there is a plurality in the times
for I cannot stop for death
it cannot stop for me
and I hear the roar of silent space
as it  hears the roars of me
driving one towards
visionary liberation
like a frenzied shaman
in his dance
deranging sensories to be found
yet still known in this trance
and punishment for poetry is not new
nor is the strangling of my hair
for we are all solitaries
placed, situated, somewhere
so I wish I was in Zanzibar
to walk upon its sand
to feel the impressions of words
explode within my hands
and to drink all the ink
that baths upon me and calls itself anew
it is the shimmer of this violet haze
that echoes in my view

Walking in the procession, I see roses
fall from a mezzanine ---
had their purchasée been slighted?

Rough tumble with the wife perhaps?
     Girlfriend who's seen her "prince" deknighted?
          A child's impulsive toss?

Women in the procession
reach out, ***** the breeze.

Some rose is trampled.

Between rush of feet,
I see them thornless, likely perennial ---
a hue that reminds one of injury.

Need for Sleep.

I sit,
Sleep stolen from mine eyes needs,
How wonderful to sit in land of dreams awake,
'Tis such a ***** of blood fuelled scorn,
Mine eyes with wakefulness adorned,
A man who writes, keeps me alive,
When blessed sleep,somehow evades my gentle lids,
When your true love , he so forbade,
A haze of fashionable discretion snatches,
Life catches me stabs my heart,
Bleeding her dry,
Poetry stabs mine,
In writing his art as true love binds!
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

Walking without words and I wish there was talking,
To drown out the noises.
Don't think of the people, or places or faces
They burn and it's burning, drilling  holes till I'm brainless
Left completely shameless.
Wandering.
Aimless.
Your rain's the same but I can't help but think first,
I have no frame for reference ,
Can't help but blink away away those drops of helpless helpless

And this mess has me choked on maps,
City streets grown too big, too fast
And I lost track of those ones, the paths already used,
And now i'm just confused, displeased and displaced,
My sense of direction has fallen from grace
And I'm bawling, geology sent sprawling
From all hours till dawn in here we're all wanderers  
and our soles don't sink in.

Where have we been?
Where are our souls going?
Give us arts but still the lost are throwing out this sense of
'home'.
There, that word, it lurches
Verses.
Music.
Maps,
They're useless.

We are rootless.
We are growing, shoot-less,
Our searches frantic, fruitless
And passing by we have footsteps we're tracking

But.
That's where they lie,
familiar and lacking.

Here is tribute to my generation

I find that most people put on disorders as they please
like colorful scarves of false agony to lure the pure into the world of **** suicide
these liars, these cheats aren't sure what pain is and try to invent it for themselves
but here
here is an ode to my fellows, to my little spindly girls with fake smiles and dead eyes
to my beautiful sad boys hiding scars in the dark room of a desperate ****
all seeking a connection to each other when everything in the world is lonely
all coughing on cigarettes to please their so and so and whoever
I am impressed at their strength
I am amazed at the power they have even though they think they are weak
to you kids who stopped praying
because god stopped listening
I want to take you into my arms and fuse our atoms like the nuclear fusion in the core of the sun
I want you to know that the world is a ****** place but we suit it because we are too
this is for the girls who dropped dead after their 80th day living on coffee and twisted will
this for the ones who managed to live only to die inside when they were healthy again
this is for the boys who sliced their arms open to find nothingness but instead woke up in the arms of a hospital bed with bandages and the moans of their mother's grief
this is for the ones who succeeded, found in a pool of their own hot red misery
to those kids who ****** and ****** up, lost themselves in smoky haze and pill-party dreams
this is your ode
this is your song of irreverence and heartbreak and hangovers and regret
this is your song of strength and beauty and love and friendship and the perfect cup of coffee
this is your here
this is your now