Each time we depart
is one other breath,
deprived of my gasping lungs.
Each hello
is one other beat
that my heart won't make
on a coming day.
You are my pleasant parasite.
You drain me sweetly.
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 3:59 PM UTC
My overwhelming Solemnity
is represented-
by brown fields
in Spring-time withering.
Nostalgia riddles me
with, and throughout,
my Life.
It is a Sweet candy;
Sour- like the taste of my gums,
as I reflect on my Experience
as a Living, Breathing,
flesh-Encumbered Soul.
"These are the pale, empty vessels of our spirit,"
says One, about our bodies.
"'Tis the final embrace from the Mother to Son,"
says One, in regards to Death.
"This is the end of a Turn,
of the Wheel just Begun,"
says one,
pondering the endless Circles
of Our existence.
But find,
in one Moment,
peace.
But see,
in one Moment,
the sun that revels on Our faces;
that dances like flames, upon Our eyes.
Don't weep because the moon crests;
because the tides rise;
because the the vivid flowers of Our mind have begun their soft decay.
Instead,
remember that Our dying bodies exist;
that peace can be found;
that the moon is merely a Shadow of the sun's brilliance;
that We,
as all Hope foretells,
as the Flowers of one age,
tread paths for the dying New;
for unborn eyes;
for the Shadows of Our acceptance.
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 3:55 PM UTC
My overwhelming solemnity;
brown fields of Spring-time withering.
Nostalgia, be riddled,
by life,
before none;
sweet candy sour,
as the taste on my gums.
Pale, empty vessels of our spirit,
said one,
A final embrace from the Mother -
to son-
the end of a turn,
of a wheel just begun.
Find - now - in a moment,
the peace,
and the sun;
- don't cry under moon crests,
don't weep for high tides -
for,
but laughter
and sorrow
and joy found in love
shall Wake us each morning,
blood found in our bodies,
our hearts and our lungs.
The present is written,
The past is still sung,
The future a distance,
a lion unroped.
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 11:15 PM UTC
My sides have been stuck,
struck with pointed thorns;
unborn tragedies seething for
release.
Each one, I picked and prodded,
and left in soiled animosity;
bitter knots wreathed in poisonous
posterity.
Each foreign touch seems to have
left my gall cascaded
but Yours, debated -
a rhythmic ring of probing
pessimisity.
I breathe.
You squeeze,
touch my outer fringe, the withering;
I freeze.
You bequeath a fresh'ing thorn.
I writhe,
Moments collide -
fourth dimensional paradigms -
commonly unseen,
birthing blooms by vestal wounds;
you cut the stem,
you redesigned the strife,
in obsequios streams.
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 1:17 PM UTC
a crest of brittle, foaming sea,
a wave that crashes over me;
divided with uncertainty,
You fight yourself so mirthlessly.
no burden to my heart, you see,
Your smile causes it to bleed
and pulse and beat, in quickening,
a rhythmic lift so heavenly.
an ocean where the neurons breathe,
and sifting me so perfectly,
like sands across the jagged reefs,
bending back, and cleansing, me.
Feb 1, 2013
Feb 1, 2013 at 12:44 AM UTC
One word, your word,
and my stomach begins to writhe.
I fight myself from the inside,
shaky hands that actually look fine.
I hide in the crook of your
shoulder;
my face a stone, reflecting the tension
between the beat,
beat,
the increasing speed
of my pulse.
Your touch meets my touch,
fingers to fingers,
and I become a whirlpool
of impulse and reservation,
of passion and hesitation;
hope, and yet consternation.
Eyes to eyes,
and I am a villain in my own skin,
sick with disdain for myself, then.
But you are beautiful,
and I cannot look away.
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 11:49 PM UTC
If consistency is home, my mind is the wandering vagabond.
Jan 9, 2013
Jan 9, 2013 at 10:03 AM UTC
It's the night of our dear Christmas,
and I alone am making noise,
for my brothers and sisters retired from joy,
and I'm shaken by the beauty of our first snow of this year.
The ground, not powdered, but littered in pounds,
of the sticking white water that falls, so profound,
is entrancing and frozen and terribly cold,
but I am in love, and I am thankful.
The air is thick with peace,
and every breath holds the promise of fresh life.
Tomorrow begins a new day, as always,
and if I shall live to witness its glory,
I will try harder than before,
and so on, and so forth,
and so on, and so forth.
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 11:09 PM UTC
The sun and the moon
blend together in my mind,
one for each of my eyes.
Everything is dark and cold,
and Everything is hot and bright.
I presume, though, that I do not betray the standards
of hope and humanity, nor justice and morality,
but who else will have sympathy for the wicked?
Dec 21, 2012
Dec 21, 2012 at 6:17 PM UTC
Wild Turkey 101
does not taste quite the same as,
does not go down quite the same as,
and certainly does not go out quite the same as
some good, cheap
*****
Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 11:22 AM UTC