us with the sensation

Of nothing.  Nothing for tomorrow.

Whole Words – Poetry

Whole Words

By J. A. Weymouth

There is a lonely man who ponders still

That crazy hoax that is beyond, near all

Of contemplation and sour thrill

The experience of many: the advanced scrawl.

 

The energy draws back in uneasy steps

Trailing inwards and coiling your insides

Quickening with horrid, trepid missteps

The look received fools and divides.

 

It is the poet who sees those naked eyes

Wandering over many matching reflections

Their quiet tastes of the idea standing by

Of all that fails those contemplative questions.

 

Who is the poet? Is that the man or the deer?

That doe-eyed look of words that do come forth

Sprung up beneath or beyond that higher seer

Come from unwavering lengths of tender thought.

 

It is like this equivalence, this treasured creativity

That is beyond all of me and my soul

These words are not mine, simply pure proclivity

From an un-tranquil mind in need to become whole.