Entering survival mode.

Feed upon your remaining heart.
Attention:
use leftovers parsimoniously.

Take that one everlasting memory.

Stage a friend, a dearest one.

Plunge into poetry.

Take a deep breath.

Remember all the words
in a myriad of fairy worlds.

Acknowledge:
nothing left to say.

Acknowledge:
no one in the distance.

Exit survival mode.

From the tips
   of her fingers
    
To the heel
        of her soul,

One greedy woman.

  She asks:
      
"Teach me how to
       dance on graves,

        Show me my insides out,
           Preach to me of the ungodly.."

" I will not"  I said.
      "Look to another, I am
           unavailable.
              
           You would have me
                 be Sisyphus while you
                    take the Queen's throne."

Inviting all to ponder
    as you wear only a thong,
         your ******* slightly hidden in the shadow....

Your hiss is threadbare,
      just audible to those
                 in spitting range.

All is not
    welcoming
      with me,
        I was once blind
           to  your  level  of   fuckery.

No more says the man
that guides the boy within.

I have grown
   on the shoulders
       of what I once was.

To me
   your voice
      is the sound
              of two cats fighting.

What right do I have
     to dance on the dead,
             let alone show you.

I may cry
when you pass.
don't be fooled
it's not for you.

It's for the father
I should have had,
the father I deserved.
That's what I'll grieve
not you.

Never you.

What's there to miss?
I can do without you
making me feel awkward,
ignored,
an inconvenience.

Can you understand my view?

There were no cuddles
for me,
no tenderness
or tender words.

I did not even want you
to 'give me away'
on your only daughters
wedding day.
Escaping abroad
escaping feeling ignored.
You lost all rights
to hand me over
to another man
that would protect me.

You never got that right
did you?
Couldn't even protect me
from yourself.

So I sometimes think
about your health,
you, drinking yourself
               to
                    d
                      e
                  ­      a
                          t
                            h­

Not sure how much more
your old and bitter body can take

and I wait* ......

The poet sits in lamplit gloom
alone in ebb and flow
how strange it seems to write of love
but never feel it's glow

A sigh, a lie, a broken heart,
a kiss on untouched skin
yet still this writers heart it sits
uncharted deep within.

The poet sits in lamplit gloom
and stares at paper bare,
then puts to it her broken heart
and leaves it bleeding there.

By: Sverre G. Holter & Digital Asylum*

I|

I am a man. I was put on
Earth to bleed from my hands.
Work is my virtue. I only sleep well
If I'm exhausted.
Your food and shelter is my gain.
My sweat is the salt on our table.

II|

I *am a man, but also child
with a paper-mache heart and
sandcastle dreams, a child wishing
for later tides while we play
splashing in and out of the waves
but the tide always comes,
and castles crumble, and we
we tell ourselves that there's no need for fear
because we will build stronger walls
tomorrow

III|

Today is our day though
Let us work at love.
Let us play with love.
Let us dance until our feet
Blister and we collapse
Laughing into each other's arms in equal fatigue.
All I want is you.
All I have is you.
All I've never lost is love.
It is our costliest toy;
Unbroken

IV|

Unbroken it may be for now
yet the time will come, as with all good things
where life and love will come to its bitter end
our lives will have ran their course
and in that moment, we will know and be known
we will laugh our last laugh
we will drink and be merry
knowing we loved and were loved
and as the water comes washing in
we still stand behind walls of sand
and we will face the tide together

*unafraid