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Loxlei Blaire Feb 2012
There are birds.
The birds are pursuing you.
The birds are silver
And their reflections
Are just that more brilliant
Gliding over the ocean.

It’s so beautiful,
But you don’t notice.
Because you don’t know
That the grass is green
Or that the sun is shining
Or that the birds are singing.

Only, the birds are singing…
Screaming, rather.

But you know it’ll stop soon.
And you notice
That you could be on vacation,
If it weren’t for the screaming silver birds.
But the birds will be silent soon
And silent birds make for crying women
And fatherless children.

You could be on vacation.
Because the sky is so blue
And the clouds are so white
Like the innocence you used to have.
And you wish you could smell the air.
But all you notice is the smell of
Fear and gasoline
And melting chocolate in your pocket.

The silver birds flying behind you
Are angry and they want you to fall
Out of the sky.
But all you know is that you want it
To be quick and painless.

The screaming grows louder
So you know your wings are hurt
So you dive. Unwillingly.
And all you can think about
Is your girl and how she’s going to cry
And how your boy isn’t going to know you.
He’ll just be told that you were a hero,
Not that you were scared of silver birds.

So the birds, both angry and silver, crash into the ground,
But the wreckage isn’t made of feathers.
All you know is that you wish it were.
It’s so beautiful
You could be on vacation
Because you’re lying in a field of flowers.
And they’re as brilliant as the ocean was.

But those flowers are burning,
And the sky is orange, the clouds ashen,
And the grass is slick with blood
And you don’t know where the ocean is.

So you realize that you’re not dead
Because you’re covered in red
And everything hurts.
And the screaming hasn’t stopped.
Your men are lying around you with torn feathers…


The angry birds that brought you to this place
Are broken too. Fallen too.
So you don’t hate them anymore
Because it doesn’t matter that their
Feathers are different colors than yours.
Their girls are crying and their boys
Won’t know them either.

And through the pain all
You can cry is Mother, Mother!
And through the pain all
The angry birds can cry is Mutter, Mutter!
Until all the birds are silent.

It's quiet now...
You could be on vacation.
Loxlei Blaire Jan 2012
How beautiful is the innocence of a child?
So lofty in spirits, so in character undefiled.
So pure and untainted are their wants of the world;
But yet how it wishes to see them unfurled.
Ah, to be that free.
To laugh and be honestly happy with no degree,
No constraints, no limitations of their soul.
Youth: our one chance to be whole.
How I would like to be that child
Who runs in the field and falls with consequences mild;
Only to then immediately get back up and continue to play.
If only life could be that easy day by day;
Up and down, up and down.
But alas, we are confined by our sins that drown
Us in ambition, power, lust, and greed;
Things that poison our innocence in thought, word, and deed.
As I reach for it in the high, high tree
I realize its branch is rotten, so I fall to my knees.
Because to strive for this innocence does not belong to me anymore
It belongs to the child and the child is no more.
Loxlei Blaire Oct 2011
How I love that grin, that smile
That makes my own lips turn
Towards heaven. Or is it hell.
Oh that they could meet.
Oh that your fingers could graze my wrist
Or cheek to seek my flesh, if not
Only by mistake.
You give me reason and reverence
To stay finger width apart.
I fear your touch would burn,
And sear that I might flee.
To hasten away from
Your presence that I suffer.
For you drive daggers deep
Into my heart, my flesh, my mind.
But my cares for you reign in my want,
For which you should be thankful.
With you pain becomes my master
And my lover and I know not
The difference between the two.
Everyday my life begins and then ends.
For your presence is like lightning
And I seek to be struck by it’s bright death daily.
Do you not see the lively sparks
Cascading down the rivers of my eyes?
Down the contours of my neck
To their grave within the thud
Of an empty heart.
But everyday I return to receive
The painful punishment of a lack
Of air that I desperately
Seek to fill my lungs.
I love your ignorance to my pain.
I love how you fail to notice
My trembling brow and quivering lip.
Or am I too unaware?
Perhaps your hands fill a blank page
With sorrowful strife and twisted tongue.
Perchance we are both bound with what will
Always go unspoken, unfulfilled, and unloved.
And our shame is ******
And our folly is to our own charge.
For there will come that day when
Your hand touches my breast
Only to find it’s beat forever at rest.
Loxlei Blaire Oct 2011
These summery days have lifted my heart;
This world and people did them depart.
For your company alone,
Many would bemoan.
And since it is so,
I still cry: it is a great loss that you are all gone.
Each soul that lifted mine so high above the trees
Have slipped their hold,
And now your loving souls are gone.
Some to the nothingless north,
Some to the sickly south,
And each tongue and mouth
So spread apart and out
That there is nothing left but silence
Where our words and thoughts used to loudly be.
And now what are my fallish days left with?
Just ambitious souls who care not for me,
But simply hasten to climb
As thunder rolls.
Loxlei Blaire Sep 2011
My desire is a woman’s desire.
It is cold, very icy, quite unlike fire.
A desire that is calculating and cruel;
One that turns all love into a tool.
A knife to use at my leisure;
To each grief it meets it measures.
It is insatiable with no ending in mind.
A desire that is not patient, not loving, not kind.
It lacks smile, emotion, and colorful tone.
Because it simply seeks it’s own.
A desire in which love is not subject.
Only touching and games are in effect.
When my desire is through, is bored
And you are lovesick and your heart has soared.
I will take my ice and ****** it deep
To leave you dying and without words to speak.
Only then will I be sated and filled;
Ready to add you to my score of the others killed.
But if comfort or relief can be surmised,
In the end it will be my heart led to demise.
So please gaze, enjoy, covet, despise
And watch my tragic trial with your eyes.
Loxlei Blaire Aug 2011
I sing of tales of timeless love
And stories of old;
Of icy maidens, broken roses,
And other things of this nature told.
Of the cons of man so easily
Governed by a beautiful face
That caused screaming tongues and
Petty warplay between different race;
How is it that bloodlust can be heated by the blush of a brow,
The façaded modesty, and the occasional stolen kiss?
How a single idea that changed histories came from
Seemingly mellifluous nothings; never amiss
In the ear of a powerful man
Simply given in the warmth of his bed.
Those faces who burnt cities, spilled blood,
And revolutionized religions instead:
In mythical Rome, in all of Europe overthrown,
In the stems of roses without thorns.
These ideas that come from the tongue of a woman,
Thence through the mouth of a man are born.
The young, wailing words turn into deeds
And change the world as it was known to be.
Though the players differ in being,
The overall game continues to remain the same;
The faces of the skillfully seductive are ever forgotten,
Replaced with potent names.
The names of man cover our dusty papers and books
While the lips of our kind simply give men the sin that they have took.
Loxlei Blaire Aug 2011
For I have loved and I have been loved.
I have loved softly, I have loved cruelly.
But what comforts can these be of.

So will you forget me thus?

For you have touched the secret parts of my body, my skin
And I have given you a new life of your own.
Will you love her? Or will you not touch what you believe is sin.

So will you forget me thus?

You called me a daughter, you called me a lover
And I trembled under your severe stare.
I held my tongue when you gazed at a modest other.

So will you forget me thus?

I have remembrances of yours given out of care
In the sun, in the garden, under a tree’s branches.
The token of sadness on my finger that to my breast I bear.

So will you forget me thus?

In your wealth and in your woe have I stood you by
Until your heart became strong enough to carry any moan.
My face, my soul, my wit had made you stir, made you sigh.

So will you forget me thus?

Have you no piteous heart, have you no pious heart
That was taught to forgive by your former office.  
I fear that grace has forever evaded you in an eternal depart.

So will you forget me thus?

It was by the fates alone that we both did stray
Our folly, our shame is to neither of our conscience charge.
But in my disgrace I fled to the cool country until my body’s decay.

So will you forget me thus?

In you I will find no peace for my wars are all fought;
Instead I wait here to in fire burn or in ice freeze.
For surely both are better than to be in your mirth caught.

So will you forget me thus?

When my soul soon soars from this world to either or
Which fate will please you: heaven or hell.
Surely your hate is as powerful as your love, if not more.

So will you forget me thus?

My ravishing revenge and delight is the source of our strife;
Its affects will feed your sorrow and laugh in your pain.
You no longer have for me a stern smile or in me a loyal wife.

So will you forget me thus?

I will miss your face that I did trace with my fingers in affection;
Your steady voice that loved me once and your palm that did brush my cheek.
You desired what I was not able or willing to give, perfection.

So will you forget me thus?

Now, my breath slows and my mind grows dim,
My soul quickens, it hurries to that far western gate;
Here my thoughts are of you where I lie in stone, grim.  
For happy is the life that ends in such a lovely state.

So will you forget me thus?
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