Tea

I find great pleasure

In a tea

It’s warm and sweet and

Good to me.

.

I watch steam rising

In the cold.

A warmly warmth that

Warms my soul.

.

I hold the tea cup

In my hands,

Like it’s a tiny bird from

Fairy land.

.

Mystical beverage of

Beautiful taste.

Like a grandmother’s hug

We all embrace.

.

The taste of tea is

To the eye;

Morning dew and a

Golden sky.

.

If I fail

Quite Miserably,

I’ll still find joy

With my tea.

.

Written by Randall Evans.

The One You Need

Strive to be the one you need,

But search your inconsistency,

For injustice that is thrown on thee,

Reflects your incongruity.

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What are the traits you have in mind?

Are they the ones you left behind?

As you seek it’s true you’ll find,

Staring back your judging eye.

***

Double standards in your heart,

So within yourself is where to start.

Look deep within and strip apart,

The real sin inside your heart.

***

For kindness to find be kind.

If selfless you seek, rewind.

The values you must align,

Should shine from a place inside.

***

Seek the one who makes you whole,

And be the one you’d want to know.

So when connection wakes your soul,

Your seeking heart can be on show

***

Strive to be the one you need,

But search your inconsistency,

Remember words graced from above,

Your neighbour as yourself you love.

***

Written by Randall Evans.

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Hearts Don’t Beat

Is it ok to be happy ?

To feel a joy inside my heart?

Feeling soft and sappy,

Looking to a brand new start.

All my rhymes have rhythm,

That hardly change at all.

But crafting with precision,

Reflex not how in love we fall.

Messy, bright and typical,

My breathing tastes so sweet.

Inside I feel that I am full

Winter pierced with summer heat.

Hearts don’t beat when they’re in love,

They pump out warmth and light.

Endless streams of boundless dreams

Kiss a soul goodnight.

Written by Randall Evans.

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Please connect with me below and let’s crash the WordPress servers with the amount of writing we do !

Deflated

Deflated are my insides as I try to take a breath.

Just an empty shell as I refuse to get some rest.

I lack all the energy to beg and scream and yell.

The demon’s back to haunt me for I chose to ring his bell.
.

My soul is missing from my breath, but I found him in this pen.

I can not see the light from here or any way to end.

My words are working magic now that I can’t feel inside.

Art will never save us all, it’s just a way to hide.
.

I wish to live without the pain, but pain is what I am.

When suffering is self induced you give up on the plan.

Nothing matters in my mind, everything is gone.

Why’d I choose to ring his bell? The best of me was on!
.

Hunger pains when I can’t eat.

Insomnia when I need sleep.

Poison pulsing through my veins

I can not stand the day to day.
.

Will the demon let me go?

And if so, will I know?

How much evil lives inside

My deflated self that I must hide…
.

 

Written by Randall Evans

Puppy Dog Eyes

I’m a spot in a puppy dog’s eye,

I, in eye, insignificant am I?

The tiny speck in the cutest face,

You notice not my rightful place.

I’m a nothing, if not the key,

A detail smaller than a flee.

But details add to masterpiece,

Piece by piece and none the least.

Have you seen what draws the spots?

The mystic pen that draws in dots?

The ink that hides reality,

Designed by divine majesty

.

I’m a detail, nothing more.

To show creations biggest flaw.

That normal isn’t that at all,

It’s overwhelming art and awe.

Written by Randall Evans.

The Broken Are The Kind

The broken are the kind
Who feel the pain in life
They try to pull your strife
Inside they feel the knife

The broken are the wise
Who wear a smart disguise
They make your spirit rise
Inside they shrink in size

The broken are the warm
Who feel the constant storm
They hold you ‘til the dawn
Inside their self is worn

The broken are the bright
Who make the crisis light
They joke to end the night
Inside their head’s in flight.

The broken are the kind
Who make you feel at ease
But if you swam their sea
You’d call the broken “Me”.

Written by Randall Evans

Strings

The fiddle gently pulls him under,
The cozy sounds of distant thunder.
He is but a fool.
Seduced
by notes from in the sea,
As tears to widow’s misery.
.

Depths of sorrow beyond the tree,
A place where sun and sky can’t see.
Empty in himself.
The centre of the broken clock,
Where time is lost, but never stops.

.

He hears the devil play each note,
The strings of death that pull and choke.
He eagerly descends.
Seduction pure, true, unfair,
In prison now with
body bare.
.
Evil thoughts and evil deeds,

He throws his coins at Devil’s feet.
Darkened is his heart.
He’ll play until the final dawn,
The final day when comfort’s gone.

Written by Randall Evans (while listening to Edvard Grieg).

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