Who Is She

With her makeup bag left on the bus station seat,
she took off by a bus or took off by her feet.
I took hold of the bag, to return it to her.
Though, no address I found and no number to spur.

There was Dazzle Stick shining, as catching the light.
Makeup Mekka was there, as matte for blush bright.
Fenty Bronzer was there, being cheeky and bold.
Isadora Blush Stick. I saw secrets untold.

Fratboy Shadow – her face is a true mystery.
There was Mary-Lou Manizer – what history?
The Rare Beauty Foundation she let meet the eye.
And her need for concealment was Maybelline by.

Though, no lipstick I found. Maybe tucked away tight
is that stick so that lips easily take to flight.
Who is she? Who is that girl with colours so bright?
With that palette of makeup, how does she wear light?

Truly she lost her bag, though, she must have her glow.
And her lips have a story I truly would know.
What’s the hue of her smile? Is it coral? Plum? Rose?
Lipstick color is daring. To keep it she chose.

In my fantasy, lipstick lets passion reveal.
And by seeing it, maybe her charm I could feel.
Though, no address I found. No seed there is to grow.
Who she is, and how she is, I will never know.

NOTE :

This poem is referred to on the blog hop of dVerse
| here |.

Ambition

To be alienated is surely not good,
To be foreign to others, and not understood.
To be cannot be grasped by the common, if not
The togetherness of it is atmosphere got.

The successful can neither this thing comprehend.
The successful will life as it shows up attend.
The two beings will both fail, though, in being right:
To the left there is solitude, darkness in sight.

Maybe cure to the alienation is just
To see outstanding being as matter of must.
As outstanding from common one is like a son.
As successfully outstanding gladness is won.

An Autumn View

Now the autumn has come. I get chilled by the cold,
As the growth of the earth seems to be rather old.
Period is the work which in spring was begun.
Period is the thing of the summer, the fun.

By the seed growth will show again, and will be seen,
By the seed incarnation on what one is keen.
Though, the vine thinks of brandy and wine to become.
Temporarily being is futile to some.

As enjoying the cognac, the brandy, the wine
I will think of the being I wish will be mine.
I will be on Christ Jesus a thanksgiving branch,
And take good care of living; of life, and of chance.

Grateful for That

As insane I did much. I remove every trace,
So the being as such I will no longer face.
Though a job, when it’s done I can smile to my pride,
And my way I am on, with no motive to hide.

And I smile to the blown, and I smile to my pain.
I was there on my own, showing up as insane.
Thank You, Lord, I gave not any worry to man.
Just a blush I have got. And delete it I can.

NOTE :

This poem is referred to on the blog hop of dVerse
| here |.

For to See

I did ask for a sign, and what God gave to me
Was the printer beside me, for cautious to see,
And the paper which was, and is, and will become
As a matter of fact the expenditure from.

Now, the vision is older. It is old as man.
It was Adam who made it, and copy we can.
When we buy in the drugstore it also is clear
Since the three ways of being is found also there.

We might find it in flowers, by root, stem and crown,
And we should make it valid, make it our own.
There is comfort in doing. The printer work done
Might take time, though quite surely, it ends in the Son.

NOTE :

This poem is referred to on the blog hop of dVerse
| here |.

I Am Damned

Really, I cannot do
Much to entertain you.
I have nothing to say
To enlighten your day.
I have nowhere to go
To be prosperous so.
So, I walk in despair
Just to get the fresh air,
And a smile on my face
I develop, by grace.
And if you wonder why,
It's my head in the sky.
Joy of sorrow it is
What I tingle by this,
Really, not at all bad
Then the damned feeling sad.