Red Wine

Image from Pixabay

Bottled and aged with sophistication,
I’m infatuated.
Her look. Her charm.
More so, my virginity unrelated.

She pours into my glass,
smooth as satin only her and I know.
Her elegance intoxicating.
Touching my lips, I ask for more.

Sharing my thoughts with her,
I breathe in every bittersweet reply.
Glass after glass,
eventually calling it a night.

I went to bed alone,
laying there in silhouetted light.
I fell in love with a woman
who I met in a glass of red wine.

Talking to Myself

Image from GIPHY
Background Healing Music by: https://www.fesliyanstudios.com/royalty-free-music/

Indecisive to the direction I go,

You’re like the wind.

Taking misguided steps to nowhere,

your foot’s in front of the other—going somewhere.

Having nothing to offer within these bare branches,

you still reach out while standing tall.

I feel like I don’t belong.

You’re a flower in a misplaced forest.

When I’m lost in my flaws, I ask myself,

“How can I be lost if I’m everywhere?”

Synthetically-laced Puppet

Toy wind up sound effect by: https://freesound.org/people/lmbubec
Dreamy Kid’s Show Melody by: https://freesound.org/people/SoundsExciting/

I’m a marionette,
Just a synthetically-laced puppet.
Always telling myself,
“I’m not a real boy yet.”

With four strings to manipulate,
It’s pretty hard to distinguish real from fake.
My actions–bending at its mercy.
Once it wears off—I have myself to blame.

I sit there,
grasping for air.
Waiting to perform,
‘till then, I sit and stare

It’s my normal,
Nothing new—it’s rather cordial.
I’m numb to everything around me,
Making my restrictions more hospitable.

I’m a marionette,
Just a synthetically-laced puppet.
Always telling myself,
“I’m not a real boy yet.”

Autumn

Image from Pixabay
Background effects by: https://freesound.org/people/paulbogush/sounds/345723/ (The only modification made was adding a voice over the effects. In no way does the licensor endorse the author or usage.)

October’s bellowing anger breaks and cleaves
the bronzed battalions of the stricken wood
in whose lament I hear a voice that grieves
for battle’s fruitless harvest, and the feud
of outraged men. Their lives are like the leaves
scattered in flocks of ruin, tossed and blown
along the westering furnace flaring red.
O martyred youth and manhood overthrown,
the burden of your wrongs is on my head.

Written by: Siegfried Sassoon from his book, Counter Attack and other poems ©1918

This is a public domain book. All credit goes to Mr. Siegfried Sassoon