My Wuthering Heights – Original Poem

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By Mark A. Leon

Heathcliff standing on the mountaintop; you are a ghost of my past
A dreamer from an Austen novel burned by the fire of reality
Handsome, rugged and pure
A wanderer in a sea of misfits; too wise for the commoners; to crass for the rich

I can’t get you out of my mind
I see that now
I was never meant to

You are my ideal madness
Can’t live with, misery without

The perfect storm

In that suit you are perfect.  A man with integrity masked in the rugged facial disguise

I will play your game, dance in your masquerade, fall victim to your passion

“Beware!” the tempests said as they danced a pirouette around my shadowy soul
They warned me of his whiles
In song, they chorused of his tempting kiss
They told me I would fall; further than the deepest abyss.

I listened, not! for I was stuck by the piercing of love

Now the shadow of Heathcliff reigns high above that mountain

In the distance, for only I to see.  You are still with me gentleman of the night.  Forever and ever

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Fuck #Hashtag – Original Poem

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Notice me. Feel me. Touch me.

This digital prison is cutting through my flesh, but I cannot bleed

Do you hear my cries as I shout into this megaphone drowned out by indifference?

I told you I wanted to die
I said goodbye
I posted darkness

My hints served as metaphors for this drowning soul

You didn’t listen to my silent pleas
You ignored passionate tears

Once, our friendship was confirmed
Once in action. Now a button

An acknowledgement of self worth
What was once a life dedicated by human connection is now ruled by numbers

Birthdays celebrated through a notification reminder
Deaths, a hashtag and emoji

What have we all become?
We fear artificial intelligence, but it’s great component is our truth

We lost the ability to feel
To penetrate the senses of another
The power to affect is lost in a jungle of digital garbage

Toys weigh more than lives
Success has a dollar sign

Love
Love
A cliche of madness hoping for a resurrection

Without this hashtag I can’t be found
I’m branded in a prison camp
Tagged to a life of anonymity

I can still cry alone between the sheets taking comfort in my isolation

This mirror remains my friend, my lover, my home

 

Depression, my friend – Original Poem

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By Mark A. Leon

Through the words of Vedder and Cohen a melancholy journey follows in this endless pursuit of solitary confinement

Depression, my friend

Like the warm embrace of these straps and padded walls, you never leave my side
Faithful, obedient, piercing

Even in beauty, I am ugly in your eyes
A failure destined for eternal void

With the temper of a band of ravens you stare through the emptiness in my eyes

Tired
Pathetic

I hear Buckley screaming “Hallelujah” as he floats upstream
A leader falls in the blood of his dream

Darkness is the only happiness
Without sight, everything is so clear
Picture it, perfect clarity
A diamond in the violent cloud of coal

Intellect dulls the knives and feeds rationality
Yet, is life rational with chaos all around?

Sometimes it is hard to hate when hate is so easy

Once again, I lay alone questioning an existence written in a book without answers

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Life: ON – Original Poem

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By Mark A. Leon

Systems down
Power failure
Technology, a mockery of science slaughtering love in hoards
We mourn the death of humanity

Life: ON

I stand in the shower motionless
Steaming water piercing my back
I close my eyes

With the power of a pack of horses moving mountains, I force my eyes deeper closing the gate between conscious and sub-conscious
Void of light
With this blanket of darkness, I’ll cover you

Transcending to the unknown
Water striking like a thousand kisses all over my skin

A deep beautiful melancholy plays throughout my soul

Soon, the fiery stream of water turns to a flurry of cold snow

My tears wash away with the receding tide

There is no time
There is no time
There is no time

Existence is now mocked by the past; teased by the future

Goodbye disappears into the night

Hello
Life captured
Life free

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Imagine a World – Original Poem

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By Mark A. Leon

Imagine seeing the world for the first time every day
A recharge
A rebirth
To kindle the flame of life with the awareness of a child

Imagine each day a new beginning

A fulfilled understanding of life’s mistakes
A ride down an endless rainbow
An exploration of the unknown

To bring sight to the blind
Music to the deaf
Healing to the ill

Imagine you and I just met
Longing to know each other and not comprehending why
Just being
A stranger with a hold on my heart
To learn your dreams and draw your fantasies on this blank canvasimagine2

Imagine I could stop time during moments of perfection
Freeze enlightenment
Captured, amplified, penetrated into the bloodstream, lighting the mind with the energy of a thousand prophets

Imagine a place so magical, it knows of no hate; void of selfishness; unknown to sin

The crystals of the hourglass have more meaning now
The roads are paved with endless possibility

Imagine a world

 

No Escape – Original Poem

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Perched on this branch
Indenture of claw prints from many times before
Sun rises
Sun sets
My contribution to change is to remain the same
No screams, no passion, no dreams
My end will share the same window as my beginning

Fading with each passing day, I see you, my familiar friend
Wrinkles are my only reminder that life flows through these veins
The wind has synced to this heartbeat

New seasons are my salvation
Winter, spring, summer, fall, repeat

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Planes fly up above as I create a fairy tale of flying next to that machine free of gravity to places only described in books and magazines
Mother mercy take me away

Perched on this branch, I sip this familiar mocha colored power drink keeping me awake enough to not fall into an eternal rest

There in the diner, my waitress, my friend, worn from a life she has never lived
Abused by solitary confinement
Love missing from her eyes; just a blank stare

Time is meaningless on these streets with dead ends in all directions
I see babies all around; reminders of my childhood
A new generation soon to repeat the same mistakes
Deserted by ambition

Mother tells me this is my destiny
We never change
She tells stories of a different time; not your own

Now I sit perched on this branch waiting for dusk to arrive

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Is This As Good As It Gets – Original Poem

Is this as good as it gets?

We are prisoners of our idiosyncrasies
Born to a virtue
Stricken to the knowledge soaked into our pores

Still, we are extraordinary with the potential for greatness
We touch not through the nerves circulating through the only property void of value, but the willingness to will the power of love into our hearts

Disease is cured in song
Loneliness dissolved in words

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Is this as good as it gets?

Different people forced to learn that being different is our only common ground
In argument, there is peace of mind
Trust into madness
This existence is a journey seeking balance while walking a tightrope of imperfection

Storms blind the sunlight and cloud the path, but I listen for your song

Is this as good as it gets?

Is the melody in my head a composition of my one act play?
Will it have a happy ending or is that a false notion?
Will you be a player on this stage?
The script keeps growing in length
Time is a dress rehearsal without a re-shoot

Is this as good as it gets?

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