A Poetry Blog by Thomas Gene Arnold.

#temptation #poetry #God

Stop hiding, little fool. The world may be a broken place but so are you. Putting on quiet comfort is not leading or brave. Indulging easy things when challenge is your lover is adultery. Don’t look the past in the eye and shudder. Acknowledge your sin and accept that wrong and right are not jewels to put on. Sloth is deadly more than cigarettes. God would rather you smoke and shine than sit and wither. Too many find solace in skin for you to not breathe in cancer and escape your cage. Stop hiding behind doubt and insignificance. These are lies told by the world to keep you broken. Broken people threaten no one. Mended and limping rather than resting silences little fools like us.

The forceful and lightest delight of hair moved by other’s hair in the night, of skin sticking with other’s sweat or breath, gives birth like birth - forceful exit - to the music and math of carnality - a moan in time with the other’s - before intellect can be interpreted by notes or numbers. Knowing what won’t be taught outside of touch that a love like this cannot be caught. That a love like this is overwrought.

Life is a terrible way to start a sentence. The assumption a capital letter and a punctuation mark can contain infinite is silly at best.

I stood with you On the Bridge of Gods. And what for? To be honest you were a stupid sort of aloof. In your head better really below.

I give you flowers. By the time you reach for them they are shriveled dry.

Cheerful eyes speckle the crowd, both men and women, airport smiles, glances.

What makes a man kill, take breathing nature away? Humans shed skin, too.

Nature flows in words exoticized, like people seen through others' eyes.

Tore my vocal cords singing Something in the car and no one heard me.

The first shall be last Jesus' easiest riddle The last shall be first

So I lost momentum on this project, but I've written five crappy haikus, in no specific order, while waiting for my flight this morning. Enjoy, or don't.

I've been told that beds are not for days. One can only be so many numbers. My heart, body, and mind are someday strangers. Trees sometimes grow around fences man-made of wire. You will know more in a moment than a lifetime if you believe this sentence. Circular logic and crucifixes are kisses and hugs for my soul.

There's a fly giving birth In my brother's spoon of cereal. The larvae are emerging from her belly Into the milk and Fruit Loops. I am maybe nine and terrified. I won't outgrow these feelings.

Hello stranger You are all possibility and I am a blank slate. I feel alive In your empty object. i listen to pop music For the same reason: To be within my body And nothing else of my wake. Only My skin holds scars Telling of hidden things. Will you ask me of them? Will you see the stories I withhold?

He is the one who catches at the wrist gently, not pushing back. I can feel his vision clearing behind my hand.

Did you expect an answer?