Thoughtless

The speech will be sputtered systemically,

As if rehearsed for an indefinite amount of time—

Memorized precisely—but removed

From conscious thought by the fear arisen.

The voice may quiver incoherently, for

That is the way words have always been spoken—

And the moment will never last, no moment

Can ever last. The brevity—though poetic—

Will be dangerously benign and brisk.

Smiles will be had and tears will be shed,

Because despair has become expected,

And such an emotion has no other outlet.

The human heart will not subscribe

To rational thought, it never does…

Logic learned is easily dismissed by

The first delivery of laudation—

A lust completely devouring,

An unsought feeling of forever 

Being amiss. 

Sonnet III (The Forges)

In heaven, stainless fountains of gold stream

Downwards amongst the rows of polished moulds.

Next to the groves of forges, the smiths gleam

Their grins with sincere pride, whilst their ore folds

Into the peerless portrait of a girl—

A Gregarious masterpiece they’ve grown.

The smiths toil and trouble themselves to swirl

Metal pools into the purest face known—

The artists give her life, they give her eyes,

They give her a heart which will never break.

Upon her they bestow a mind to surmise

The beauty that exists to all who wake.

The artisans bellow their booming pride—

Shouting sentiment with delight untied.  

      DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com

Half Hearted

My brain becomes befuddled,

Each night before I lay my head—

It seems I do not think straight,

But lay awake instead.

It is purity that steals my thoughts,

And creates the moral dissonance

Which creeps upon me. No

Matter how many hours I spend

Parsing the pages of thesauruses,

I am left even farther from

The sentiment I would truly

Like to pass—not the half

Hearted emotion which always

Seems to escape from my lips…

I quiver and shake, my eyes water

In a cycle of chronic delusion

And fleeting seconds of reality

Which I do not wish to last.

It is a peculiar sensation of pain

That propagates the softest joy—

I do not believe I would

Ever be able to trade. My physiology

Tells the truth even when I lie,

My vitals—the blood within me—

Pulsates in rhythm that I cannot hide

From. I can suppress my desire,

And run from it readily, but it always

Returns to haunt me… Haunt me…

This is no ghost upon me, but a visage

That I cannot help but envision,

Happiness that I wish for, without

Guided reason.

        DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com 

Adulation (Sonnet II)

Be careful to define the stark passion,

Which may be forged within the dreary depths

Of the caverns of one’s heart. This ration,

Of unforgiving languish spawns regrets,

Amidst fortnights filled with dark contrition.

One may become stricken by viciousness—

Human flesh—which embroiders ambition

Around dreamlike vigor—a chrysalis,

To contain the cause of inhibition.

Beneath spells of senseless adoration,

Captivation may delay cognition,

To ease distortion of aspiration—

Yet, in adulation, foolish minds reign

While, it seems, the wise tend to go insane.

      DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com

Vulnerability

Vulnerability is fledged from an aspiration,

For happiness to ascend and grow

Towards sunlight, as petals unfurl below.

Like a spring flower a smile blooms,

Brilliance to brighten unlit rooms.

It is heartwarming to witness the sheen

Of a pair of smiling eyes, reflections

That mimic the world’s unique perfections.

The universe can be such an evil place,

Unjust—it is placed upon the kindest grace.

A Young Mind

Enjoy each day, with an inescapable passion—

Build upon your reasoning with an inventory

Of knowledge and communication.

Be a chrysalis of innovation, and ponder

Your purpose, whilst smiling an

Enduring grin. It is your life;

Never be afraid to begin again.

Enjoy beauty, when offered freely,  

And be courageous, if the sun has set.

Do not hesitate to succumb to the

Limits of your own imagination.

Tread the parallels of your own perception—

Pass each former self with a froth

Of favorable and discreet emotion.

Each step is directed, you are guided

By the minuscule theories of positive

Addition—it is not fair wishes but

Habitual patterns that paint your way.

       DannYetman

www.DanielYetman.com