(Where there is a line of *'s, pretend that is a space between stanzas, since formatting on Tengaged sucks, lol. I wrote this in five minutes, but then I fleshed it out a bit later, with the help of some people on my poetry forum.)
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The windows of our soul; Are they truly portals
Through which we view the nature of a man?
His actions are evidence of his misdeeds, for
No man lives with a pure heart.
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How does one judge a man when he falls?
Perhaps it is by whether he crawls or stands.
With thoughts as bitter as that of a special blend,
He bargains with God for the destruction
Of his guilt-ridden soul.
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Death is uncertain.
Life is hell. We have
Only ourselves, our own unique dreams and hopes.
But hope is dashed upon the rocky shores of the world
When even we fail to realize its true murderous intent.
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A reflection of his soul in the liquid of his cup, then?
His guilt resurfaces as he takes in the aroma.
Even the humble, yet bold, notes of jazz accuse him.
Coffee burns more than just his tongue.
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Nothing is certain, not where death reigns supreme.
Chaos... destruction... confusion... despair.
All of this is part of our daily lives, yet we realize it not.
Some pains are more obvious, but we all ache inside.
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They would have you believe in Love's promise.
Ha! That is a fairytale, a privileged dream.
Love exists, surely, but it is never guaranteed.
Just as coffee grows cold over time, so, too, do our hearts;
Freshly hot in youth, warm with age, then cold with death.
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It is inevitable that we strive for our own selfish gain,
Our hidden desire to rule the world, to have it our way.
If I am wrong, please, enlighten me, but do so quietly,
As I am enjoying the bitter saxophone notes play.
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In this dark, smoke-filled cafe, I shall be at your service,
Waiting for your contradictions, your half-attempts
At convincing me of your fallacious truth.
Eager to disillusion you of those shining images, the lies of life.
If there is any hope, it is mixed in my cup of acidic bliss.