My love is torn apart
Like the yarn that comes from your sweater
You know it’s there
But you never know when it will start to unravel
Unravel 'til there is nothing left but one long string,
What’s left is my love for you
From the tints of red and blue
I never saw anything quite as beautiful
The way the thread touches your soft skin beneath it
Like it wants nothing but to be worn,
And worn out
Your love runs deep
But it doesn’t tap into the water
That makes up 90% of my body
That comes out, is for you
That doesn’t come out
Is for you
I keep most things in
Like a safe that has been untouched for years
The dust on top aches to dance
And whirl about
But its duty is to hold our families most prized possessions
The type of holding that no lover knows
Birth certificates, life insurance, wills,
But does any of that matter aside to prove we are but a tiny piece in the puzzle of life
We see ants like we see people, just another thing that is in the way
We’d rather stomp on their souls than lead them to where light is
Because if someone is in our way
At the wrong time,
Better believe we will make it right
Have to be at this very important meeting, at this very important time, to get very important money, to buy very important things
What a shame
We all are
But you never shame me
Sitting at the top of the highest tree
Looking about with your telescope eyes
“We are all tiny fragments found within the oldest ship in the sea!”
Underwater broken up and scattered about
The captain tries to collect us, reconnect us
But would rather drink instead
He is our god, for all we know
His head is cloudy and his eyes are dull
He gathers our pieces to construct them as one
But is rocked by a wave and loses us forever
What were you to me
But a dream,
On the flower that I gave you
Two months after we met
That you kept on your dresser
As if it would make a difference if it was there or not
Your ocean like eyes showed me the answer when I showed up that day
I was lost in them but I heard you say
“I’m going away”
My heart sank like an anchor holding up time on a never ending clock
Ticking away until one day it stopped
In this quiet time of night, I lie alone and prey to the bitter pain of
joy's absence. Lost in my mind's shallow thoughts the sharp fragments of
happy memories since shattered prick at the sensitive fringes of my sleep.
Sleep: Nature's sanctuary
A quiet haven, an island set apart
from the daily consciousness of life
where my thoughts may at last run free.
An island with white sandy shores as
far as the eye can see. Blemished only
by my solitary figure walking the blue
And the forests of my paradise, their
deep green density gives substance to
my world. Often I stop to ponder their
far reaching greenness.
The warm subtle breeze carrying the
fragrance of this foliage across my
face, fills my nostrils with the pleasures
And occasionally a gull overhead,
drifting unchallenged on the soft
warm currents of the azure, as free
in his world as I in mine; lends companionship.
All of the sudden in the beat of a heart,
from no where a large black cloud appears
to smother the sun's warm light, turning
the blue sky and green foliage black
and the white sand that I once walked
upon a cold gray.
And just ahead of me lying there in
death's humiliation, my winged companion;
soaked and scorned at the dark water's
This cold room and bed the greatest part of my conscious moment, and the
sound of a distant train bell mocking the destruction of my comfort;
its havoc upon my sleep done it now moves on. Saddened I once again wade
through the shallow bogs of my loneliness, and the pains of memories of
the love and life i'd wasted return. This painful sleepless night a most
cruel retribution for my past. So firmly entrenched it seems I may never
return to my paradise; yet remain in this cold room to suffer the long
The warm sunlight, and gentle caress
of the water's pulse upon the white
And overhead my pure white friend
again drifts on the warm currents of
air, heralding not my return
but praising my presence....
...for my presence alone, gives
life to this warm yet oh so precariously
The white beach with its warm sand
leads me on my journey to the morning,
as I walk the blue water’s edge.
Freedom is a myth.
There is no time,
and no society
where it can be real.
And I can offer proof...
with actions comes
an ethical lifeline
which ties you to
resting on it's pulse.
I see the reason,
I see the logic,
the neatened box in
which our world is
I crave release.
I crave a freedom
to break the bonds of
and be me.
Be mad without the fear
and be happy
and be free
and to not be scared.
To still feel safe
because I don't,
and I really rarely
I am yearning...
for an impossible dream.
To have a day,
which I don't calculate,
and wait in fear of
And that is what it'll stay...
And hauntingly wonderful one
Bitten by a spider
at the oddest hour.
His whole body throbbing
with his own pulse.
All his insides are charred
but sleep is not a willing
The eternal coronation,
death as his champion.
Sweating through a thin veil
of details, begging the question,
begging for recognition,
even the most elegant logic is an ugly thing.
In delirium, he tears his journal apart-
that's how an artist starts.
He is ugly,
he is crude,
he drank some poison
down in Greenwood.
he becomes quite faint
when struck with the
that even the heavy
has finesse, and feeling too.
Sculpted and shaped
Moulded and smoothed
Beauty with a pulse
Beaten and raped
Carved and bruised
Violence to repulse
The same hammer used to make
Used to smash, to break
The beauty of an icy heart
I did not ask to fight in this war
its battlefield is raging across my heart
blowing craters and singeing cayons
in my lungs
causing me to lose my breath
This war is good against evil
light against dark
me against...... myself
Father why have you forsaken me?
Why have you left my heart to be consumed
I am losing this war
The devil's advances are overtaking me
and I am scared
You have never experienced the devil
you feel his breath in your throat
you hear his voice in you ears
and the sound of his laughter
as he enjoys your pain
becomes your pulse
I am losing this war and no one is coming to my aid
Soon now I will lose
The devil will smile
welcoming me to his home
as he holds my once loving
in the palm of his gnarled hand
trapped in the cage of his
Copyright ©2013 Andrew O'Donnell
DO NOT LET THE DEVIL CONTINUE TO WIN.
As dreadful as an eruption
Deceased like winter
And fists clenching
As roses prick right in the throat
Used razor blade on one hand
And tabs of acid on the other
A vast and lonesome world
Two mindsets coming in unison
Psychedelic tendencies, suicidal thoughts
Insanity occupying a dystopic atmosphere
Swirling smokes, colourful spheres
Intensifying a bloodshed scene
Three, two, one, a blue-green string cut
"Don't do it!" they yelled
"It's not worth it!" they said
But too late, Death grinned at their faces
No pulse, no heartbeat, no memories
No single presence of bliss
Just a cold, pale,
Body in the dark abyss
Darling, the way I see it,
what makes you worth my while
is what makes me worth yours:
at one point in time,
we will have both have had a pulse
My dear, I know you don't want to hear it,
but we're all merely specks of something
in the only everything that ever was
Then, love, I must inquire:
Why do we fear time lost,
when time is only given?
Why do we cling to moments far behind us,
like sweat-dripping polyester,
enveloping ourselves entirely
in the absence of what once was?
Won't you tell me,
my darling, my dear, my love:
What's the difference, in dust and us?
Isn't it all just oh-so-inconsequential?
But what's so bad about eventual nothings?
We can’t hold a moment in our hands
a tangible something
But we can simply hold hands
a beautiful nothing
stripes of dawn sift through the grey departing night,
and in my home, behind those rays of dust,
the freedom i love will soon be claimed by an incessant morning phone.
my heart numbs, longs for the kindness, constant kindness of the night
the music of my pulse already starts to fade,
a weight sets in, invisible grimace of so many trailing thoughts unraveled now,
to bear until the darkness-swilling reach of soul can span again...
would i fly at brightened glass in fractured urges,
bolstered yet adrift in any day's torrential memes?
rage at seeming machination's constant interruption of my highest rarity of living well?
or smile at the herdlike expectation's threat to condescend,
and at least scour remnants of the search undone... throughout the day
insufferable choice of final future origins
the mail arrives,
my forehead stops to wonder at the door,
and at that pang of hunger
running, overrun, the mind churns night in such sweet shadow shifts!
to fall, legless and dissolve into the rising light..
as if a Noh play were being heckled through to end by gaudy ads
to jolt us bridgeless from that subtle world
and wander long on lethe banks of noisome blare.
at times i stroll this nowhere stranding here, pretend, and gaze from hiding,
between a wincing coffee swill
imagined easeful face of signs,
"easy as a gentle summer wind..."
tolerant to all, to blow a "selfless" stillness into me
to wave, and smile --breathe a blanket on acuter truths
with which i meet the day enwrapped.
but quietly i wait... for Time to die:
an hourglass to shatter in the instant of eternity!
and birthe anew each 3 am, create anew--
those kisses, frozen birds of static bliss become
a moulded wax to shape the plenum love as roaming peace,
darkness-rest to calm a pointless labor,
abate the drift into an unwalled corner's only inward exit--
as whisper hands can cradle nescience
such, that grains become a world,
in which invented seas are sweeter than the toxic real
whose bitterness a cherishing of death unveils awry,
or right as winter dust.
i yearn in flight and add to fullness,
find fullness once again
to hover equipoised at love's encrusted center,
where pain gives way to peace i cannot have.
if i would have this other 'purest' love,
and for instance find the meaning once again in wartime's bated negligence--
as in a perfect silence wind can brush the lips with all of life's aroma--
and as a gentle fire smouldered long,
at Spring, ignites within the splay of tender leaves--
so archetypal solitude of being beings manifolded one, i may fulfillment find...
i may go find myself alone now,
or swagger to an ancient drinking song,
or fall into those evening arms,
to find abated also, idols of the heart in each
for what the greater heart amends...
all for yearning better worlds
the pain has sent me reeling prone--
curling at complacent murmurs,
coos of love to torment all without
wherein i wallow, fallen from all heights,
absurd escape, removed---surrounded still
by so-called metalove, abject phantasmal swoon
i grit my teeth against,
as heaving sand would send the shore to sea and drown nostalgia evermore,
as only total extrication serves to quell an everpresence such as this,
ringing in the twilit dew,
or starlight whirl--
or inverse in a heedless curse--
horizons cease in this expanse
surging at the birth and death of things
On our last day, I said that it wasn't goodbye.
I realize now that it was a futile attempt to retain hope...
The hope I'd see your smile again,
The way it lights up your face
And I can't help but return the gift.
The hope I'd hear your voice again,
The voice that makes my heart want to melt,
It puts me both at ease and sets my pulse racing.
The hope I'd be able to gaze
Into those mysterious blue orbs
And not be afraid of the future.
The hope I'd call you darling,
Just as I have in all my dreams.
The hope I'd finally confess the words
That have swirled in both my mind and heart
Since we first met.
The hope you'd hold me in your arms,
Making up for all tears and lost time.