Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Jan Reest Aug 7
A fruit finds
a home in my heart.
It grows without concern;
its stems branch out
into my lungs.
It seeps away
the breath that lay within,
it curses my throat
and opens my tongue.

I weep and tear away at it,
hoping to free my being
from this Eve manifest.
I sound the drums in my chest
and wake the roar that sleeps.

I shall not feel you again…
Jan Reest Aug 7
As I lay still,
I remember the feeling
of a nightmare’s pass —
a horrible corridor of suffering,
where I run without end.

I remember the feeling
of thrusting my bayonet.
I remember the feeling
of her caressing my head,
telling me it’s going to be alright.

My sins in this mortal realm
manifest into nightmares
when I am no longer awake.

My soul remembers the pain
it has inflicted upon you.

I am sorry.
Jan Reest Aug 6
A broken chalice seeks refuge in a broken heart.
The broken heart mends the chalice as it pours into it,
flowing and weaving, stitching every shattered wound.
The chalice may yet never be mended,
but it holds the heart for a little while.
Having rested, the chalice no longer needs the heart
to know herself —
another heart may yet be poured into it.
She no longer seeks the refuge and comfort the heart brought;
she empties herself of her contents,
in search of something she does not know herself.
Where is the heart?
Quis et deus?
Jan Reest Aug 6
a garden of lullabies,
caged by Enlightenment,
immolated—
a grotesque metallic avian
drops from the heavens
to silence the giggles
forever
Jan Reest Aug 6
sailing through the winds,
my tail's a propeller and my legs a diesel engine.
I carry my master into no man's land —
whistling artillery, barbs, and spikes,
nothing shall stop me.

barley and wheat, my sustenance.
I know where to go, where to be —
only I do not know where not to be.
many a comrade has ridden into the Lord's *****,
never to return.

I scare not of the Maxim,
for they care not at whom they aim.
we are the bearers of fate,
carrying men to their destiny since time before.

this field of green earth is all I need.
Jan Reest Aug 6
On some days, I curse you.
On some days, I try to forget you.
On some days, I cry for you.
But on a night like this,
I light a candle.
I lay down and stare at the ceiling.
I try to give you shape through my memories.
The candle burns and the fire aches,
casting a shadow on the wall—
a silhouette that reminds me of you.
My eyes are half open.
My heart is empty,
but I still wonder about you.
The clock still works—
time must be passing.
Without you, I wonder—
what is my fate?
Where do I go?
Clothes on the clothespin,
gang above me.
A frame on the wall,
there’s a picture of a child—
someone who used to be me.
He was loved.
The candle burns and the fire aches.
Could we not melt on each other like candles?
Bottles of ***** with water in them.
A sober drunk—
drunk on you.
Castles of cups and glasses,
rally at my feet.
A guitar on the old tv, gathers dust,
playing a silent tune to my screaming soul.
I miss you.
Jan Reest Aug 6
Mind and body.
Brutus and Cassius —
I want to reach your heart,
even if it’s the cold steel
and not my skin that pierces you first.
I want to enter your being,
if it means making you realize
just how much you meant.
I want to jolt your conscience into sapience,
to wake you from your slumber—
the slumber that has kept you from me,
my sleeping beauty.

I don’t want to abandon you.
Only, you’ve scratched away
the last few threads that kept us mended.
You’re my pillowcase.
I was needled into being
to fit you, and only you.
Why have you outshaped me,
and gone so far?
Next page