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The eyes that mock me sign the way
Whereto I pass at eve of day.

Grey way whose violet signals are
The trysting and the twining star.

Ah star of evil! star of pain!
Highhearted youth comes not again

Nor old heart's wisdom yet to know
The signs that mock me as I go.
The empty air made buzz
Thin wings of a dragonfly.
dont hate me when i'm gone
when this body has returned
to being radicals and molecules with a life their own.
when it no longer breathes,
the hairy chest heaving no more
from sighs born of sorrow and longing.
when all life has ebbed away,
when all that remains of me are memories--
mundane and poignant...

dont hold on to me
hoping for a resurrection
for i'd truly be gone
and along with me, almost all that
identified me as me...
my smile,my countenance,my words,my voice
even my warmth,my breath,my complexion,my odour.


for me, you could pen an epitaph most prosaic;
"here lies a man who was born, lived and died"
nothing more,nothing less.
yet, if you searched long enough
it is just possible that
you would find something to add--
a little pointless anecdote
or an insignificant memory
that punctuated life...

i did sin, like every man before me
and laugh like most of them
and despair and scorn and spurn
even cheat and despise and lie
but to my credit should it be said
that i did love...

but now, all of that seem pointless
for it's not merely my body that
you now consign to the holy fire.
isnt it with great relish
that these hot tongues slurp up
all of my hopes, my anguishes
and my  most secret desires?

dont, please dont hate me when i'm gone.
The candle
will flame
for all
Eternity

Blazing through
every day
just like
Eternity

Moutains fade
trees die
through out
Eternity

No one
would recall
with out
Eternity

Eternity
will never
fade away
perhaps
if i made myself
scarce, scared
sacred--
i'll become
wanted
uninhibitedly.
i already am.

a look of entendre at
intelligence,
perhaps deeper than
my own [but mountains
are enormous]-
those giant eyes
i only wish were on me
always but only with
love always

a look of anger, admittedly,
but only for a second-
think i saw
you slow down as i focused
on the floor, your speech imposed-
my glance, again- of sadness,
now,
for he who i'm so scared
to love
gives me another tiny fright.

neither of us broke even
we both walked out with
pockets extracted from pants
validated parking,
painfully pounding out a new
way home.
our past, unchangeable.
mistakes are made.

i know i know I AM.
i AM- or at least i
feel like i am-
realizing when the ***
is too hot, when to
take my hand off,
when to use a ***
holder.
lately though i don't
feel like i can crack
an egg on your edge
let alone cook a meal
without you burning me.

a fan quickly sweeping
the trapped air of
breakfast nook, spite &
malice. reduced to what
holds my interest,
that which i am guilted
for most.

a hand held is a hand held
not held to a handheld
- a hand that won't let go
but its hard to love
when- almost to the
point of thinking- you're
looking up to what's looking
down at you.

— The End —