such a beautiful word
as if the sight itself could be heard
the soft glowing light from the sky
when the Sun is below the horizon,
caused by the refraction and scattering
of the Sun's rays from the atmosphere
it's so clear
do you hear?
Every so often,
Grab the abyss by the neck.
Stare deeply into her eyes, and let your heart shout its life giving war-cry.
Hear it echo within the Hallows of Death -
In the spaces that can never be filled by the life
Feel the raging thunderstorm
That you so profusely call a body,
Cracking and whipping the
With every coruscating breath
You draw past your lips
You feed an ancient fire
That you've held within
For an eternity.
I hope you understand
That you are woven together
By the deaths of a thousand galaxies -
And that you recognize
The countless faces of The Mother
As your own.
For you are the children
of the Sun,
You only set foot
when the sunshine's beauty
every inch of the atmosphere.
deviated towards it.
You lolled over it,
basked in its presence--
convinced that it relinquished you
with satisfaction and pleasure.
But what about the rain?
The almighty, beautiful
carrying its own whirlwind of a story?
You never cared for the rain,
You contributed your disgust,
your mood extremely crude,
because the sunshine,
had not erupt.
Isn't that the way you are with me?
I am your rain,
you refuse to seek my beauty,
embrace my story--
yet you only seek pleasure in the
next sunny day.
Like a Ship in the middle of storm
Like a Lighthouse...
Like a Car on the verge of the cliff
Like a Bird smitten with a bullet…
Like a Defeated commander
Like a Student on the first day of school…
Like a Mummy that suffered from insomnia
Like a Kid which had have a good cry…
Like Snowman under the full glare of the sun
Like a Sandcastle under raining…
I am godless,
a 2am drunk soul barely conscious,
suffocating under the nicotine dust,
not completely faultless.
I’ll stay awake until dawn,
a dirty bottle of scotch my accomplice,
my eyes heavy under the orange dusk
and my lips drooping from your last kiss.
I’m waiting for the sun
but I’m not sure when it’ll rise,
I’m not sure if it will rise,
but if it does
I’ll compare the size of the sun
to the size of my heart
and then I will call you a liar
for ever saying
that you loved me more.
you take my love
when you take your leave,
leaving it by your doorstep
so you could get yourself in the house
before the weather got fickle,
forgetting it there when
you'd turn in
under warm covers.
it spent so many nights
getting rained on
despite my best advice,
in hopes that you
would find it in the morning,
see it for its sun and flowers,
and want it to be
your daily reminder
of what the rest of your Springs
could feel like.
and I never had it in me
to disappoint my love
by telling it
to just come home,
knowing it would spend
the night fidgeting between
those four chambers
to forget that it was alone.
but that poor thing,
how tired it would get by daybreak,
pulling the petals from its daisies
with eyes swollen with their own rain,
blubbering about how all it wanted
was to tickle the hairs on your chest
until the strange and new
felt warm and safe to you,
and how it wished
trying this much
didn't make it feel so pitiful.
because my love knew
whatever it felt, it shared with me;
and though its judgment was better
than to sleep on wet bricks
until it got itself sick,
it was just hoping to bring me back
it didn't mean
for me to get hurt.
and noticing that much
is enough to remind me that
all of this only amounts
to meteoric chances and happenstances,
so even the worst of it will come to its end—
and maybe that just has to do
with the optimistic sap in me.
But even then, you greet me
“Good morning,” and I hear you,
and you sound like you're of the Sun
touching through the barricades of Woodbury,
where the undead fuckers can't touch us.
And you buffer the cold of the wind
and the wet of the rain
when the kindling is too soaked
to start a fire big enough
to counter the draft
coming from under the doors,
or dry our jackets by the fireplace.
Which probably sounds like naivety,
but even after Woodbury rots from the inside out,
and we lose the car and our last can of beets
somewhere during our escape, and the rest of the way,
we're joking about the way things were
before they got worse, while hypothesizing
about the fall of man, epidemics and expiration dates
to forget the endless hills aching our feet, I could tell you:
“Sure, I mean, there are ten-thousand ways
the world can go to shit (and it probably has,)
and I might not live to one-hundred-three,
but if the world's gonna burn on me now,
it's always better watching with you.”
It's an element to that world that intrigues me; the idea of anything that could possibly go wrong, being likely to go wrong, but you have these moments where the shitshow slows down just long enough for you to remember that there's always something, or someone, that's worth laughing at all the bad luck, licking your wounds and doing what you can to scrape by.
I waited, I waited, I waited,
and I waited a little bit longer.
somebody had to save me.
They had to, they did,
because I never thought that I could save myself.
And you know what?
I didn't have to.
We wait for the one because anything else would be simply embarassing.
But I didn't get one, oh no.
I got three.
Eventually everything stopped making sense.
There was a wolf knocking on my door, and I was begging him to break it down.
Wolves howl at the moon, that's just their nature.
But he never did.
He spent hours and hours just sitting, just staring.
What big eyes you have, Mr. Wolf.
Big, brown eyes.
The moon saved me from my past.
The stars shone like jewels that night,
the night that I encountered the troll.
Trolls live under bridges, that's just what they're used to.
He asked me his riddle,
I gave him my answers.
All of the wicked games and aggressive glares followed us.
They followed us all the way back under the bridge.
The stars saved me from my future.
For the first time, I saw the sun.
An existence of wanting and waiting was made that little bit easier by it's bright, nourishing light.
The sun made me forget why I had once cowered in fear,
once shaken with anger.
The sun saved me from my life.
I don't remember when things stopped making sense.
Maybe it was the night I tore my chest apart and screamed below the moon.
Maybe it was the night I spoke to the stars and they spoke back.
Maybe it was the morning that the sun made me forget.
In your body I can breathe,
my internal sigh.
The bed is our familiar,
so hard for us to go.
To leave this oasis,
where we fit so mosaic
like cherry blossoms in spring
or rooftops filled with rain.
I hate how vapid I become
as I stargaze at the sun.
Leave me dozy,
laughable at best,
You are my only.
Tu es mon amour.