Amir’s Late Again

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Amir’s head sleeps next to the window
So with the sun, she can rise.
But when rain or snow falls below,
The sun wears a cloudy disguise.
Too bad Amir never bothered
To buy a mechanical alarm
Cause, by the time she had showered,
She’ll be as late as a rooster-less farm

IG: @Sircharlesthepoet

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Journeys

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I would like to, before I die,
Fetch a cup of sunshine
And carefully whisper in its ears
“Don’t be saddened.”
The road changes
Clouds might be at high chances
But stars are looking back, smiling
To paint your path.
You might feel lost—
Your journey;
A cake of pointless decisions
Iced by confusion

But can’t you see?
The tough road is not a place of
Milk and honey because
It’s celestial.
Only those with the spirit of gods
Can settle there. Cheers~

IG: @Sircharlesthepoet

Sleepless (by @O at the Edges)

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Sleepless One night exhausts another, layering sheets and blankets, wrinkles and folds. Oh, the body wants to still the mind, and shedding this weight, float freely through the night. Your memory of sleep’s touch withers as you lie there, absorbing the fan’s pattern. How wonderful, then, to finally drift across the room and settle […]

via Sleepless — O at the Edges

Fidgeting Aims

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Yet,
I rise with the sun on my back.
It wobble; it wiggle
But, nonetheless, I remain on my track

“This one, I shall sack!” in my manifesto,
But I don’t know.
Our purest goals are lingered with hints of skepticism
I’m sure that I know.

This road burns, unbelievably
Hope diminishes, as progression proceeds.
The sun burns in my soul
But honestly, I just don’t know

 

@sircharlesthepoet

Roadmaps to the Prize

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Push boundaries, chase charities
Sympathy rise
But never give way to skies.

Walls mount high
Regulations only know stern
But they shall burn
Long as authenticity doesn’t die

Displace boundaries; These tragedies
Engulfed by lies
To Discover: roadmaps to the prize

Copyright © 2017 by, Charles Joseph Augustin

A Living Art

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The traces on the body are that of an architect
A walking amazement
Crowds cheer, though silently
Thus, the self proceeds, oblivious of such.

The outline of the body is that carved by nature
Fruits to the head
Sweetness for the belly
Feet move like trees breezing naturally.

Personality in the body is a sack, that of diamonds
Some seen as more prosperous than others,
Following it: an essence of pure heart
Yet, you don’t see that you are art.

Copyright © 2017 by, Charles Joseph Augustin

 

Sunday Morning (poetry)

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Church has multiple services:
9am-11am;
12pm-2pm;
3pm-5pm.

As late of a bird as I am,
The earliest service is always my aim:
When on the path to Jesus Christ,
The majority is asleep.

(But the birds are awake!)

Lending harmonies and voices;
Making my inner smile,
As I ponder. On previous choices
They talk.
But to only those who mind,
Those with peace exploding in the mind

So find a comrade, in the air:
A wind
A mist
A spirit
That insists

Copyright © 2017 by, Charles Joseph Augustin

The Last Bite (Poetry)

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I live for Thursday afternoon dinner,
At the Crossroads Culinary Center.

Orange Ginger Chicken mopping my tongue,
Salivated between my molars.
Oh, if only my stomach could bare the vastness

Almost makes worth of
Pointless lectures;
Endless tortures.
I will look forward to full-fill-ment,
You, pursue accomplishment.

Sesame chicken, passion expression
Library sit-in.
Look to yours, and I’ll find mine

I’ll find mines of Gold in my soul
Hopefully, there’re treasures in your goal.

Copyright © 2017 by, Charles Joseph Augustin

Through The Storms

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Many men, have watched you walk Down into waters

Many less, have seen that you rise a goddess—

Rivers flowing down your face, As you progress through this desert

Chase sun,

Chase clouds,

Chase rain

But one day,

You won’t chase storms.

Copyright © 2017 by, Charles Joseph Augustin

@sircharlesthepoet