Time Dad

Father Time.
The only father
of otherworldly
human design.

The waxing wane
the opaque pane
trying to see into
an idea that
is always fleeting,
pregnant with mystery,
but never gains.

He is our only father.
He behaves as fathers do.
Mother Nature is nurturing
Father Time is pain.

I believe in parents,
or guardians
of our intrusive race.

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I am not a technological savvy person, therefore , when my phone decided it would much rather Pursue a career in being a strobe light, I lost a large quantity of my work . Anyways, I’ll have some new stuff soon. Please feel free to enjoy, critique, share or laugh at some of my older work in the meantime. And thanks everyone. I’ve been pushing my poetry on this site for about a year and I made it to 219 followers recently!

Worms words

Praise the forgotten
true life
lies beneath.
Worms speak
for the rotten,
the ones
who no longer
violence inertia,
It may never
for if worm
is hungry,
worm must eat.

life blood
in leagues,
white mud
makes presence
flooding of
the wet part
of our soul,
forever it
lingers on
the worms
it speaks.

The puppet maker

Puppeteers twine
secured by
holes drilled into
hollowed heads.
While they
appear cold,
they’re satisfied
in beds of
Teddy bear mold.

A jack o’ lanterned
wedding dress
hangs upon a bust
crafted in the image
of the ancient Cypris.
Worn once and
ever distressed,
not fit for burial
the wedding dress.

A spectre visits
on this night
and It curls
wooden fingers
and rolls
porcelain eyes.
strings lift
without tension
allowing a walk
on deaths suspension.
An unholiest god
that deserves
no mention
yet allows
this abomination
once hailed
as my creation
to advance
upon me
without hesitation.