"4.11 of 30: Bent And Broken Keys"

"Bent And Broken Keys"

The faster you go,
the more shrouded the concept.
Context clues a bevy....
The paper thin seems heavy
when you ignore the lines.
Time is meant to be defined;
not bypassed like billboard quotes.
Take the time to read the note.

Heard you wrote some thoughts
that held some substance.
I'm convinced that you relent
to your content in bunches.

Actions that cue my bluntness.

Much more than a spasm
when you employ your sarcasm
when addressing what we love.
Recalled how you'd push and shove
to be counted among the crowd
of blaring voices speaking loud
for what many can't conceive.

Take this serious or leave.

I've no issue with your talent
but you are your own disadvantage.
Welcomed challenges in sweep
but this promise you don't keep.
Time will teach you dedication.
Patience greater than elation
garnered by your faithful readers.
Nothing new about repeaters.

Have some pride about your craft.
Saw those before you
and you laughed
at the mere length of their exposure.
Now in them,
you seek the closure
that has accompanied your plight.
Candles only burn at night
for one with fire for the wick.
Nothing contrived in the process.
No smoke. No mirrors.

There are no tricks.

So contrived your work conceived.
Many methods you've perceived
as simple as one would believe
ask that you give
more than you receive.

Faster pace tends to deceive;
leaving nothing to retrieve
but a makeshift prison where confined
are all the lessons left behind.

This is your mind.

It doesn't have to be.

~ Society Of Poets ~

 ~ 30 ~

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"4.10 of 30: Fringe"

"Fringe"

This is a process.

Let me ask you ...
to ask yourself
how you are feeling.
Sufficient first step
for this complicated
way of dealing
with the therapy.

"Don't whisper!
 You're scaring me!"

You shiver.
I carry sheets.
Sheets with buckles.
Leather straps.
Bound your knuckles.
Wrap your lap.
Wrap your head around fixation.
Excuse for the medication.
Regimen not so exclusive.
More results when all inclusive
More abusive? Higher strains.
Help you deal well with your pain.
Plant the seed that is ingrained.
Conducive capital gain.

You are strange.
You are dormant.
Unappealing.
So abhorrent.
Every torrent fits a trauma.
Dollars down for doctor's drama

and I will lure you....
....I meant I will cure you.
Please let me assure you
now sit and let me
pour you another dosage.

I told you:

This is a process. 

I think we've made some progress.

~ Society Of Poets ~

 ~ 30 ~

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"4.9 of 30: Inside Job"

"Inside Job"

Plastered him to the pavement
but I missed my arraignment.
Not the weapon I came with. ...
Hide the weapon I've slain with.
Tears that mix with the pain.
A pain concrete must acknowledge.
Vigils where we pay homage
minutes before the riots.
Hours before the carnage.
Headlock tight like the harness.
tighter wrapped around Garner.
Up til down it was harmless.
Haven't learned how to harm less.

Leave that shit up to Congress.
They could use some more free press.
Free world ran under stress.
Bullets removed from chest
after placing the taser.
Set my weapon to phaser,
watch him run for his labor
then proceed with moonraker.
Cops and Robbers the game.
First I tarnish your name
then I augment the scene
just to justify means.

Put a nickel in jeans.
Another quarter in the backpack.
Backtrack
until my story makes sense.
Made cents for something
others care to do for free.
Overseas.
Over pools of blood.
Children slumped over stools.
Bodies strewn across floors.
Potential escaping their pores.
The world would know more
but the news at 11
won't cover 147. 

For some,

Hell comes before Heaven.

~ Society Of Poets ~

~ 30 ~

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"4.8 Of 30: Labyrinth"

"Labyrinth"

Almost found my way around
so where is the gate?
Never thought ...
that these vines
would bring so much pain.
Is it true that
the more I run,
the less things change?
Am I doomed to walk around
trapped here in this maze?

Eyes on the prize
held high
whilst I search low.
Flow through easily.
Weave through entrances
that I swore were exits.
Next is the same as before.
Fell to the floor in exhaustion.
Felt the paranoia
so never tread with caution.

Often the contrary.

My very nerves
 served up on a platter.
I can hear their chatter
ringing in my ears loud
like laughter.
Entertainment for the heartless.
Fought this strain
for far too long now.
Would stop this train
but my loco motives
have me far gone now

so my means are mechanical.

Pathetic animal
trapped without a cage
running from my past
and toward the rage. 

Not much of me is left
inside this maze...

~ Society Of Poets ~

 ~ 30 ~

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"4.7 Of 30: Miles"

"Miles"

Looks like I'm running in place
but I'm reaching tomorrow.
With the wind beating my face, ...
There's no room for the sorrow.
Newer portion of habits.
All but done with the sadness
but if you still need the package,
there should be some you can borrow.

Just be slow about
the way you bring it back to me.
The way things carry out,
even if there is tragedy
there is a choice of means.
Every slate you can't wipe clean.
Yes:
The jungle looks obscene
but keep slashing towards the stream.

Your dreams are not
the fallacy you are taught.
Your dreams are in fact
that reality more than store bought
and hyped up
and full priced
and marked down for sale.
There is
no value
you must meet before you fail.

If expectation is frail,
then faith anchors your position
until hope pushes your sails
along on this expedition
so never believe the lies.
He who cries never tried
and if he did,
then I would bid
on the chance that he'd survive.

With your vision displaced,
you give up after chase
but instead of making haste
Or picking up the pace,

You just stand here
with no plans there
watching me run in place. 

You don't have to race to win.
You don't have to win the race.

~ Society Of Poets ~

 ~ 30 ~

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"4.6 Of 30: Dethrone"

"Dethrone"

I'm sorry.
I don't feel you.
Don't know the real you...
and can't find reason to search.
Sniping from your perch
at the unsuspecting
hoping that somehow,
they will acknowledge you as sovereign...

...you resemble pollen
in the presence of the agitated
but no scoff or sneeze
will be lent to further your means.
You create the scene
to plow the indignant thoughts of masses
that would rather combat your helplessly
so that you receive some therapy:

Some time away from self.

How dare I not acknowledge
your penchant for power ups?
Who am I to clear the cache
designed to facilitate your mad dash
to hulk smash
and brow beat
and gender bash
and cat call
and blame it all on whole classes?

Crass and classless.
Balanced on axis
with nothing to revolve around you.

Who would want to?

I don't want you
 so there is no impression.
Undermine discretion.
No means of deception
aimed toward another
will endear me as your lover

and to you, my brother:

every sister
who will not let you enlist her
that refuses to answer to "mister"
and could care less if you're a good kisser
will lend no notice to façade.

Don't scratch your head.
Just look and nod

because honestly,

I'm not sorry
and I don't feel you
and we can't relate.
Nothing to debate
so that you feel great about yourself.

If you can "admit when I'm wrong,"

can you admit when you're lonely?
Be gone ye.

~ Society Of Poets ~

 ~ 30 ~

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"4.5 Of 30: Grease In The Creases"

"Grease In The Creases"

Fell to the ground.
Shirt stained with the evidence.
Confidence won't wash away....
The presence of it evident.
Hue a bit sloppy.
Mistaken for arrogance
But arrogance and the aforementioned
are not one in the same.
One is not a game.
The other perceived a lifestyle.
Won't tarnish my name.
This life isn't lived in time trials
and I don't like to race.
Wind in my face
standing still.
Circumstance is sufficient.
I don't really need the thrills.
Besides,
Speed kills
as swift as curiosity.
Why amass portions so vast
to live in poverty?
Why invoke an institution
with no trace of policy?
It builds plight
but feels right
and always ends up wrong.

Searching for the frills
while singing this recurrent song
out of tune
in crowded rooms
where I share space
with what I've missed.
Do I run the risk
or be content with playing safe?
Hands deep in the trench
and I've no time
to switch and strafe.

Honestly,
what is safe
when there is no security?
Stated plain
the origin of this stain
but have I lost some purity?

Is there a cure to see
or is the writing on the wall?
Either way,
this shirt will say
what they whisper in crowded halls......

.........until I fall again.

~ Society Of Poets ~

 ~ 30 ~

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"4.4 Of 30: French Tips"

"French Tips"

Dug into my skin like excavation.
The sensation eternal.
Felt months after interaction....
Reaction to something profound.
Potent.
Powerful.
Devoured the nectar.
Knelt before the edge
like serfs under scepter.
Approached the altar
and paid homage with bondage
frequently.
Indecency easy to come by.
I ran my
mouth
and it was filled with earnest.
The furnace meager in comparison
to the embers burnt into my subconscious.
Content never safe for
those far too afraid to
make the first taste
sloppier than the seconds.
Seconds in and skin crawls up
and the fist balled up
full of braids called up
from broad shoulders to the thighs.
Obscenities piercing the sky
in the rapture of it all.
Broke three or four during calls.
Well worth it if you recall....

~ Society Of Poets ~

 ~ 30 ~

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"4.3 Of 30: Thighs And Glory"

"Thighs And Glory"

Stay there.

I want to savor the moment. ...
Piqued my interest
and you've grown it.
Can't say I'm sad
that you've shown it.

Turn away.

Heels for heights
I'd scale where
you pose, I snap
for my welfare.
Others look alright
but you're well fair.
Under dim lights
like you don't care
and we steal away
and I won't share
and you know the closest
can't compare.
You make me notice
and its not fair

but I can't look away
and if left to my thoughts,
this today
would be more than you thought
I would try.
More than scent that I caught
passing by.

I won't lie.
No time for stories.
Minutes spent
on what you'd like to show me.
Even with the tint
your skin is glowing
so why would I repent
if I want the glory?

~ Society Of Poets ~

 ~ 30 ~

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"4.2 Of 30: Ransom And Royalty"

"Ransom And Royalty"

I'm no throne to you.
If you find the phone,
then you can call home....
The view is never far gone
from what it used to be.
That's reality in curves.
Singularity unnerved.
Watch you step
and
catch the swerve
like a center fielder.

Manipulative feeler
of feelers
and thinkers
and drinkers...
....all the troubled minds.
Heads not high enough
above water.
Washed and left behind.
Tall order for the pretentious.
No longer contentious.
More like contemptuous.
Loathsome in reflection.

Your detection of somber thoughts
far easier than initially perceived.
Hard to conceive a life
without the other.
Act like you need each other.
Starve one and feed the other.
Cut one and bleed the other.
Mirror to the face.
Old fashioned disgrace.
Masking your distaste
at my eventual exit of this place.

I'm no zone for you.
No pit of purgatory.
No realm for those allegories
you've twisted into fair farces.
I am not your carcass.
You will find no remains.
Not a scrap.
Not a stain.
No more picking at the brain
for what morsels should remain.

I am no throne to you.
You will claim no seat.

I am no zone to you.
Forge your own retreat.

I'm not alone to you.

Not to you.

This we cannot repeat.

~ Society Of Poets ~

 ~ 30 ~

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"4.1 Of 30: Evening Showers"

"Evening Showers"

Super Fruit and Black Soap.
Elegance in silk ropes
hung high like rafters....
Comfort in the laughter.
Quaint conversation.
Displacement.
This taste with
the best of occurrences.
Permanent Levity.

Haven't we
clinked wine glasses
in our past life?
Fond memories.
I now wonder if we've passed twice.
Thrice if we're lucky.
Forever if we're fortunate.
Envisioned you in dreams.
Shouldn't take much to focus it.

Let the rest stream over me.
No still water.
Silence surely kills
so we indulge in the thrill harder
than when we first
felt the thirst of the distance.
Lost time we should've
dedicated to existence.

Persistence the greatest gift earned.
Under our discretion
there are lessons we have learned.
We no longer fear the miles
and the road becomes narrow.
Touch felt under skin
mingling with my bone marrow.

The arrow..

The first step toward redemption.
We've dealt with so much;
things far worse than the tension.
Wet skin I've recalled
Suds invoke my retention.
Every moment stalled
at behest of our ascension.

........Super Fruit and Black Soap.

~ Society Of Poets ~

 ~ 30 ~

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Pulse Four: Press"

"Pulse Four: Press" 

If diamonds are forever,
why can't coal be
the first date?
We see it all.
We treat it all
like it's first rate.
Like the birth date
although it lasts
barely ten months
now every memory
just hurts like a punt.
Squib kick controller.
Swore by slow roller
but it's third and nine.
Already fourteen behind.
Watched me drop back.
No more zone.
Jump the route
as it was thrown 

then we timed out. 

There's no doubt
that you acknowledged greatness.
Just never thought
the moments fought
would become my greatest recollection.
Detection was never an option.
Rejection left me dormant.
The lonely soul
out of control.
Letter received.
I've torn it to shreds.
There on the bed is
the stuffed animal's head.
I threw away the body.
Holes in clothes
I've peeled back
to reveal that to
those who ask "who shot me?" 

You got me.

I took a chance with the bandit.
Didn't go quite how we planned it
but I've gained from the gesture.
A lot of pain,
long months of strain
but I needed the pressure.
The lecture states
that to be great
there must be some impedance.
A crippling blow.
A "Please don't go!"
A little more. 

I need this. 

Thrown to the sky.
No soaring high.
That's just not what rocks do.
They break and crack
from falling back.
Couldn't do this without you.
I'm smart to doubt
that you'll take the credit.
It's not only yours.
Squared off with friction
long before this.
You're just a little more. 

Complimentary ex tradition.
An aggressive extradition.
Subscription to separation.
An inclination towards
making the process harder
than it was ever intended to be.
When we finally tumble,
crack and crumble,
one will search through the rubble
that we both may shine bright. 

The path felt wrong
but the process was enrichment.
Heaven sent with demonic trials.
Siphoned into vials
and now preserved and cherished
across hearts
that may know nothing of our start
but aren't willing to tear us apart. 

We shine better together when we aren't. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz 

_________________^___________

"Pulse Three: Align"

"Pulse Three: Align"

Truth ain't pretty
so we say it has potential,
add a little glitter ...
after etching with the stencil.
Black as ink at night
yet we still reach for the pencil
to desperately erase
disgrace like it rubs off
and here come the smudges
and here comes the judgement
that you swore you never saw coming.

You were "blind sided."

That's when I'm quiet....

....because if I speak my mind,
you'll just walk away.
When you move through life blind,
you'll be far away from it all.
No response to your calls.
No real place to unwind.
There's no quality time
to share with those you trust.

Trust....

.....Truth ain't pretty
so we say it needs a face-lift.
Higher hired expectations.
Gave reality a pink slip.
Outer space trips
from tummy tuck
to thigh gaps
and you glorify the dozens
who don't mind that.
Never mind that
you were so much more
long before
the masque hid perceived imperfections.
Long before the chore
of applying more to stave off detection.
Who is the score of one
too focused on self dereliction
to ever really care about
the impending direction?

Truth ain't pretty....
............wait.

Heard you say
that you pray
that I've had enough today
because I know
you're not okay
and want to help
you find a way
but I'm pushing
you away.
How I should
want you to stay
but logic
keeps you at bay

but this is life.

and it comes with a taste
that is constantly acquired.
Not one palate cleanser
or true temperature required.
Desired by who has less
and more by those who squander.
Mission meant less for critics
and the cynics left to wander.
Things I ponder in the present
carve out time in the interim
until present becomes past
and circumstance delivers them
like a slap across the face
that lands flat beyond the waist
onto the lap to close the case

and that imprint you can't erase.

For the sake of sanity
and to avert calamity,
I stagger out the fantasy
for a dose of the reality
that truth ain't pretty
and there is no way
to doll it up
but when things start getting gritty,
look at who knuckles down
and calls it up...
Going will get tough
and the weak should be exposed,
ripped from their designer clothes,
cast into the world in droves

until they listen when we say
that we know they hope and pray
but we will not cease today
Yes.
We know it's not okay.
Would love to help you find a way
but you push against the proof.
Branches break when you uproot.
The collapse of rotten fruit
upon your face.

Ain't that the truth?

What is ugly?

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

____________^__________