The Darkest Wish

Perhaps everyone needs a chapter in their life,

A page that remains untouched until they die—

Everybody needs feelings of love and languish

To give them humility and perspective,

And calm their beating hearts—dampen their desire.

For, if anyone was to go their entire life

Without being forced into a difficult goodbye,

They would not be human, they would not understand

The sleepless nights, or the clawing within their chest

That keeps them awake for days at a time—

The unrequited lust that brings pain and nothing else.

Love is a unity with no better, but the search is endless,

And requires a lifetime of suffering—love is evil

And amiss, it is the demon with the darkest wish. 

     DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com

The Perturbation

I long to borrow the intellect of the enigma—to be—

The man with twice the thought processing power as me.

For perhaps, with a more peculiar identity

I could stop the brain-itching, perfect-pleasantry

Wishful-thinking, heart-having, sentiment-saving,

Rose-bearing, gold-gleaming, midnight-braving,

Love-beaten laudation that laughs and lingers—

The molasses-like longing lodged upon my fingers.   

I would like to delicately admit, sketch on scripture,

That sometimes I feel like a paintless picture,

A mister without a missus, a typewriter without ink

A chef without a kitchen—that kitchen without a sink…

Like a duke without a duchess—breeches without boots

A lion without his pride, or a panda without his shoots.

The feeling doesn’t seem to be resolved with rest,

The perturbation within my head both brings the best

Of spirits and the most amorous of pangs—a sleep-waking

head-twirling, verse-inspiring, lustful-aching. 

    DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com

The Kindest Heart Beating

When the door closes, and we part—

Our paths divide in a precarious—curious—

Passing that primarily caters to the piece of me

That longs to dive into your innermost workings,

And meet the puppeteers within your headspace.

The thoughts that make you uniquely you—

Are the uttermost enigmas that are etched

Delicately by the articulations you deliver—

Benevolence and passion I wish to uncover

And with permission, hold forever.

When you are not near, I hobble home

With my heart hording your figure, wishing

I had another moment to bashfully peer

Beyond your eyes to the person beneath,

Or dare to discover your deepest dreams.

For in that moment, between breaths,

I would long to speak and embellish

The beauty that binds you truly.

I could spend a century contently

Counting your finest features.

When we part, pass, proceed, progress

Or push on, I ponder upon how, as much

As I would like to hold your arm,

It seems, equally as much I yearn

To gratify the gears of your mind.

I wish to mingle amongst a unity

Of mutual understanding, beginning

With the cognitions and comprehensions

That can both breed compassion

And ignite a blissful feeling

You are the portico on the steps

Of a summered season—a being

Who might be mentioned alongside

The seraphs of heaven—For yours

Is the kindest heart beating.

     DannYetman

www.DanielYetman.blogspot.com

My Feet

I can neither feel my feet—nor see the ground below,
I walk precariously on a line I do not know.
And I’m afraid to show—bare my empty hands,
To a creation of catered determinates.
I cannot feel my feet! And I fear, and grovel,
Of the fantastic and utter messes I have constructed.
I bumble and fumble furtively, grasping
And denying finality and closing. The
Ground below slips and saunters, and I do
Not think to sit, my feet evade me as I
March, my feet betray me, with bravery sought.
I cannot sense the ground below my character,
How could I create a more clouded world?
I cannot feel my feet… But I seek, I
Have sought and searched, Besought
And lurched—I have unearthed an undetermined
Expedition on unexploited reasoning—
To my utter and complete frustration…
But the ground slides and shuffles in a
Simple but sleight handed fashion,
I have lost elegance to alluring augmentation,
And become perturbed by reminiscent
And pondering passion.
I cannot feel my feet, and I cannot walk straight,
I can neither follow the path I have sought,
Nor dare to walk along wakeful tracks.

DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot,com

Heavy Hearts

In the context of late nights and sullen hearts,

The blind can see—their eyes shine brighter

Than mine could ever be.

And in the moonlight, in open courtyards—

Harbour lines—lovers shout,

Finding peace of a different kind.

Tidal waves crash at their feet,

To weaken faith—and personify

The hidden fear… The evil wraith

Which whispers to her at night—

The cause of her torment—doubt—

Which, in her heart, ferments.

In the context of late nights and sullen hearts,

The blind believe—their hearts are light;

They listen to the tales lovers weave.

Even I know their time is bound to pass,

I watch sweethearts part—a tender kiss—

Else misfortune breaks their hearts.

     DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com

The Dream

For one moment, I had life—I lived, I felt, I cried.

My flesh, taut over my cheeks, had color—I pained,

And from the agony came rebirth, joy, and desire.

By the most serendipitous turn of events, you were

There too, in the dream—the single moment of life

In an otherwise statuesque series of heartbeats.

I don’t remember why, but you were smiling…

There in the dream. It didn’t seem to matter,

Because fortune should have it, I was smiling too.

And though when you spoke, it was not English,

We both spoke gibberish, there in the dream,

As such, we seemed to communicate fine.

For some reason I couldn’t understand

The need of yours to pull upon my heartstrings,

Until the illusion was shattered, and I awoke.

My eyes shot open, my fingers clawed the sheets,

Trying to pull back time, regain the memory

Of when we both sat across from the sea,

Staring at the deluded sunset of my cognition.

There was no temporal component to our lives,

The stories we exchanged, are tales to never be.

We both existed as ghosts within

The confines of my twisted dream—

The Eden I whittled, was blown out like the

Last flickering flame we lit, the flame we lit

Within the dream.

         DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com

The Storm

On the eve of the supposed storm,

I stood in line all night, at the store—

And with my gaze, I undressed the roses,

Fickle, thorned—beauty in their deceit.

But then, from amidst the animosity,

One plain orchard stood bold before me.

Petals violet—leaves vast and preened.

As I swayed to solidify my disbelief,

I hesitated and withdrew my reach.

At that moment, I wanted to give

The flower to you, more than I cared

To take my next breath.

I racked my brain, fantasized of stealing

The lissome plant to leave on your step,

So the beauty I saw may have imbued

A sweeping smile across your lips

While you carried it in with you,

And placed it on the ledge nearest the fridge.

But alas, such grace and superfluous behaviour

Is well beyond my capability... So I sit,

Reminded of the orchid that I never gave—

The smile that I did not create.

     DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com

Unspoken

Unspoken 

You catch me trembling, see the fear as I look right though you—

Somehow you understand each thought precisely

Even though my lips stay pressed… Through my eyes you read me.

I think you’re the only one, who can see the terror so clearly—

You’re the only one who listens to my silent thoughts.

In ominous reluctance we converse, not a word heard,

But meaning conveyed with clarity and precision.

And I, with my imperfect stutter evoked by nervousness,

Look back at you with daunting glances—

Unwillingly to let you see the tapered heart within.

The voice which only seconds ago I could use with ease

Now seems a foreign entity as I lose control…

But you understand my silence—the pauses

Which carry more meaning than the words between—

The subtle nods and smiles between heartbeats.

And as you stand and begin to walk by me,

Our shoulders brush so gently it seems a dream—

Maybe you feel the slight shutter next to you

Or perhaps you don’t…

But I think you would understand the endless nights,

The long walks to shake the creeping ghosts—

The nights where I can’t look at myself let alone you;

My eyes tremble, as I fade away,

Unspoken.

DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com

Let Me Pretend

How can I ache with desire as such,

On nights I turn my mind off?

Not now, not on a night so calm—

I can’t handle it—not tonight.

I can’t think of you at this moment,

My thoughts are needed elsewhere,

I cannot afford to sit, wondering…

What it would be like.

I can’t waste time asking what if,

When I know we live separate lives.

Passion is needed elsewhere,

These thoughts must not survive—

Please not now, on a night so calm—

I can’t handle it—not tonight.

Don’t pull me back in

When I don’t have the time.

I know who I am, and who I’m not;

Tonight is not for make-believe,

Tonight there will be no fight.

    DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com 

I'm Left Alone

I’m left on this night wallowing in my own guilt,

Walking silently down streets with no names—

I’m certain the sun is never bound to rise.

With your name still sliding off my tongue

My hands tremble—lust takes control of me.

I once had shame but I left it all behind,

Thrown on a pile of dreams that I’ll never see.

The flames tear me down as my persona dies,

The clues are everywhere within my mind

But I have no idea who I am.

With each footstep I take my feet shake,

Until I’m sure that I’ll never make it home again.

I want my heart to stop beating,

So I stop wasting it on childish thoughts.

I’m haunted by the moments I’ve left behind,

And the happiness that was never shared.

I once tried to be a good person but seemed to fail,

Now I’m the case for the mistakes I’ve made.

So for one more night I’m left alone with guilt,

As I remain cognitive of what I’ve never felt.

     DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com