Cursed
by bloody doubt,
which signed Fear’s manifesto
with the hasty wit…
I guess good things are like wine,
which is
much finer with time..
-Sage
©SagePoetry 2018.
Cursed
by bloody doubt,
which signed Fear’s manifesto
with the hasty wit…
I guess good things are like wine,
which is
much finer with time..
-Sage
©SagePoetry 2018.
I’m doubt ridden
about living
in ways
far from how my heart feels…
My beats are beating
through sternum
to fight from hurting…
Cuz pain,
only shows true gain
if it’s from learning.
Yet,
(the same mistakes)
keep staking me to the grain…
These tools of sin,
keep carving a brother’s name…
Mercy me,
it hurts to be the outcast…
who knows..
This light of mine
might shine
if I could outlast…
-Sage
©2018 SagePoetry
Photo: ikutokitten/ DeviantArt.net
My heart’s split in a thousand threads,
yet
each wicked twine spins new sorrow..
Unraveled minds,
leaving behind
a broken shell..
The house of pain.
The home of truth.
The bed of despair.
Is this the cocoon for me to own?
Wrapped in wrath?
To bloom in hate??
Or does pressure squeeze magnificent stones?
Birth immovable anatomy?
Found internal fortresses?
Yes it is true, I cannot shield
YOUR pain,
YOUR anguish..
But maybe I can knit a new narrative.
Stitch a new standard.
Patch renewed passion,
in those who choose to thread
beyond dread
and
lace new faith
in those who choose to believe
beyond belief..
-Sage
©2018 SagePoetry. All Rights Reserved.
So much to hate.
So much to love.
So much to feel..
So little time,
Such little patience.
So many ills..
Somebody cares.
Somebody doesn’t.
Nobody deals..
Life isn’t perfect.
Life isn’t fair.
But life is real..
So think that,
look in the mirror,
and see what’s looking back..
-Sage
©2018 SagePoetry. All Rights Reserved.
Idle words in the dead of the night,
fiend response
in unGodly hours.
“whatever” can fix these fits..
as long as it comes quick..
So he pours slow
when pitted with these pangs for pleasure.
You know he rather feel emotion by the liter..
Just dirty habits of a hollow heart,
still itching with temptation..
But, in truth,
he fiends control
and sinks in his shortcomings.
Yet
so eager to see
just how far
this rabbit hole goes..
-Sage
©2018 SagePoetry. All Rights Reserved.
I was a star before books had answers
in a galaxy far beyond these bars and stanzas.
Molding novas into ink to tame flames of an enflamed brain, breaking the cells thats barring me..
Such routine is boring me.
So I’m alien to the concept of your world
cuz I live in fantasies of making ’em reality..
So
notebook space
is the only place that I call home.
At least until this carbon decides to copy the rest,
in peace..
Then I’ll be a free man,
no longer fighting this fire with fire
and no longer taking such pains
in vain.
-Sage
©2018 SagePoetry. Rights Reserved.
I let the ink roll…
and stain pearl pages
to purge curved rages
that really relish in the venom thats been
soiling my soul.
no.
I let the ink roll…
and stain pearl pages
for brilliant explanations
on what troubles I hold.
no.
I let the ink roll,
and stain pearl pages
for the hazards that I’m faced with
and the grit it takes to make it..
Too sullied with grief
to wade in patience.
Impatient.
So sullied,
my grief
gradually grates my greatness..
Degrading.
I don’t know…
I think I let the ink roll,
and stain pearl pages
to mark these traces
of hope
in hopes that it never gets mistaken.
-Sage
©2018 Sage Poetry. All Rights Reserved.
The best dreams
have been laid in accord
by the assembly line antics
that scramble the brain frantic…
So,
thats another one
that fell captive to reason.
And
that’s another one
shackled by logic.
All the while,
dormant dreams lie
unaware of their freedom.
All the while,
dormant dreams lie
unaware of false knowledge.
But you can’t bottle the fire
ignited with passion.
But
you can channel the fire
making the magic…
Because failure is a myth
if opportunity is a gift…
So, awake to take what’s yours.
-Sage
©2018 Sage Poetry. All Rights Reserved.
I’m just a midwest playa,
gaming to gain hues.
In the green or red sense,
whatever the game choose..
That means
I’m in it to win it,
minute to minute,
I cant lose
not a second’s progression
in the direction that I’ve viewed.
My third eye’s blind to mirages of fair systems.
My third eye’s open to visions of clear victims.
And I’m not a fan of not giving a damn..
So I rather make a stand before taking the stands…
So my token of admission is knowing the difference.
Knowing I’m built for the league,
knowing I shape the conditions..
Cuz these vices I’m living, have given room to improve
for a midwest playa
who still competes with the blues.
-Sage
©2018 Sage Poetry. All Rights Reserved.
Tranquility.
A sore,
among scarred minds,
that lie in wake of aching purpose.
This is Ambition’s Achilles..
Dragging us by the collar
to heeled complacency.
Ah,
the comforts of the bottom..
These shallow pleasures,
piling for the forgotten.
-Sage
©2018 Sage Poetry. All Rights Reserved.