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Eriko Apr 2016
Cascading torrents of flower petals
Rose golds and melody pastels
Sending gazes utterly transfixed
To the touch of ivory memory
With my feet in the air
And a head no where to be found
Hands transcended into a ***
Of earth and dark cool soil
The base of the flower
I picked the petals off of
Eriko Apr 2016
Glowing fluorescent orange
A lamppost  outside
Curtains beckoning the night
Eriko Apr 2016
Lightening forking the sky
Dazzling spray of dissonant cues
Crackling, mesmerizing
As the thunderous clouds
Bellowing, rumbling in cry
After the screech of the light
Wind spark, whipping a tempest
Never to have behold before
A dancing feat of grace and defeat
Trailing entrails of vivid wonders
Across the night, the dusk descending
Warfare of gain and spell, transcending
The terror in beauty and rolling nolstagia
Of the silly pouring rain mantling sails
To whisk a soul to another world
Like when you press a hand against a window
And it's cold so that your warmth
Shroud and condense, dew drops
Leave a trail of words, rhythm to rhyme
A flutter of ghostly syllables
And warm intentions, like fingers strumming a guitar
A single string or a flood of
Pressed strings reverberating in the belly of plywood
That takes not wisened girth
Only the way to make your words and music
Weep and laugh with that of the tempest
Brewing outside
Eriko Apr 2016
Flickering licking flames
Oozing warmth, radiating splendor
I couldn't feel the splinter in my heart
Numbness spreading silver spiderwebs
Through my toes,
The coldness blinding
So all I can see
Is the icy blue sky
Mirroring glass into
The greater expanse,
Yet the moment frost
Settles on my breath
The sun crackles,
Streaking fiery red madness
Marvelous beauty
Like veins entrail words
Of the sweetest melodies
Even on those nights
It's hard to hear
  Apr 2016 Eriko
Star Gazer
She was a masterpiece
Not perfected by a facade of brushstrokes
Or a myriad of different colours,
She was a masterpiece
Because she could appreciate her imperfections
Every drip of paint onto the canvas,
Every smudge of ink on the page,
Every incorrect mixture of colours,
She could appreciate that she wasn't perfect
And that made her
A masterpiece.
Eriko Apr 2016
This is the color
This is the price
This is the reason
I chant for a greater day

What is this
I know not
On fire
Underwater
Saved
Fallen
There is life
There is death
There cannot be
Another
*this
Eriko Apr 2016
I know I am talking to myself  
But leave me to my chatter
Nothing changes but the warmth
Of my own skin
Every golden morning
I alone hold the microphone
A monologue in an opera
I know not who is seated
But only the echo
Of my echoing song
Rebounding, moving
Restless
Aching to be
Heard
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