Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 Feb 2021 Krysel Anson
 Feb 2021 Krysel Anson
I watched you begin,
no one ever filled the space in between so beautifully,
as every place you reach becomes the future,
as right now is every moment,
I watched you move,

I wrote my songs for the dead

The sun
I watched you rise,
nothing ever as pure as the way you shine,
no darkness can withstand,
every star is the center,
I saw your light,

And wrote my songs for the dead,

spirits hear my voice,
carry me on the wind as a feather,
and melody,
it's possible,

as morning breaks over you,
over the land, I hear you breathe,
and melody,
it's possible.
 Feb 2021 Krysel Anson
We went through the red light
The red lights flashed over smoke that's rising
A broken shattered window
The streets are changing names
In pockets of defiance
And violence

We could see the bright light
The bright light
But we could see the wide view
The panoramic
And I'm seeing both directions
At the money changers temple
We flip the tables  

We could see the red light
It's screaming, "stop", and when
                     the dragon flies both wings wide,
Upon the clouds within the east
That are advancing
And steadily
But you would never see a thicker rain

But we would see the bright light
The twilight
Within this darkness follow white light
And keep fighting
Against forces at the castle gate
Self reflection
At the battle for the worlds end
We're throwing pebbles

But you have never seen a thicker rain
 Feb 2021 Krysel Anson
She becomes woman
When she puts her foot down
After only using them for

She is woman when she
Doesn't question herself
Or her feelings and isn't scared
To talk back for once.

She is grown when she can
Still giggle and be playful and dance and have wonder
And still put you in your place
my ribs were pierced and the last 
vestige of life kept pouring out.
​and when the last word was said,
my body was lain among the mute.

I was a carpenter once, yet I will  
Soon be carved from wood
To sit in silence like furniture,
all dressed up and well kept
with expressions on my face: 

Of pain, of hope, of kindness.

But let us keep our eyes
on what cannot be seen.
What is visible is seldom what it shows.

A man I once knew kept with him a jar of seawater
He reasons that when he wakes up 
He is reminded by the vastness of the sea. 
And he embraces its fragrance: 

Salt and water.

Can not a jar claim a portion of the sea as his?
Or to put it in perspective is it not the sea that embraces us?
Our mouths and minds are still, left open and dull in silence
Waiting perhaps in solitary meditations 
or in many tongues we will talk.
and the crowd will call us drunk.

I and my other self are one. 
But soon, after I have gone another will take my place,
he will embrace us like the sea 
Even in places where no sea is in sight.
One thing is certain: salt. 
The tasteless air will ink new births of sea.

Today let us clothe ourselves in the nakedness 
of our adopted innocence. We will walk with the many 
and again converse in the greater garden.

- 5 September 2018
We both ask for a reminder
of our closeness:
A broken handle of a porcelain cup,
an old book you said you lost
in the flood, and the jacket
we both shared in the absence
of an umbrella.

Whispering words that remain
unsaid. Struggling to hold on
to what little we can keep;
the spaces are left out
for memory to fill in.

- 7 August 2014
old 2014 draft. this was for some girl but i no longer remember who. hahaha
 Nov 2018 Krysel Anson
Bitter imagination
I know the wheels on Mendicino avenue
The saint of the rose
Where she goes alone
Only hours behind where the sun goes to set
Grown so tired
And each irrelevant question
Interminable problem
Becomes a fear hard-cast in stone
And even the weightless
Is too heavy to bear
Life is a battle
The world spins rounds of ammunition
The man pains to bring peace
To that city far west of the place I stand

There are no flowers in the desert
Only fruitless land
Barren, dry
And beautiful
You climb to catch the sun.
A blue bird―
breaks from a sleeping
bough, to find
its food.

The bounty of
surrender, after the first
snow of season.
A golden dawn.

Footmarks of
a hungry deer
near my door.
like flurries, my
I wanted to know,
who were you?

One by one perumbulating,
the scarlet, the yellow subtractive
packs, of perusals, fall like martyrs,
with burst of crackers.

Snow carpets with
streaks of crimson.
Do you know the script
of unknown?

The shrouds!
Who was dispensing them?
Next page