Wednesday, December 7, 2011

"Lustful Paradox: Til Death"

‎"Lustful Paradox: Til Death"

Cold corners. 
Closed quarters. 
Wet floors.
Open pores.
Spinning heads.
Spread legs.
Moist eyes.
Burning thighs.

Secure the locks.
Ignore the clocks.
You twist your locks.
You lick the rocks.
I tossed the phone.
We're all alone.
Scotch over stones.
I feel at home.
You're acting out.
You're in the zone.
You dog me out.
Come get the bone.
You hum and moan.
I take the throne.
I lose control.
Your mind is blown.
Fragments of frustration
Have be violently displaced.
You scramble for a taste.
You need to wipe your face. 

It's time for work.
Head still hurts.
One too many.
You're too friendly.
Such a flirt.
Short black skirt.
Unbuttoned blouse.
Too hot to douse.
Too wet to drench.
I never flinch.
Don't hide the funk.
Increase the stench.
You live for this.
You're loving this.
I'm not much better.
I fulfill your wish. 

I say goodbye.
You're asking why.
Tears start to well.
You're about to cry.
Can't lend reprieve.
I have to leave.
I'm running late.
You negotiate.
I've heard enough.
You hang in tough.
You state your claim.
I call your bluff.
It's getting late.
Hands navigate.
You recall my touch.
You masturbate.
You want it back.
You need it now.
You'll have your way.
You don't care how. 

I'm guilty.
I'm filthy.
In my desk drawer
Is your room key.
I'm on my way.
I'm coming over.
I turn the key.
You're far from sober.
You invite me in.
You're stumbling.
You're paranoid.
I'm not mumbling.
You lash out.
I can't shout.
Bound and gagged.
I'm assed out.
Flesh wounds.
Wet womb.
Warm mouth.
Bled out.
You're living an illusion.
You're in complete delusion.
You give it to me good;
But you won't quell my profusion. 

Two blades to the throat.
You bask in the elation.
My blood leaves your face soaked.
You treat it like ejaculation.
Twisted celebration.
Such a disturbed mind.
The cops have searched for weeks.
You make sure they never find.
Love is only blind
When lust gets in the way.
I misplaced my wife's trust.
I kept your heart at bay.
I couldn't walk away.
I doubt you would have let me.
You loved when I would play.
Never thought about neglecting.
Never was so unsuspecting.
Never thought I'd have to fret.
Your desire was unrelenting.
All that's left now are regrets……

And cold sores……

And you still want more……

But you can't ignore……

You're haunted by the emotional chore

Of cold corners,
Closed quarters,
Wet floors,
Open pores,
Spinning heads,
Spread legs,
Moist eyes,
And burning thighs.


Written By: Devin Joseph Metz



I am me. Not a "we."
I don't know about the team. 
I don't sit on the sidelines
Next to girls who shout and scream.
I don't play between the lines.
I just stay behind the scenes;
But you can keep the credit.
Never was part of the scene.
Never wanted to be seen.
Never begged to be noticed.
Never needed TV screens.
In due time, I'll be promoted.
By that time, you'll swear I gloated;
Take your time. Hug and hold it.
I'll declare that I've transcended.
You'll just think I merely floated.

I am me. Not a "we."
I don't know about the team.

I am me not a "we."
Uniform is starched and clean.
I came up on Goosebumps books
And those children's magazines.
We all grew up reading highlights;
But what demands your eyesight
Are the things that children do
When they decline the night light.
They have become profane.
You say they are insane;
But they never asked to drive.
You just sped up in their lane.
Peer pressure can change lives.
Nothing remains the same;
But the stronger minds will thrive.
What's left over is ashamed.

I am me. Not a "we."
I don't know about the team.

I am me. Not a "we."
Don't care for designer jeans.
Never wasted all my profits
By the age of seventeen.
No protection for my pockets.
Just projectors and white screens.
Not concerned with buying lockets.
Just beakers and triple beams.
Wasn't picked on by the team.
It was more like an adoption.
They took me under their wing
When I explained the triple option.
They always paid homage
To the nerd at the cool table;
But when I dropped some knowledge,
They still chose to pick up fables.

I am me. Not a "we."
I don't know about the team.

I am me. Not a "we."
When recited, it sounds mean;
But my love is unrequited.
Still can't justify your means.
The sugar coating is corroding.
I'm just trying to stay clean.
All the gloating leads to bloating.
Cleave your ego and stay lean.
All your needs you haven't met.
You think this is your best bet;
But you can't indulge in knowledge
Until the table has been set.
By the time you become modest,
Realization will lead to regret;
So to be completely honest,
You shouldn't thank me yet.

I am me. Not a "we."
I don't know about the team.

Worthy me. Woeful "we."
I am greater than the team.

He will be.
So will she.
Discard your "we."
Reclaim your "me."

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz



Can't fight the fear.
Don't need today.
I've fought for years.
Take me away.
You led me here.
Lead me away;
Because one thousand of my tears
Still can't quell the fray.

It's just hell today
Followed by more tomorrow.
It was peaceful yesterday;
Twisted prelude for impending sorrow.
I wish there was some light to borrow;
Although I might not give it back.
This darkness is strategically stacked;
So I look high. The moon is black.

The warmth is gone.
This fire still burns,
But it scorches when I embrace it.
I suppose that lesson is learned;
So I lay here; freezing in pain.
I'm not concerned with the rain.
It doesn't wash me clean.
It just reveals my stains.

My mouth is always dry
Although I indulge in wet grains.
Can't say the same for my eyes;
But the raindrops mask my pain.
I probably look like a leper
To this weekly wandering lecturer.
He often comes my way.
I often shy away.

He never ends the day
Without granting me invitation.
I struggle to hide libation;
But he offers me salvation;
Saying he's watched me walk these streets
As I search for something to eat.
He offers pillows and bed sheets
And clothes that are crisp and neat.

He says that my bad luck
Is born of familiar traits:
When the mind depends on luck,
The heart may soon abandon faith.

He said that I still have a chance.
He vows that he is not deceiving.
He left me with a shining glance
At what I could be achieving.

He calls this place "His Father's House;"
Full of the faithful, steadfast and believing.
Since I no longer have a house,
I may visit his this evening.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"The Lonely Poet"

"The Lonely Poet"

I may not be as captivating;
But I promise to be fascinating.
Won't you open your ears?
Don't you care to hear
About things that pique my interest
And tickle my fancy?
Let them trickle slowly within you
Before they begin dancing
In a concise pattern of movement:
Rubbing against cranial walls
And cerebral hemispheres
To the center of what we hold dear.

Am I selfish for expecting
Or am I just here protecting
The quality of my craft
While addressing your neglecting?
I like to think I'm swell
And my verses are written well
And the words I juggle and jot
Rarely share the same old plot.
I am a proponent of diversity.
I tell stories of adversity,
Those in search of forever
And helpless souls bound to eternity.

Don't walk away.
I swear I'm not stalling.
I won't take all day.
I just want to share my calling.
Besides, what good is a public speaker
Who cannot find his forum?
Sometimes I feel like a preacher
Encased in the majestic decorum
Of sky high chandeliers
And beautifully stained glass.
God's house he holds dear;
But most people just drive past
Without even so much as a glance
At what the sermon is about;
But if given just one chance,
He can bring them out
Of their hulls of mediocrity.
He can make their lives colorful;
Bearing the blessing of breached monotony
And truly offer something wonderful.

But hey; that's fine.
You've checked your watch five times
And it's only been seven minutes.
I guess I've reached my limit.
Sorry for keeping you so long.
Although your silence was prolonged,
I hope I've at least broken through.
Maybe you'll share this with a few.
Maybe not.
Either way,
I'll leave you to your ways.
I'll share with you some other day..........

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Monday, November 14, 2011

"The Clarity Of Polarity"

“The Clarity Of Polarity”

They call you senseless
because you choose to sense less.
As soon as problems arise,
You elect to desensitize.
You could have more
Than what you think is in store;
But disdain seeps through your pores.
You’ve lost the hunger for more;
Yet you have the very nerve
To let your point of view curve
As you ridicule us openly
For chasing what we deserve.

You call us a bunch of fools
For not playing by your rules.
Please lose that bully mantra.
We’re no longer in grade school.
Catch back is for the birds.
No revenge needed for these nerds.
You probably can’t pronounce our words;
So just act like you never heard.
How dare you call us absurd?
How are our views unrealistic?
We understand how real life is.
We aren’t just schematics and statistics.

You can’t denounce our possibilities
Because we are inclined to probability.
You can’t deem us a nuisance
Because you can’t read our blueprints.
I’m not all that spectacular:
I have a bit of a vernacular,
A small circle of friends
And no real desire for trends.
I won’t lord over you
Or make you want to go off;
But since you want to be right,
Let me take the time to show off:

“Your criticism is like catechism:
You act like you’ve been instructed
To demolish what we’ve constructed
Like a voracious ensemble conducted
By the subliminal and timid:
So ignorant and insipid
Yet brimming with enough ambition
To try and purge our lipids;
But we will not dissolve.
You chose not to evolve.
No scathing will be exacted
Because you decided to be vapid.
Our views will not be understated,
Trounced upon or degraded
In the name of those
Who call us flashy or over rated.
Now is that nasty?
Does it taste like bile?
Is it bitter and vile?
Then just put down the vial,
Place yourself on a new excursion,
Search for a new destination,
Submerge yourself in subconscious immersion;
And engage in some meditation.”

I’ve no honest need or want
To figure out your motivation
When it comes to your loathing
For our love of dissertation.
To be brutally honest,
You really don’t know how to act.
Your convictions are groundless
And they lack substantial tact.
All are inclined to their decisions;
Whether they are loose or exact.
You can shape your own opinion;
But you cannot alter fact;

And the fact is plain to see
Behind that cloak of secrecy.
You may judge us openly;
But you hate yourself more than me.
You wish that you could listen.
You wish that it was different;
But you can’t accept what’s given
Neither can you dismiss it.
You will never find help
Because you don’t like yourself.
Instead of owning your flaws,
You hide them high on that shelf.

The need to be
Must not include we.
Solitary is he.
Singularity is she.
I can never be you.
You shouldn’t want to be me.
Remove those shades and see
What it’s like to be free.
Learn to celebrate individuality.
Refine your route of persistence.
Stop trying to keep your distance.
Just be grateful for your existence.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Friday, November 4, 2011

"52 Pickup: Struggling To Shuffle"

"52 Pickup: Struggling To Shuffle"

From solitaire; trapped with spiders
to being freed from a cell
that was called a free cell
that was intended to bridge hearts;
but it was an engine of destruction
that just tore hearts apart;
but where did this start?
All have played their part;
but have disclosed no purpose yet.
There are bruises on your neck.
Who brought this three pack set?
Did you purchase this deck?

What a mess you've made:
You cut yourself with this blade.
You seem surprised to see it fade.
Did I just call a spade a spade?
I've never been a jack of all.
I just know when to back off.
You say I have no balls;
but you'd likely watch me jack off.
I understand it, though:
You sit there and play roles
and hope that everyone thinks
you have an ace in the hole;
but the world might wonder
about those fluctuating numbers.
An ace has no ruler.
You are bound to slip under.

So damn fresh on the scene.
Pressed permanent and clean;
cutting the deck to cut a check;
working hard to be a queen;
but is it really mean
when the one outlined as king
would rather go out on flings
than present you with a ring?
But hey; what do I know?
I can't recall or remember when.
I just greet this life again
and work hard from 2 to 10.
I'm years removed from the yard.
I look after my own cattle;
but I'm full of trump cards;
so I'd advise against a battle.

Love doesn't fade, barber.
It just hates being tapered.
Don't blame mother and father.
You determine your own behavior.
You've done yourself no favors:
You take part in distasteful labor,
insist that we become your neighbors
and foolishly wait to be savored.
You climb to crash through ceilings.
Those paper cuts are like glass shards.
You love to chase that feeling.
Keep sprucing up that house of cards.
Go on honey. Make it hard.
Cry about your self implied struggle.
Scarlet Harlot. Take your tumble.
Bleed butt naked in your puddle.

Build it high before it crumbles.
Speak no words. Don't even mumble;
or those walls will flail and fumble
as you flatly refuse to be humble.
Tell yourself that it's okay.
Feed the neighbors charm and wit.
Boast about three of a kind
then call your own bullshit.
Don't dare forget to go fish.
Old maids find water to wade in.
Play whichever card you wish.
You probably wish you stayed in.
Such an unstable full house
is suited for a royal flush.
Possessing a jack, hoping for an ace;
better stand or you might bust.

You love to claim victory;
but where does your win go
when you remain open like windows
and panic whenever the wind blows?
Who would dare to claim respect
when dashing their own intellect?
We feel no residual effects;
so what are you trying to project?
If you inspect your deck,
You'll come across two jokers.
One fool is multicolored.
The other is dulled over.
Which one are you today?
Take some time. Mull it over.
You say you don't wanna play;
but the games are never over.

Yeah I know: You "could care less."
Tell that to your fits of stress.
Pick up the cards before you go.
I'm not picking up your mess.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Saturday, October 29, 2011



I swear it's the hardest part:
All the signs of us growing apart
when a dusty old movie scene
was once something clear and pristine;

And as the dust is blown,
all of our good memories fade.
As the old oak is buffed,
I see that not much at all is saved.
This realization is emblazoned:

Scorched across the cranium,
melded to my medulla
are those scathing times and trials
where I became the slave
and she was the ruler.

Foolish her;
but the bigger fool is me;
pleading for hollow sympathy
with recesses full of iniquities
that have stolen the essence of me.

The best of me is trapped
between a smaller me
that still laps up wounds
and a larger me
that may relapse soon.
Why do I still swoon?!?!

Why do I sit and croon;
resembling the hounds
that howl at the moon
as if that which we had
will return again soon?
Am I the loon? Am I?

Do what you must.
Save me.
Tell me that I'm crazy,
my methods of coping are lazy
and how much it shouldn't faze me.
If that doesn't work, tase me.

Shock me into submission.
Render me numb to my subscription
of unsavory retention
that is less like passion
and more like perdition.

Demand my undivided attention.
Cave me;
forging a path to my new mission.
Pave me.
Send me on a brighter expedition.
I know you won't enslave me.
Give me love; not an exhibition.
Save me. ♥

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Sunday, October 23, 2011

"Roll Back(From The Future)"

"Roll Back(From The Future)"

My peers lend their ears
to the cold, hard concrete.
I'm too grand to be discreet;
So I lace up and plant my feet:

Young minds are wrapped
within the streets like sheets.
Souls scrape like soles against brillo.
They drag their dreams like pillows;
letting their heads mop the floor
but there is nothing clean
about a shot up liquor store
and a bloodied crime scene.
They robbed them once way back;
but on their way back,
they were ready to spray back.
They should've just stayed back....

.....Run the tape back.

Across the street from the crime,
a few feet from the scene
walked a gem dressed as a dime.
She started out as a teen:

Can't keep a low profile
when you're up an down the timeline.
She once started for awhile;
but always finished on the sideline.
Happiness was hard to find.
With her emotions much maligned,
she adopted a change of heart
and would let nothing change her mind.
It was difficult to look past
the murky musings of her past.
She grew tired of finishing last;
so she lived her life fast.
Every day was a mad dash.
She would flaunt and flash,
let men smack, squeeze and smash
and then lay there; counting cash.
A country girl with thick legs
as sweet and plump as watermelon:
The daughter of a deceased father
who can only cry from heaven....

....Choke those tears back.

Most of her money was taxed
to a man who never hustled.
He held verbal contracts
and his crew was his muscle.
They have the occasional tussle;
but she always called back
only to soon crawl back,
spread her legs and fall back.

His band of brothers
are the sons of weeping mothers
who gave up their freedom
so they could enslave each other.
He portrays the pusher.
They take place as the runners.
His shadowy figure looms
as they breach private rooms,
but he always wanted more;
"so dey broke down de door
and let da gunshots roar
on de Blood Clot dance floor....

....Pon De Replay."

So many lost lives
still try to run this relay
of fly-by-night fortune;
sacrificing themselves each day.

They try their best to hide away;
but their shame won't shy away.
They could work hard to find a way;
but they just waste their lives away.
Their choices have paved the way
that many may look to follow;
closing themselves within walls;
free falling until they are swallowed:
Devoured whole; but never spit back.
Street life intrigues every "him"
and it surely seduces every "her."
I wish that we could roll back....

....because I don't want to see the future.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Wednesday, October 19, 2011



You polish those cuticles
from behind your little cubicle
and still find time to message me.
You let no deaf ear rest on me.
You seem to save the best for me
whilst others chase you desperately.
You ask for me especially.
Maybe you've seen the depth in me.
Well, there's no concise recipe;
but you still ask what's my deal.
Come here. Sit next to me.
I'll show you it feels
to be in the presence
of what many men lack.
Release your cares and lay back.
Lose the limelight. Become black.

Not much is made of lunch;
but I'm too hungry not to munch.
We disappeared after the meeting.
Your nosy girlfriends might have a hunch;
but I'm not concerned about that.
I just need you to fall back.... a matter of fact,
put that arch in your back
as I fondle those lovely follicles.
Fingertips take trips through hair
as things shift from quaint to volatile
the moment eyes lock and stare.
Your exude vanity; yet remain so fair.
To be honest, I'm slightly taken aback:
Your beauty transcends compare;
but I want a view in black.

Your black door and fancy bell
leads you down the stairwell.
My lungs may start to swell
as I take in that familiar smell.
I follow you to your room
and you make room on your bed
as I just shake my head
between words that are said...'s pretty safe to say
that I'm completely blown away:
I just love the way
you look in black lingerie.
You rub in that shea butter
after bathing in black soap with pearls,
black lips blow black polish on black nails
as your fingers loop through black curls.
They say the devil wears Prada;
but Satan's mistress would confess
to being hot under the collar
at the sight of your black dress.

I guess I came prepared:
Tightly braided hair,
three piece black suit
and dark cufflinks. Two pair.
Black belt to match the shoes,
black vest to match the socks,
and a black tie with designs
that compliment my black watch.
Cool Water is my fragrance;
but tonight it's Polo Black.
The lights are dimmed slightly.
The club is far from packed;
so let's find a place to sit.
I'm more glimmer than grit.
I'm more than charm and wit.
I have no game to spit.
You claim to know what I want
as you twist and taunt.
I just step and grip
while you continue to flaunt.
I won't lie to you:
I can't help but draw near
and whisper in your ear
things you never thought you'd hear.
Words may take you on a ride;
but I'm bound for deeper strides
as we grind and glide
through this floor of black heels and ties.
There's no need for inebriation.
I'm wrapped within the sensation
that comes from the elation
you exude with each gyration.
Drunken and dizzy without libation,
we gracefully move without concentration
until this dimly lit dance floor
gives way to illumination....

Hearts race under the moonlight.
Minds too cluttered to think.
As long as it feels right,
All I care to do is sink
deep within this shining abyss;
eyes closing upon each kiss
as it would be quite a remiss
to ever think to desist.
This is what is made of we.
Open your eyes. Look at me.
I've often thought about this day.
Listen to what I have to say:

I never thought
I'd see the day
that such a marvel
would come my way.
I had to mention
the things you say
always grab my attention;
even when you're away.
I'm captivated.
I'm aggravated.
I can barely take it;
but I'll navigate it.
I'll carefully cover these plains;
meticulously moving through membranes,
feeling every fiber, grazing every grain;
placing lips near hips to be stained.
I love the way you shine.
Your body is my shrine.
If you let me cross that line,
I promise to take my time.
If you will take the chance,
I'll make it worth the wait.
I know it's dark inside;
but I can see straight...
...straight through your inhibitions...
...let my hands send the transmissions
that place your fears under submission
as they fade into remission.
I have to tell you.
No better time than now
to wrap you in this warmth.
I'll show you how.......

Close the blinds.
I'll walk behind.
No need to lead the blind
when I'm all you'll need to find.
Kill the lights.
Does it feel right?
Sharpen your senses
in the stillness of this night.
Close the door.
Feet off of the floor.
This bed is our ocean.
Let me guide you to shore.
This is serious.
I'm far from delirious.
I have all my faculties.
I want you in full capacity.
Close your eyes.
Sever all the ties
that are bound to uncertainty.
This is the certain we.
Just take in deep breaths
whilst I take slow steps
up and down this chasm
yearning for more than an orgasm.
Can you even fathom
something so stark
as a traveling mind and body
surveying you in the dark?

Take me to your fill.
Don't cut me any slack.
Take full control of your will.
Don't worry about covering tracks.

Embrace that which you hold dear;
but don't bother looking back.
This world will soon disappear.
All that remains will be black...

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Friday, September 30, 2011



Can you see?
Do you even try?
Of course you don't.
You don't ask why
Until you ask the world
In hopes of feigning confusion.
You feed them the illusion
That you're lost or Disillusioned.
That's when you're afraid.
What a mess you've made:
Nothing happens in the light;
But nothing ceases in the shade.

You're starting to fade.
You're not looking well.
You pretend you've got it made;
But you're living in hell.
Ah well.
It's never been my style
To watch others wade and rile;
So sit there and self-defile.
It looks like you'll be awhile.
Why so worried? Smile.
You've no reason for regret.
This life is your best bet.
All your wants have been met...

...but you refer to them as needs.
All your glory. All your greed
Strewn across cold hearts like seeds;
Growing up to choke them like weeds.
Go on. Proceed.
You make this so fascinating.
Thought to be exacerbating;
It's become so satiating.
This is just so interesting:
All this time you've been investing;
Mistaking shortcomings for blessings.
You swear to God that you're progressing....

....but soon the day will come
When you can't hide the setbacks;
And when they ask you to step back,
You'll rewind to all those hollow "facts"
About the "nature of your condition"
Or how you're "in transition."
You'll send yourself on that mission
Just to make them look and listen.
You pretend to care so much.
Yes. That is my honest opinion.
You can dust it off and such;
But dirt clods will never glisten.

They don't believe you.
They never needed to.
You can cover yourself in mud;
But you will always be see through.
You flawlessly fool yourself
As you aim to sway the masses;
But the sheep will never follow
A shepherd mistaking them for asses.
Take off those glasses.
Rub some more soil on your face.
Cover up that faulty grace.
Lick your fingers. Have a taste.

All prior remnants of truth
Have been scattered and misplaced
From filling in those nooks
Where purity has been erased.
Divinity is now obscenity.
Eclectic has become decrepit:
The pupil of all impurities
Has fallen victim to it's method.
Don't worry about the stench.
It simply separates the guilty
From the hearts they wish to clinch.
No thoughts are wasted on the filthy.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

"The Man I Never Met"

"The Man I Never Met"

Khaki pants with cuffs
that draped over house slippers.
Suspenders clamp to his pants
and he always checks his zipper.
A buttoned down dress shirt
that was always tucked in neat
and a dusty old cushion
that always lined his seat.
Glasses thick enough
to reflect the sun's rays
and the same multicolored tie
that he wore every single Sunday.
Coffee mug on the table
and the sports page in hand
that barely hid his eyes
from the neighborhood he scanned.

There's that old man again
flirting with his "lady friends."
He never asks when they are leaving;
just when they'll be back again.
Some find it awfully absurd
for him to have a way with words.
Others just hope when they get old
that their words can still be heard.
No matter what the weather,
he will always find a way.
Hell, he put that deck together.
He sits out there every day.
He always had something to say;
be it witty or wise
and knew everyone by name;
even when wearing a disguise.

His wife was a saint.
She was such a nice lady.
He talks about her often
along with his seven babies.
Six boys and one girl.
Two of them are twins.
Three of them fuss and fight;
as the eldest sits and grins.
One loved to lift weights;
but he's lost all of that muscle.
Another traveled upstate;
claiming to stay out of trouble.
One was a Jack of all trades;
but his life was hard to master.
One took right after his father;
finding women to chase after.
The daughter was quite profound.
He called her his firecracker.
Every time he came around,
she brought him joy and laughter.
Her and his wife would butt heads
as did most mothers and daughters;
but she was always Daddy's girl.
She never disobeyed her father.

His wife was more than nervous
when he was called for service.
She didn't know how to act;
but he promised he would be back.
Indeed he did return
with a big bag of clothes
that were torn and burned.
She was happy, yet still concerned.
He still looked the same.
He still had that familiar grin
that beamed from his dark skin;
but he was not the same within.
It only took one pointless war
to incur the most painful scars:
His were memories he can't forget
as he saw things he surely regrets.
Her's were things she's never seen
from one who can't recall his queen.
The children were often caught between
all that was vulgar and obscene.

As the days dragged by,
his tortured mind began to die.
His mood swings were too much.
His wife would often cry.
His simple life was upstaged
because he couldn't turn the page.
His violent temper was the primer
for his drunken fits of rage.
There was nothing he could do.
There was no one who could help.
He lost all that he once knew.
That was when he lost himself.
That's when he left without a sound.
He was nowhere to be found.
His wife often asked around;
hoping he'd soon be homeward bound;
but he left without a trace
until a body was misplaced.
They let her see his face;
but it didn't carry his grace.

No one knows the truth.
Very few knew he was gone.
There were no remnants of proof;
so they eventually left it alone.

Dark pants with cuffs
that rested above dress shoes.
Matching belt around my waist
that had the exact same hue.
A buttoned down dress shirt
featuring a Double Windsor
and a solid sport coat
that I often wore in the Winter.
Contact lenses in my eyes
although I love my glasses
and a watch I often checked
whilst my sister was in choir practice.
A thermos sat on the table.
I kept my phone in hand.
I kept my mother on the speaker
as I text my girlfriend for later plans.

I often think about that man;
wondering if I have any of his ways.
If he were sitting next to me,
I wonder what he would say?
Would he constantly remind me of
how much I look like his daughter?
Or maybe how my brother is so active
that his uncle could've been his father?
Maybe I'd get the chance to hear
about how much Grandmother scolds him
about eating so much bread with dinner
although he says she never told him.
I know it would've been great
to observe where I come from;
but I guess I came too late;
so I just sit here; feeling numb.

I never got the chance to forget
or even a small shot at regret;
so I sit outside every day
thinking about the man I never met. <3

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

For you, Grandfather.

Sunday, September 11, 2011

"The Scenic Route"

"The Scenic Route"

She would've been a catch at 22
If not for the catch 22:
See: I caught her on her knees
Fulfilling some unsavory needs.
Even when she wouldn't feed,
They still urged her to proceed:
Kept her knuckles to the wall;
Knees scraped till they would bleed.
She thought I would take heed;
But instead, I took the lead.
I wanted to see her face
Because she still deserves grace.

Ever woke with a change of heart?
I slept with a stranger's heart
In my hand.
Lately, its been strange on her part.
Is it me she cannot stand?
She mutters for me to expand.
My mind will countermand.

I completely understand;
But she clung to her demands.
I thought all was in hand;
But she had much more planned.
I implored that she desist
Although she was hard to resist.
She would push on and persist.
She said that I was on her list.
Her confused mind consists
Of all the hapless charm and wit
That tore her Psyche to bits
As she did things she can't forget.
She invited me to follow;
But deep inside, she was hollow:
Filled with filth and guilt to swallow
Searching for solace to borrow.
Her eyes held no self care;
Just loneliness and sorrow.
She has so much more to share.
But she never hoped for tomorrow.

At a time I offered her a plan:
Something to help still suicidal hands.
I requested that she release with ease.
She accepted then released pleasantries;
Still withholding from me, nothing;
I sat in horror of stories that included barter,
Explained long ago the thing
was pride she had swallowed
Then hopeless eyes peered at me;
Pleading to leave the judgments behind
while she stood before me.
How can I resist a face so heavenly?

I gave her levity.
Her heart hang heavily;
Sinking down beneath her soul.
No balance. No control.
She wasn't clay for me to mold
Or a story to be told.
Most left her out in the cold;
But she was a sight to behold.
She was so much more to me;
More than others cared to see.
She doesn't need charity.
She needs someone to help her be.
She deserves the best from life.
She endured her share of strife.
No more emotional gashes.
It's time to get rid of the knife.

Incandescent was her stance of life.
She wiped out any indecorum with a pipe.
I hoped only as her savior,
I can reverse this erratic behavior.
She'd get though the night
in a stuporous state
To wake you with streams
of tears on her face.
Listening, my heart filled with distaste......
That's when I knew no longer
could she win any race alone.
So I decided to take up
first place in her life
I decided to illuminate her path
I decided to be the hand
that she can hold.

She cried a myriad of tears;
drowning herself to sleep at night,
but dry eyes purge fear;
so I offered her sunlight.
She needed someone to side with;
not just someone she can ride with.
I've no desire to dive in.
I just need her to confide in me.
She is so much more
than she'll allow herself to be.
A world of blessings are in store.
I know that nothing is earned free;
but she can transcend potential.
She can go further than possibility.
With or without the credentials,
she can enjoy the liberty
of knowing that her life
is no longer marred with the pain
caused by her past decisions.
There's so much for her to gain.

We dance to the tunes
of the marrowy facts
that at last life
has turned around,
There's no looking back.
Our first step forward
as we move toward the
life that I promised
as we push onward
I smiled knowing that
this decision was final;
the security she found in me,
the solace in we.
She and I trudged
up what was rocky
Happily we come to a place
where we could be free.

Our undeniable, everlasting affirmation
was the fact that there is a destination;
no matter the route of navigation
or what form of intricate formation.
She relinquished most of her sanity
for a life of shame and vanity;
but when given a second chance,
she found a love that was uncanny.
It's ever so easy to backslide
when the ceiling greets your backside;
but when given the chance to stand,
she found where she should reside.
No more abiding by the rules
of a litany of unsavory tools
that drool as she warms bar stools.
Life is no longer minuscule.
There's so much beauty to be found
when looking at the bigger picture.
Chain smokers have lost control
over when her light can flicker.
Love repaired her broken jaw
and healed her blackened eyes.
It may not hide her flaws;
but she no longer asks God why.
She willingly opened her heart
without having to part her legs.
I stretched out my loving arms
and she never had to beg.
A path cluttered with maybes
eventually brought us to together.
Time will plot our next direction
as we draw closer to forever. ♥
Written By: Allan Ricketts And Devin Joseph Metz

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

"Silent Screamers"

"Silent Screamers"

We no longer have voices.
You have lent us no ear.
We've faced our fears.
We've shed our tears.
So many years....
We've been around for awhile.
We've been openly defiled;
but all you'll see are smiles.
We've walked a million miles
and endured so many trials
It was so sweet at first.
Now, all that's left is bile.

We tread this wretched landfill:
Numbers spread wide across the earth;
wanting so bad to be your thrill.
We aimed to prove our worth.
We did all we could:
Made you feel good,
listened when we should,
and so much more than most would.
We gave you more than enough.
We stuck by you when it got rough;
yet you still bound us in handcuffs.
Our blackened eyes could see no bluffs.

So now that the noise is killed,
we've no need for your drills.
We no longer wish to fit the bill.
You'll beg us for every shrill.....

But your requests will not be granted.
Our feelings are dead. No more enchantment.
Cloaks of darkness cover our heads
and our feet are firmly planted.

 You look at us every day;
but you know not what you see.
We will not go away.
We offer you no liberty.

We are the losers:
The ones slammed against walls
and dragged down dark halls
if you suspect us as accusers.

We are the children of drug abusers
who go days with nothing to eat.
Dozens of dollars reserved for users;
but no shoes to protect our feet.

We were once beautiful hearts
that you stole and tore apart,
scratched and picked at for sport
and flung around like darts.

We are the Mothers
struggling to raise sisters and brothers
that never receive the assistance
that you gleefully grant others.

We are the little girls
that you forced into your bed
after placing fear in our minds
and a pistol to our heads.

We are the best friends
that you held so deep inside
until you incurred new trends
and said that we can't coincide.

We are the blind.
The left behind.
The disregarded.
Swiftly discarded.
We are the forgotten.
The ones that you've deemed rotten.
The rugged and downtrodden.
The ones that could not win.

We are the helpful neighbors
that you've granted no favors.
This sullen clan of the bland
that you've stripped of all flavor.
Nothing is left for you to savor.
Nothing remains that you can claim.
We have imparted years of labor.
You don't even remember our names.

We are the lowly;
the ones who move slowly.
We took part in all of your games
and you only offered shame.

We are....
We were.....

We have come to take charge
against the guilty souls at large.

Black runs through our veins.
Darkness is our domain.
We quietly walk these plains
with power that can't be contained.
We will cause no physical pain.
There will be no blood stains.
You will implore that we abstain;
but we will remain.

So much was yours to gain;
now fear ravages your brain.
The guilt can't be contained.
You'll run out into the rain.
You'll cry out for help
whilst we wander in stealth.
You can't run from yourself.
Sick souls in need of health:
For every body you've bludgeoned,
You will receive their welts.
You'll stare at the rain soaked sky
in futile hopes of drowning yourself.

With bloodshot, misty eyes
and a mind filled with shame,
you will ask God why.
That's when you'll remember our names....

.....but we no longer have names.
We don't see your tears.
Lest you forget: We have no voices.
You wouldn't lend us your ears.
We will not revoke your fears.
We only serve as reminders.
Your stale remorse is of no use.
We are no longer care providers.

Our hearts are as black and bleak
as the wounds that used to leak.
Your love we used to seek;
but now, you've never looked so weak.
The boisterous will become meek
as we taunt and haunt all dreamers
but we will not talk or speak:
Both we and thee are silent screamers.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Sunday, September 4, 2011



It took ten steps
to find my ninth wonder;
but it wasn't a figure eight.
It never looks that great.
I may need all seven days
to figure out how to get back;
and I'm nowhere near together.
I'm a few cans from a six pack.
I never got that fifth chance.
The fourth one was for free.
From what I've gathered, I can see
why two stands between me and three.

We don't get along well;
so three stays away from me
because one is the loneliest 
and three is company.
I spend most of my time
thinking about the number two.
That's my friend and confidant.
She's my favorite number, too.
She's was my first second glance.
She may be my last second chance.
She always gives me another pass
and puts extra cubes in my glass.

But still.....
I often fear
that I might be her first tear
or her last one.
I don't want my last flaw
to be the last straw.
It can't end like that.
That's way too raw.
I mean.....
Is it still love at first sight
if I got it on the first night?
Is she not first rate
if we slept together on the first date?

And what about me?
What if I find a three
that pulls her away from me?
Am I wrong for what I see?
I don't need five senses
to know I don't need five wives
and I'm not into climbing fences
to preserve what's left of nine lives.
If four is too square for me,
Would I take three the hard way?
Am I willing to avoid those six degrees
and still rest the seventh day?

I'm so far from completion.
I'm closer to deletion.
There's no degree of satiation
derived from problematic multiplication.
I can offer her cloud nine
to keep her from having to wonder
if my motives are defined
while I continue doing numbers.

I met her in the summer.
We've endured the winter;
but I have to check my math
if we will make it past December.

I'm far from a beginner.
I just resemble a cynic
because it's hard to find my center
when engaged in arithmetic.

At the end of this countdown
lies liberty or lock down.
She will smile or frown
contingent upon what comes around.

Even if it takes ten tries
and all nine of my lives,
I'll make sure that I'm not late.
She deserves that figure eight.
I can't get her to heaven;
but she will get that seven.
She deserves completion;
not the emptiness of depletion.
I don't need to mix
or try to juggle six.
I'm not stacking bricks.
I need not try to fix.
I just need to strive
and draw close to five stars.
Sometimes, it seems like I'm on mars;
but I'm not placed behind bars.
I want to give her much more
than the allotted four score.
I don't want forty years
if each day is filled with tears.
Every wholesome possibility
begins and ends with three:
A stronger she, a better me
and he who watches over we.
Two halves of one heart
should never remain apart
but everything begins with one.
That's where it has to start.

We are more than nickels and dimes.
We transcend space and time
with minds filled with wonder
and hearts brimming with numbers. <3

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz