"Further Than Near. Closer Than Far."

Further Than Near. Closer Than Far.


I hardly ever fall asleep;
but when that time draws near,
I can't help but think about
how I wish you were here.
When my mind is at rest,
I submit freely to my dreams
and thoughts of you always erase
how harsh love sometimes seems.
When my emotions envelop me,
I just lay back and sigh
and that image of you appears
every time I close my eyes. 
I don't know where you are
or when you will appear to me;
but one thing that remains certain
is you are all I've hoped you'd be;
so I happily fall asleep
after staring at the stars
knowing that you're thinking of me:
Further than near. Closer than far.


You're nowhere near my grasp; 
but your presence is enormous.
I have yet to view your face;
but I already know you're gorgeous.
I live for the precious moments
that I spend thinking of us.
I've yet to enjoy your company;
but I still get that rush.
I fancy you when loneliness looms
and your radiance catches my ire
as warmth fills this cold room
whilst my heart overflows with desire.
You effortlessly take me higher
when others could barely meet par.
Distance can never extinguish our fire:
Further than near. Closer than far.


I just can't wait for the day
when I can finally behold your beauty
and melt away this vice of sadness
that constantly strived to subdue me.
It's never easy stepping out on faith;
because sadness usually follows my sublime;
but for you, that chance I'd take
because I know you're my last first time.
I don't need you for means of solace
or to pacify me through my pain
because life has taught me the importance
of thanking God for every drop of rain.
Don't get me wrong: We all need help
when pushing through the muck and mire;
but I want you to be my yearning
rather than something that I require.


I want our love to endure
through the toils of every season.
That will show me your heart is pure;
purging the need to doubt for any reason.
I love how your fair countenance shimmers
even though I have yet to see.
I know you're more than a fading glimmer
of what you promised you'd be.
Our time together is secure and safe.
God always holds firm to what is due
and when he's ready to reveal your face,
His loving light will lead me to you.
You already possess the best of me
as well as the healing emotional scars.
Our love will surely perpetuate destiny:
Whether further than near, or closer than far. 


Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Modern Tragedy"

Modern Tragedy


The crowd begins to swell.
The audience takes notice
as the instruments find rhythm
to perform the first opus.
The bright lights slowly dim
and the characters fall into place
before the drapes separate
to reveal this detailed showcase.
This whimsical piece of fiction
is sprinkled with pain and strife;
but to those of modest opinion,
it truly relates to life.
The protagonist free falls
through stints of joy and majesty
before smacking the cold ground
of yet another modern tragedy.


Incensed with unshakeable passion,
wearing his heart on his sleeve,
our main character is firmly fastened
to what he truly hopes to receive.
No matter what befalls him,
he still finds reason to believe
that his faith will be rewarded
and love will grant him some reprieve.
He is inclined to the pattern
that his emotions choose to follow.
The only setback to this path
is that it sometimes leaves him hollow;
but he just pushes through the sorrow
and lets time blow the tears away
as he tightens his grip on tomorrow
without letting go of yesterday.


His train of thought remains intact;
but his emotions are sporatic.
One can't deny the glaring fact
that he's a true hopeless romantic.
He gives chase with little shame; 
even if he appears too frantic.
While some think all love is the same,
he treats each girl like a fanatic.
Those close to him try to admonish;
but he throws caution to the wind
and the crowd is left astonished
by how things turn out in the end.
His heart is always an open field
searching for willing hands to tend;
but when the fruit that grows is crushed,
he is left alone when trying to mend.


The crowd is immersed completely now.
Moist eyes form in unanimous fashion
as they hang onto every word
and latch tightly to any reaction.
Some wanted to lend their effort
and help pull him from this hole.
The actor's current state of being
left so many willing to console.
In spite of what he must endure,
he still stands up with a smile
because he knows God's blessings are pure
and his will surely come in awhile.
His heart's desire will arrive soon;
because true love is not a fallacy.
Besides, one is never truly doomed
to remain in their modern tragedy.


Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"It's Bedtime"

It's Bedtime


It's bedtime; but for me,
it's never bedtime.
It's just phone down, TV off,
as I examine thoughts in my head time.


In the middle of the night, 
I love to do myself a favor
and let my mind release
the fruits of my mental labor
and as they are dispersed,
I pick those that I truly savor
and carefully construct each verse
before the ink pen meets the paper.
Some thoughts are quite perverse.
Others force mental makeovers;
but they will always be diverse
and none of them are mediocre.
This atmosphere that engulfs me
puts me in the perfect position
to reach deep within myself
as I let out nocturnal emissions.


It's bedtime; but for me,
it's never bedtime.
It's when I climb under the sheets
and give my girl some head time.


I gently manuever past the socks
and use my teeth to remove the panties
whilst I wait for that precious moment
when I get to consume the candy.
I don't always have to stand;
but I know how to deliver
as I french kiss her flower
while her thighs begin to quiver.
I just let her shake and shiver
while my tongue twists the lock.
My inner beast takes center stage
when that craving starts to knock.
It's best to let him run rampant
and just allow him to ravage
because until he's had his fill,
there's no way to tame this savage.


It's bedtime; but for me,
it's never bedtime.
The only difference now
is that I have so much dead time.


I hate feeling confined;
so I just search for something new.
When there's nothing to headline,
It's hard to find something to do.
Maybe it's better this way.
Maybe I should just unwind
and just sit back and reflect
on anything that comes to mind.
I can ponder all the answers
to some of my biggest questions
or take time for what it's worth
and try learning some life lessons.
I can acknowledge what I've done
and what I still have yet to try
and rest easy with my growth
as I thank he who sits high.


Let this setting take it's place;
whether morbid or sublime
because nothing yeilds to your pace
quite like the musings of bedtime.


Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

Ms. Demeanor

Ms. Demeanor


She used to try to adhere
to what others wanted to be;
But she would always harbor rejection.
So now, she'd rather remain hard to see.
She holds fast to secrecy
without covering her eyes;
because she knows that most people
can't understand what's deep inside.
She is a living absorbsion
of broken promises and incessant lies.
She is mute to this world;
hiding in darkness when she cries.
She is a vessel of immense hopelessness;
too desolate and barren to be a believer.
Screaming loud for no one to hear;
dragging through life as Ms. Demeanor.


She conceals all of her scars;
so only the darkest garments are worn
to cover the lasting remnants
of a love that leaves her torn.
What started out as pure bliss
slowly became her personal sacrifice;
but she knows that if she resists,
She'll likely pay the ultimate price.
He tells her that he loves her
after her body crashes to the floor.
She begs for the ravaging to cease;
but he disregards what she implores.
Abuse leaves her body and heart tender,
giving him free reign to cleave her;
Separating happiness from it's host
till all that remained was Ms. Demeanor.


Her feelings are understandable;
but her methods of coping are obscure.
She is fully aware of this;
but the pain is too much to endure.
Sulking in the relentless shame
that usually follows his trials of wrath,
She surrenders now to her worst habit
in hopes of escaping the aftermath.
The potency is stronger with every prick
and after each dosage, she silently asks:
"God, will this finally be enough
to ensure that this time is my last?"
She hates how dirty she feels;
but has lost her desire to be cleaner.
Her habit purged what she used to be
and only left behind Ms. Demeanor.


Betrayed by countless who pretended to care,
she couldn't conceive any conclusion
that didn't involve hiding from life
as she slips completely into seclusion.
She was always the social recluse;
never allowed to join the commission.
Excluded from everything except abuse,
it was hard to deal with constant omission.
Her perverse means of adjustment
had adversely effected her condition.
Her syringe nor his unstable touch
could send her suffering into remission.
Crushed under the weight of her plight,
convinced that nothing could redeem her,
She relinquished what was left that night;
leaving only fading memories of Ms. Demeanor.


Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Lust By Midnight, Loneliness By Morning"

Lost in a blur.
Caught in the rapture
of late night text messages
and Saturday night phone conversations.
Sharing thoughts and desires,
ideas and feelings,
in the form of lewd conversing
with extremely detailed articulations.


"Where can we meet?"
"When are you available?"
"Allow me to get lost in you."
"I promise. It'll be unforgettable."


Sitting by the bar,
letting ice melt in her glass
as she observes uncivilized men
drool as they chase a piece of ass.
They're all the same to her; 
but he was different in her eyes.
He was suave. He was smooth.
He definitely took her by surprise.


Her phone begins to ring.
She searches for it among her things; 
and right when she says "Hello?",
the performer on stage starts to sing.
She looks for him in the crowd,
oblivious to if he is near or far.
He tells her: "I'm right here, love."
"Look towards the end of the bar."


With every compliment exchanged
and mixed drink that they consume,
the scent of his cologne gets so rich,
she forgot she even wore perfume.
Rum with a splash of coke
happens to be his favorite vice
while her preferred beverage
is simply Crown Royal over ice.
One or two for him.
One too many for her to remember.
The club is nearing a close;
so she allows him to befriend her.


Pillows as soft as clouds.
Sheets as smooth as satin.
She's too comfortable in her intoxication
to even inquire about what will happen.
Her thoughts danced in drunken delight
as his detailed requests caught her ear.
Her judgement fled with every moment
that their lips were able to draw near.


Slowly disrobing her, he said:
"Just relax now, baby."
"I'll take care of you."
"You have nothing to fear."


Toying with his zipper, she replied:
"I'm not afraid at all."
"Take control of me freely."
"Nothing is better than having you here."


Each kiss felt better than the last.
Her inhibitions were now in the past.
She relinquished all of the standards
on which her sense and rationality were cast.
A Sunday full of inebriation and flirting.
An evening of embracing their emotional rush.
A night of violent tossing and turning
as they perform acts that make most blush.


The air is cold and stale;
but last night's scent was so enthralling.
She says his name twice;
but no one beckons to her calling.
Her eyes open slowly
only for her to discover 
that she is back inside her room;
laying beneath her own covers.


There are no remnants of his visit;
No trail for her to follow.
He was nowhere to be found;
and she began to feel hollow.
Her phone calls went unanswered.
Each message sent saw no reply.
Shocked, ashamed, and humiliated,
one tear after another fell from her eyes.


Lessons were hopefully learned.
A measure of wisdom was earned.
Life demands that we chase desire
with caution for all things concerned.
Distorted judgement only offers delight;
leaving no recognition of any warning
that lust may endure past midnight;
but loneliness comes Monday morning.


Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Will Literature Be Wasted On The Young?"

I'm sure that everyone my age and younger can recall an instance when they heard their parents, older relatives, or just someone substantially older than them say:

"I really feel sorry for the generations to come. God help them; because I don't know what the world will become under their control."

Okay. So maybe it didn't sound exactly that way; but you get the gist. My point for stating this quote is...well...I am actually inclined to agree to some degree with what they are saying; just in regard to different manner. Literature- especially Poetry -is something that I have the utmost respect for and something that I carry an immense amount of admiration towards. I have to say, however, that while my peers have definitely been doing an exceptional job of upholding that love and respect for this and all the other arts considered, an alarming number of those younger than us have given me- at least -reason to be concerned. I am sure that many have also heard this quote:

"Talent is wasted on the young."

Youth, Beauty, and just about anything that carries vitality and promise have been used in the place of Talent for this quote. I don't necessarily agree with that quote, but recent conversations with a few of my peers and those younger have no doubt helped to supplant it. I am not ruling out the potential to improve and go against the grain of the expectations of that quote, but I am also not ruling out the high possibility that one can improve the talent without improving one's motives. I can recall a day when I was reading some of my favorite poems to some friends of mine. A guy stumbled upon us and sat down to hear a few of the pieces. Since that day, he has taken every opportunity to recite lyrics that he wrote or share with me ideas for videos that he wanted to do when he gets signed to a record label. I was rather honored that he saw fit to inquire about my writing style; so I shared with him my approach to any idea or thought that I chose to compose a piece with. I also informed him of the amount of meticulous detail that I dedicate to what I write. He didn't agree with my methods, however. He explained that taking so much time will take away from his cash flow. He said that while conscious thought is important, he wants to make music that the crowd wants to listen to. At that instant, A Soulja Boy video was all that I could think of. I damn near threw up in disgust. He was talking about how he has been posting videos of himself rapping into his webcam on youtube. He even mentioned coming up with a new dance that he hopes everyone will catch onto once he becomes famous. All I could do was shake my head and continue writing.......

......now I have no problem with people who want to make their money or attain their fame; but I don't consider it to be fair when those who do such shun or disregard the true students of their talent. Few things disgust me more than hearing someone claim to appreciate their talent or skill when the medium or method used to display that talent to the public implies otherwise. Some of the youth that this applies to who claim to love literature can probably only recall Maya Angelou or Langston Hughes; and many of them have never taken the time to study the great literary genius of Nikki Giovanni. That same youth can recite every single lyric from Lil Wayne, do every new dance that comes out nowadays, and have even adopted a copious amount of many of these rapper's ad-libs into their everyday conversing; but mention Rakim, C L Smooth, or even Talib Kweli, among others, and one can all but guarantee confusion in their facial expressions. As far as literature is concerned, I am definitely worried about the future of it as youth claims larger portions of it as day and night pass in today's modern society. I doubt that literature itself will be eradicated; but I am concerned that it may become a conduit or catalyst, if you will, for destructive thinking. Signs of such have already been evident for over a decade; but I fear that things are bound to take a rapid plunge into the darker depths of negative, obscure, malignant, and overtly provocative perversions that may end up being too saturated into this and other arts to rectify over time. Maybe we are to blame for this. Maybe we should have taken it upon ourselves to better educate and positively inspire those younger than us just as we once were. Maybe it's no one's fault. It could just be a contingency based upon one's preference. Whatever the case may be, we should all do what is necessary to preserve the integrity of this art form that we hold so close to our hearts. Literature is supposed to be informative; not destructive. It is a gateway for one to freely express themselves; but that does not mean that responsibility towards the way we allow that expression to be interpreted should be ignored. If there is such a thing as a "Generation X," I believe that all involved should do their best to make sure that "X" becomes a positive "X-Factor."

"I Finally Bought My Spaceship. No More Of This Grave Shift..."

Who knew that being laid off could be so......liberating? That's exactly how I feel nowadays since I was recently cut from my occupational hiccup/part time job. I understand that any type of job- especially good ones -are hard to come by nowadays and even harder to hold onto; but I can honestly say that one of the best things that could've happened to me involves me finally leaving that place. At the risk of sounding completely complaint-driven, I can will admit that I have been looking to rid myself of this job for over a year now; and things finally lined up in a way that is hard for me to argue with. I have been working at a local supermarket for over three years as an assistant manager over my department; and as my time there slowly progressed, I found myself developing a dislike........which slowly formed into a distaste...........which quickly dispersed into a myriad of pet peeves........which finally manifested itself as a genuine loathing for the job, the place itself, and everything encompassing me having to be there. Now I won't say that my time there was completely disdainful. As the saying goes: The "Good Times" definitely did "outweigh the Bad Times;" but the bad times were more than enough to warrant the need for an occupational change of scenery. The hours were fluctuated from one week to another; leaving no concise schedule to plan around, the management was exactly that: Management. Nothing more. Nothing less; which is good for business, but even such a proven business method can over time drive a rift between the very important- in my opinion, at least -Employer-to-Employee relationship that is necessary for the prosperity and growth of any type of company. I'm not saying that management should organize an annual company picnic and sit around with the workers and tell ghost stories. I just think that the company itself- or maybe just this particular store location -concentrated so much into the management of the store that certain people who held higher positions felt the need to patronize, belittle, and outright talk down to those of lower rank. My refusal to accept such treatment is likely why I was fired; but that's okay with me. A supermarket is no place for a poet with a major in Computer Engineering anyways. So here I am. Sitting at this desktop. Filling out applications, making phone calls. It's been awhile since I've found myself engaging in such activity. It feels good, though. There is no uncertainty or fear over when or if I will ever work again. I'm Twenty-Three. I'm more than sure that God has something better for me out there. He has already given me something better: the relief that comes with being placed into a new setting for me to work with. It is my belief that sometimes, what one views as a "displacement" actually ends up being God's "replacement" in life. This replacement isn't meant in a repetitive sense. It is to be viewed rather as God removing us from where we were PLACED and RE Placing us to a point, spot, or place in our life where things will likely be much better than they once were. I can now relate to what Kanye was talking about in his song "Spaceship." I doubt I'll be flying away anytime soon, though....