"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

____________^__________

"Pulse Two: Confine"

"Pulse Two: Confine"

I remember when I was
as gullible as children.
Impressed just as much.
Always ready to touch
and very little has changed since then.
Somewhere near intrigue.
That's where it begins.
Saw the shine.
You would blind with the sequins.
The fusion between confusion
and curiosity
only serves to disprove the mediocrity.

Where are the directions?
What's with this inflection?
I know I'm far from brilliant.
I don't need the new lessons.
The brave are fools that question
while looking for connections
without regard for if its hard
or some means of protection.

But this is life after all.

We have crawled
after evidence of walking.
We who hear everything
but have made no time for talking.
The chalk outlines our history
and I'm too pissed to be
the flame bearer
and the one waving the flag.
Who should pick up where I lag?
Is there one who stands appointed
or am I to sprawl disjointed
here before the hecklers?

You say they never matter
but you know better.

I'm not stupid
and you lack no intelligence.
Once the path was crossed
those days have grown distant ever since.
Never send the sheep to slaughter
especially when they are
compared to people.
If you look through the peephole,
you will see how ghastly
your conviction makes you look.
The musings of a crook
are charity to the misinformed.

Such is the norm.

Quick thoughts.
They swarm the conscience.
I no longer wonder why
the conscious minds are viewed as relics.

Even if you said it,
there's no shield against complacency.
The latency of independence
is true sorrow for thinkers
who become drinkers
to deal with the frustration.
Gone is the elation
coupled with deliberate originality

or decisiveness.
or divisiveness.
Just recycled shit
that men kill each other to cherish.

Here is where we perish.

God bless we who were
as gullible as children.
At least their curiosity
can still cut through mediocrity.

Your privacy intact
is just an act to entertain you.
The policy for washing brains
involves a strain
of hollow means to complain.

That's distraction.

While you complain,
somewhere ingrained
will be a plane
of truth contained.

Outlaw reaction.

For every faction we form
there will be reformed
a way to digress.
This is more than most will digest
but if you just sit at the table
you'll be fed much more than fables.

We watch the world spin around,
decide we're dizzy then lay down
and rise up with chains and string.
Life lived lost don't cost a thing.

 











Don't you think you've lost something?

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

___________________^__________

"Pulse One: Unzip"

"Pulse One: Unzip"

Eyes that plan like
eyeing plans like
tieing hands.
Those
binding hands so
idle then wild like
exploring child who
found the paste and
marked the face.

I 

know the motion and
taste emotion.
It soothes like lotion.
This pungent potion,
it wreaks of fear.
those salty tears
that land in ears
I stack in tiers.
I have for years.

If

you could measure
your portion of pleasure,
your pearl on the pillow,
your coveted treasure, 

would you go through with it? 

Would you trust me with this blindfold?
Would you still believe if a lie is told?
How bold before you say "take it back?"
Do you still care if you make it back? 

Laying back.
Lying down.
On your knees.
On the ground.
Yeah I'm down
and if you frown
then pretend some laughter.
Leave the chatter.
We're here for now
but I'm leaving after.
No seeing after.
Just covered eyes.
Tug at the ties.
No knots to slip.
So vice the grip. 

So true the story. 

So vague my thoughts.
They lay before me.
One hand unbound
just for exploring.
You can't come down
so play before me.
Between the sounds
you reach out for me. 

You

get a firm grip
and would bite your lip
if not for handkerchief
lodged between teeth
where the moans would meet
with screams that expand lungs.
Tongue bounced between
cheek and dirty fabric.
Rapid fire rabid
like it was a habit.
Spoken tongues of glory.
Boundless sin before me.
Lips so raw and swollen.
Find some allegory.

Searched

for what it means.
Perched above like fiends.
You my latest dream
born of longest slumber.
Name among numbers.
You my favorite symbol.
Closer than the needle
but I hold the thimble.

How

you shake and tremble
bound and strapped in earnest.
Declined the ice water.
Feet placed near the furnace

and

pleasure you've furnished.
Can't stand so you learn this
through torture devised
 
to incur demise

at

each waking moment.
You hold no atonement.
Just the want for more  
sweat seeping from pores.

Wrists
bound to the door.
Stripped
down to the floor.
Gripped
you at your waist.
Lips
I bite to taste.

.......if you push me,
I won't say I'm sorry.
I can't pretend that time is thin
and wonder if you saw me.
You are the fang,
the fur
and the fin
but I promise safari.
Long since I've met such charming
firm figured flesh worth scarring.
Heart in the chest for sparring.
Heart worn on vest.

I'm starting

to wonder if
this is a gift
or my affliction.
I do this well
to soothe and quell.
This may be my addiction
but addiction
to affliction
isn't far from a prediction
and if so,
I'd let it show.
I will subscribe to no prescription. 

Listen.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz 

______________^________________

"Bounce"

"Bounce"

When I call your name,
anticipate me like the first time.
Lines you've done more than
just fill in the blanks with.
Hips that switch
and
lips that drip
and
muscles so strong
that long for exploration.
Fixed focus when descending stairs.
Your hair tangled in the keys
better mangled in my hands.
The ceiling fan monitors moisture
almost as well as I intend to.

When you hear my voice,
does it tend to linger?
Do you touch yourself?
Do you trace your fingers?
Do you arch your back
in this familiar posture
of forfeiture and submission?
Position where dominance starts at the tip
and guilt disappears at the hilt...

.....those petals never wilt.

Please excuse my wonder.
Focus on enchantment.
Say you "can't with"
and then dread the without.
I'm not here to feed your doubt, love.
Some gloves fit to display
the danger of never removing them

but you're a thrill seeker, aren't you?

You fix your eyes on the keys
as you straighten your knees
and
keep them apart
and
before you start your next stanza,
I give you all you can handle and more.

If it's all the same,
you can give yourself more.
Please don't be ashamed.
Greed benefits this instance.
Glutton unbuttoned and bound to punch
line after line out
whilst I dig you out.
Shout and I'll reach for your soul.
Fingertips along your spine 
searching for a chance to take hold.

Rhythm falls in place.
You can lean into me.
Baby, lose that grace.

You've earned the right to be filthy.

Feel me feel you out
and
fill in places
after
feeling spaces
that
should never be wasted
when
there's filling remaining. 

Training your eyes to the paper
while you thighs I savor
before and after enjoyment.....

My tongue spells your name
and I bet it tickles.
Calligraphy the same.
Nothing plain or simple.
Through the moist membrane,
your lips swelled like dimples.
Never asked you if you came. 

Never just a game we play. 

Read it back to me.
Shake and tremble.

Recite words that flail so fickle....

....let the remnants splash and trickle.

All in rhythm. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Tuesday's Grace"

"Tuesday's Grace"

I miss her when the week ends
and anticipate on Mondays.
Some days, Sunday takes forever
but nothing beats the change in weather.

Time tells the story before me.
Fragments.
Fragrance.
The frequency of my excitement.
She would entice with
no true motive hinged on doing so.
So beautiful her ignorance.
Innocence is rare. 

I dare not miss the moments.
I turn and pry and sit
with all my will and grit
just before she begins speaking.
Love through Life in all her teachings.
She would speak to those still reaching
and remind them that their further
is never really that far away.
Not much more she'd need to say.
Most would steal away
but I would always choose to stay
amid her ambiance so ever-present. 

Effervescent are the times
carefully logged as journal entries.
Others envy for lack of inclusion.
Our seclusion a relic among the modern. 

I reminisce through Thursday
after dreading Wednesday's arrival.
Hours wait behind the minutes
I acknowledge before revival. 

Recollection is vital.
Our day passes by at times
and I am left alone to rhyme
words she'd breathe that cleave the soul.
My least favorite of familiar roles.
I place her points in rhythm
toying with her pomp and poignancy
to preserve the jewels within them. 

She's a blessing not as routine
as the seconds that circle minutes.
She begins with what dreams drift into:
a smile that would subdue the savage,
comfort greater than a mother's carriage
and a voice as soft as petals.
One could settle on such and be fine
but I long to experience her mind. 

Divine if never defined before now
would claim her as embodiment.
Selectively inquisitive yet fully aware
that all the answers haven’t been shared.
She addresses with care
and would never feign her interest.
At her very best, I imagine
her in the brightest lights fashioned
for one as radiant as she. 

Time is what we're taught to see.
That's why we overlook so much

but in her presence, life can't rush. 

The atmosphere demonstrative.
Deliberate decisiveness.
She is energy displaced but never wasted. 

With haste, it seems our days are less frequent.

Friday is a quiet reflection
of what I'll always treasure.
Through the chatter and laughter of Saturday
I make time to count the measures. 

Pleasure a pompous assumption.
With gumption, I've learned to look for more.
Life is less of a chore
when there is happiness to chase

and at least today, 

I can look at her face. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz