I’ve watched you become the acrobatic apologist I’ve heard about the yellow fellow who broke your melodic heart I’ve recited the third page from your journal pertaining to your inadequacies For your wounds will heal in the garden I stand as your protector, silver shield, and the knight in the desert My love for you is a basket of gold I’ve witnessed the boy who cemented crippling demands I’ve stared at the smeared carmine lipstick on your oval mirror and that reads “The chip on my shoulder weighs a ton” I’ve scolded the gentleman who made claims of manhood For your discolorations will be cleansed I stand as your defender, eagle’s eye, and sword My love for you is fearless and is a scent of heaven I’ve growled at the heathens who replaced love with immaturity and lust Daphne, my beloved, your fantasies and dreams are sacred Your darkness can shine in our universe
I use to wear a serenading taxi cab colored sweatshirt with a patch of of birds heading south for the winter to Morgan’s house She’d always laugh at the caption below “Are we there yet?” and pour me a drink She paraded her fathers den that reeked of nicotine and late night affairs Flipping through the eclectic taste of albums Spinning the quarter in the afternoon air Indecisiveness roaming like a soldier Morgan was the advocate of passive aggressiveness Mumbling curse words and playing with a rubber band in tangled dialogues Morgan would often lean in and tap her fingers on my thigh as if she was playing the piano Slightly obtrusive and deliberately coy Consistently playing word games with my emotions Shouting “Love is fickle, but you could dance with me for a nickel” Often devilish wearing a copper halo Tossing idioms between stirred pauses Blatantly ignoring the officer in the pictures on the olive walls She referred to him as the man that dragged her from state to state Leaving her in decorated homes with meaningless jewelry Constantly toying with closeness and distance with my lips in the sanctuary Shaking my head from the autumn perfume From month to month my title changed from tool box to aberration On that fateful hour I made the doorbell sing and no one replied Glancing down at the welcome mat I picked up the ivory envelope Ramblings were engraved and cemented Paragraphs leaving a starry eyed melody Entranced by the last line that catapulted reality “The officer who claims to be my father hasn’t taught me how to say goodbye”
I coughed up a tangled fairy tale A translucent liquid composed of quicksand and psychedelic castles in the air Dismay biting a breeze of reverberation Lust was an unforgivable bottle of poison Trapped between sincerity and admiration
For you and the wind that wraps me up in clouds of dust, I surrender For you and the sensitivity that twinkles like a star, I surrender For you and your sacred taste of sweet affection, I surrender
Forgive me, if I need too much Forgive me, if I desire too much
Caught up in the endearing glances Unspoken words, intoxicating voice Inviting and lost in a whirlwind Confusing thoughts, mixed signals Unhinged cravings, lava sensation
For you and the wind that wraps me up in clouds of dust, I surrender For you and the sensitivity that twinkles like a star, I surrender For you and your sacred taste of sweet affection, I surrender
Forgive me, if I need too much Forgive me, if I desire too much
A wicked charm alluring Sweat pouring, rhythmic tongue “Magic not seeing what was tragic” Insatiable endless night dancing Clawing and reaching for tenderness
For you and the wind that wraps me up in clouds of dust, I surrender For you and the sensitivity that twinkles like a star, I surrender For you and your sacred taste of sweet affection, I surrender
Forgive me, if I need too much Forgive me, if I desire too much
Author and poet Braeden Michaels delves into the many-layered political realms in his newest collection, Growl from the Sun. Beginning with his fourteen-page magnum opus of the same name, he confronts and denounces modern society and the politics of the day. No stone is left unturned. There are no sides, no labels, only raw emotion and unbending truth. This gritty selection of poetry is sure to provoke introspection and deep conversations for any who dare open its pages.
I am the color black wrapped up in a midnight curse torture dripping down my bleached face gripping on to the endangered lies whispers growling in my prejudice ears sorrow was a door to throw away my beliefs clutching on to the skeleton chain tomorrow weeps from my skewed perception, stumbling in the waterfalls, praying to blurry shadows and the sinister moon, I sip on the poison of a poor man’s cup and I hide in the mist to make me blind Lord, save me from the lake of screams
I am the color black severed from the spinning rainbow buzzards flying around my dying tree decaying stains, fumbling in the dark crawling toward the vibrations of the stigma haunted by my twitching nerves anxiety and insecurities boiling on the inside grief jumbled, agony waltzing carrying heartbreak over my shoulders I quietly stare into the atoms of my distress molecules sizzling, bloodstream crying depths of discomfort, circling headaches and I seek grace with a pitchfork and knives Lord, save me from the lake of screams
I am the color black ripped from the sobbing vermillion sky distinctively malevolent, serene and ill tarnished and frozen, inside the frostbite slightly obscene, smothered in vile a predator within, carrying a tarantula grin vertigo parading, obscurity blending corrosion running down my esophagus A diabolical mind dipped in scarlet oil walking with a criminal like scent cemetery gray with a pinch of graveyard dirt a night crawler climbing in your memory spellbinding oblivion, twisted secrets Lord, save me from the lake of screams
I am the color black unhinged and sadistic salivating from the burns, scatterbrained, splash of schizophrenia, thousand microscopic splinters in my cornea I’m a child of the fifth obsidian scarecrow untouched apricot skin, labeled as a dead end, hunger promenading, brisk spasms lightning smacks across my crimson back fractured, friction is my lifeless mother I live in a atmosphere of short breaths and gasping for oxygen among my bothers consistently sucker punched and jabbed with crude remarks, self esteem is hollow Lord, save me from the lake of screams
I am the color black characterized as the lustrous sin specks of halcyon, spots of carmine symbolizing annihilation and wreckage disfiguring truth, a heinous sparkle I strut with apocalyptic and corrupt nerves veins filled with cynicism and suspicion doubt trickling, hyperboles drooling nonstop fiction rolling off my slanderous lips sugarcoated fabrication stewing I’ve shaped my ruthless tombstone Viciousness is my fathers favorite drink I’ve learned to slurp vengeance Lord, save me from the lake of screams
I am the color black stamped as a disastrous villain I smirk at tragedy and illuminate within magic, identified as a slithering savage I slap hope with a monstrous hand distinguished as liquid monstrosity I despise faith and lurch in your nightmares venom is like loose change in my pockets I’ve exchanged bitten conversations with corpses in my slaughterous backyard quietly, I am the joker who plays with satire and explosive irony, kiss the rage on my cheek, I am the gift you are afraid to open Lord, save me from the lake of screams
For you and the truth, I lay awake circling my vulnerability I can taste the poison on my tongue I dwell in my pond of insecurities I gnaw at my unspoken and sedated soul I claw at my resilience with my tired fingers I pick at my invisible wounds with an axe I watch the apprehension hang over my head I whisper to my demons “listen to the crack”
I am holding your hand with one eye open a gust of change feels like a storm I’m terrified to open up both eyes to see I don’t deserve you
For you and the truth, I find myself misplaced and disoriented I spot the conditions and uncontrollable urges I removed the hindering spotlight I am haunted by my effervescent carnival I have waved goodbye to the magnetic carousel I steer toward the corridor of isolation I clutch on to the paradise dancing in your eyes I am sinking in the malevolent circus
I am holding your hand with one eye open a gust of change feels like a storm I’m terrified to open up both eyes to see I don’t deserve you
For you and the truth, I am weeping on the inside in this masquerade I am praying I will find edges of my identity I leave my pieces behind reaching for you I grip on to tomorrow and replay yesterdays I cough up the suffocating air and sorrow I choke on my frustrations and crooked thunder I see the lightning in my affliction I recognize the heartache that flickers within
I am holding your hand with one eye open a gust of change feels like a storm I’m terrified to open up both eyes to see I don’t deserve you
I am a connoisseur of analogies and a lost paragraph. The expectations are nonexistent and the inconsistencies are bloodletting. I’ve washed my hands in rain and rinse them in agony. I hate to stare in my complexion of mediocrity. I walk around with a fistful of aspirations and cough up restlessness. She keeps the awakening truth inside her shell. She ignores the knock on the door of confrontation.My knuckles are shaking. I spell out my fantasies in luscious ink as she pretends to read them.
I am the cerebral nighthawk that dances in the moonlight and dreams like a joker. I follow the road without a sign, just the sound of dragonflies, and the heartbreaking temptations.She’s made claims that I have acquaintances and sidekicks. She’s joined in holy matrimony with a introverted cynic who’s dying on the inside as the second hand moves. She holds in her frustrations and the fears stuck to her palms. I play with riddles and hide between the ten feet conundrums. I play with her subconscious and the ghosts that appear in her sleep. The end is just the beginning and the beginning is just a part of the end.
Between the ivory blank page and the tangle among the frozen words I grunted frustrations and dabbed my fingers in the reverberating clouds Love was written for daydreamers I vigorously plucked the petals from the fortune teller’s teary eyed rose Agony and torment stretched out along my hypersensitive spine Tenderness was shattered into fragments glaring at the distinguished pieces Astonished from the inward discovery never seeking the grace within Clarity crept in under a cherry tree
Seven O’clock drifts vaudeville inauguration, tranquil introduction A breeze of pleasantries and greetings center stage, sponge like audience mixed congregation sipping on souls connecting with unbiased strangers nervously releasing free verse on a axis “I placed a chunk of the run down moon deep in my threadbare pocket no longer glistening or luminous cemented in a tuberculosis celestial sphere over a twelve thousand acre of soil filled with sulking predators, non stopping vixens, and smirking baby-kissers With a plethora of fear I packed my cobalt suitcase and changed my landscape Arrived in a view with miracles and lilies dancing around a bonfire with a beam glaring at her sunset daydreams head over heels, star striking overture forgotten piece of the crescent tumbling for love forevermore” sewn chapter left my lips with a joyful taste
She murmured sardonic puns, three line riddles and a secret written by her morning phantom She was sipping on Coca Cola with percolating eyelashes carrying a catatonic grin I sighed “your diabolical scent is quite ravishing and eloquent”
I didn’t mean to ignite the past I didn’t mean to love you with the left eye I didn’t mean to fall so hard with a faithless romantic
She gargled bits of authenticity, lucid theories, and swallowed a vitamin of intensity She often spills her aggression, animosity, and uneven morals in her bloodhound diary I cringed “your radiant light is piercing through the thick of the night”
I didn’t mean to surrender to your heart of stone I didn’t mean to adore your nightmares I didn’t mean to wipe away the rain in the storms
She has a mystifying language drenched in symbolism and an accent with a pinch of kindness She miscalculated and misplaced the affection I gasped “your insidious magic feels like gold, makes me wonder why your story hasn’t been told”
I didn’t mean to say those words I didn’t mean to remove your veil I didn’t mean to make you so afraid
Author and poet Braeden Michaels delves into the many-layered political realms in his newest collection, Growl from the Sun. Beginning with his fourteen-page magnum opus of the same name, he confronts and denounces modern society and the politics of the day. No stone is left unturned. There are no sides, no labels, only raw emotion and unbending truth. This gritty selection of poetry is sure to provoke introspection and deep conversations for any who dare open its pages.
Grappling with a toxic incubus Static tangled up in hallucinations A diabolical perpetrator is lurking Dabbling with molecules and carbons And I sleep with annihilation
Memorizing the periodic table of elements Sinister mind combining mercury and lead A splash of chromium, pinch of caesium Blending a explosion in a wicked bottle And I sleep with obliteration
Ensuring a plague like disease spreads wide A blackhearted voice speaks with a chuckle Corrupted hands, apocalyptic intentions Selfishness wrapping around throats And I sleep with termination
Belligerent critters stalking the lands Referencing the last chapter of the divine Symbolic torture rest within the dollars Greed softens up the lips and tongue And I sleep with eradication
A clash of reasons, brawl between sins Fears sobbing until the break of dawn Scent of misery swarmed the dirt End of virtues, end of light And I sleep with a contagious virus
I’ve been cauterized by my figment of my bleary imagination I’ve overlooked the obscurity dripping in the marrow of my bones I’m reminded of my thin sensibilities drifting in a whirl my memories weep in the photograph of Black-Eyed Susans in the vase next to the grin of my brave mother
Thank you for the encouragement Thank you for the warmth Thank you for walking with me in the dark Thank you for the light you gave your grandson
I’ve been sobbing at the gravesite with a four leaf clover clenched in my hand I’ve heard the growl within the pieces of my shattered heart I’ve stared into the loss and the pins sticking in my sensitive nerves my memories weep in the photograph of Black-Eyed Susans in the vase next to the grin of my brave mother
Thank you for the joy Thank you for the unconditional love Thank you for your never ending presence Thank you for the smile you gave your grandson
Author and poet Braeden Michaels delves into the many-layered political realms in his newest collection, Growl from the Sun. Beginning with his fourteen-page magnum opus of the same name, he confronts and denounces modern society and the politics of the day. No stone is left unturned. There are no sides, no labels, only raw emotion and unbending truth. This gritty selection of poetry is sure to provoke introspection and deep conversations for any who dare open its pages.
Invincible Verses 