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Sep 2016 · 2.4k
Color Me Anxious
Lucas Keith Sep 2016
Color Me Anxious

Color me anxious, color me green,
  The recess of novice nervousness
that awaits the first touch.
Color me anxious, color me wary,
   The pinnacle of senses marrying
sight, smell, taste, and such.

Color me anxious, color me red,
   The fixture of your wild eyes
skipping beats and silence.
Color me anxious, color me alive,
   The bumps on my skin at attention
whilst my conscience is on the fence.

Color me anxious, color me white,
   Blissfully unaware of consequence,
pinching pennies for my soul.
Color me anxious, color me a fool,
   Pressing nose to neck to subtle
ignoring hands pushing tolls.

Color me anxious, color me grey,
   Burying the obvious beneath alarm,
testing the limit of anguished vanilla.
Color me anxious, color me perturbed,
   Hiding emotion behind faux smiles,
pretending reality isn't just filler.

Color me anxious, color me black,
   Night becoming less a time
and more an essential surface.
Color me anxious, color me silent,
   Feeding the darkness, the empty
ravenous and out of place.

Color me anxious, color me blue,
   A prescription for a valid weather,
Storming under the heat of the sun.
Color me anxious, color me cold,
   The wisps of breath belying heat,
an exhaust from the body of one.

Color me anxious, color me true,
   A hue that exists not on the wheel,
skipping those that know.
Color me anxious, color me through,
   Trials that shouldn't ever hinder,
polishing reality for show.

Color me anxious, color me love,
   Never so serious, but straight forward
intention just to remind you.
Color me anxious, color me gone,
   Drunk off my broken psyche,
but ever willing to color you.

Color me anxious,
   Color me...
Apr 2016 · 1.6k
'Twas a Wintry April Morn
Lucas Keith Apr 2016
'Twas a wintry April morn
  To which we were given to the chill
Of a surprising revelation
   Snowflakes falling bitter pill.

Spring had receded rather quickly
Only one day separating the fools
A joke of sunshine's colder shoulder
Old wives tales and yarns on spools.

So dust the crown ever so lightly
A halo crisp, fresh, and white,
On the crocus and sweet magnolia
  The tail end of Winter's might.
April 2nd, 2016
Feb 2016 · 959
Lucas Keith Feb 2016
I dwell in the dank darkness of dreams,
 Where lucidity takes me wherever I please.
I escape the woman that 'knows me best'
  And expel her lies like demons from my chest.
I blink away blindness buried in night
  The struggles of waking into morning light.
I choose  a face from my many mortal masks
  And move through silence into my daily tasks.
I am remembering solace as I try to forget...
This is not as serious as it sounds.
Feb 2016 · 411
Truths, Lies
Lucas Keith Feb 2016
Forgive me, Love
  I lied when I said my heart is with you.
The truth is closer
   Buried beneath walls of bone and flesh.
Ramparts resurrected
  Rebuilt faster than your fingers tore them down.
Curled up warmth
   The ice pressing in on the fetal attempts to ignore.
Here it remains
  Straining between breaking and apathy.
Fresh wounds
   The wolves smell the blood and weakness.

In love,
Out love,
   Oust love,
Shove the Queen
from her throne,
  topple her crown.

Forgive me, Fool
  I lied when I said my heart is with me.
The truth is further
   Exposed to the elements, the wind and cold.
Walls a shambles
  Crumbling quickly to ruin as the seeders break them down.
Lain out death
   Gone frozen and stiff to become   mummified ignorance.
Here I remain
  Lost between idiocy and intelligence.
Scarred wounds,
   The vultures pick away at meat and meekness.

In life,
Out life,
   Oust life,
Shove the King
from his coffin,
  topple his corpse.
Jan 2016 · 872
I Cannot Be Your Husband
Lucas Keith Jan 2016
I cannot be your husband,
 For he is another man.
Even though he's a foolish ***,
 He is the first to have your hand.

I cannot be your husband,
 As you are someone else's wife.
Even though it's a matter of law,
 The vow still holds till death from life.

I cannot be your husband,
 As you don't really want me as such.
Even though I am committed,
 Forever wed no longer means that much.

I cannot be your husband,
 As I won't be able to keep promises grim.
Even though till death sounds lovely,
 I would rather focus on how we live.

I cannot be your husband,
 For my promise will never fade.
Even though we only live presently,
 Your love I would never degrade.

I cannot be your husband,
 Unless you changed your mind.
As even through eternity,
 Hold out your hand, and me, you'll find.
Lucas Keith Jan 2016
…aloof or a fool,
A new dude or old school?
Having a trying time,
Writing a fine line,
Unraveling like a spool.
Feeling like the guy who'll
Use a contraction that no one uses,
Muses to the point of confuses,
Loses himself as he peruses through,
Each memory of you,
  Each word he heard,
   Each touch and kiss too,
And every smile,
The minutes he lingered a while longer,
Hoping he left the bond stronger,
Not weakened by seeking,
Hidden meanings, peeking from cover,
Never there, but an overanalyzing lover,
I have become,
Which isn't fun,
Nor what you desire.
So as it comes down to the wire,
Let's feed this consuming fire,
Blooming flowers in the mire,
A garden vibrant,
Growing and verdant.
As our passion builds higher,
Allow me to sire the breadth
  Of love to the furthest depth
   Of your magnificent soul.
A realm transcending goal,
To know you as a whole,
  From end to end to start,
   From mind to body to heart,
    From normal to abstract to art,
And smart to silly and new
Every understanding of you.
As you peer straight through,
All of my attitudes and moods,
To see me vulnerable and raw,
Placing your hands on me to thaw
The ice and frozen gaping maw
That consumes my everyday away,
Playing awry with anger to stay
Against the grain with a dull saw.
So I return to the lyrical poetry
And fervently sow the seed,
  And nurture it till it becomes a tree,
Wait for Autumn and gather every leaf
And write my words down on each
To show you what I truly mean
And capture beauty from the scene
That depicts from vivid life to sleep
Resting quietly in Winter dreams,
And sew gently all those leaves
To bring together from death to life,
A new creation born from strife,
Each word painted on canvas rife
With yellow, orange, brown, and red,
Nature's trash given for dead,
Now a map of journey lead
From each word I haven't said
  To the volumes I've penned in hope and dread,
   To display to you, my love is true,
That I believe in me and you
Even through my darkest moods,
Fading between the Grey and Blue,
The Civil War I'm prone to
Try and win but often lose.
But you bring forth the other hues,
Colors vibrant, warm, and bright,
That could place a rainbow in the night
Amongst the stars and soft moonlight,
The backdrop, an eternal void of black,
  The space impact, of infinity cracked
By the light you give, holding nothing back,
Treating me like I nothing lack.
And so I return to the green,
The garden world beneath my feet
  And dig up earth with hands, softly,
   A cool, ***** shallow tomb
That becomes new growth warming womb
As the seed I place sacrifices
Itself to feed and give life to this
New growth shoot free of vices,
Reaching the sun of its own devices,
Gracing the sky with weathered caress,
The Earth it turns to silently bless
As a bridge in this world to Heaven mess.
It smiles to those in success
And life and love and death and duress,
Never trying to shallowly impress,
But being nurtured by little me,
It abides patiently
For Autumn, to gift me it's leaves,
So I can in turn gift them to you,
Thousands of words written true,
  And a myriad of ways to say 'I love you'.
Lyrical poem I wrote regarding someone I hold very dear.
Jan 2016 · 715
In and Through the Days
Lucas Keith Jan 2016
The petal falls
  To count the days,
The hope of light,
   In darkness stays.

As old as time,
  The tales tone,
Till love awaits,
    Silently alone.

Awake! Hearken to
  This lovely Belle,
Quiet no longer,
   This foolish hell.

Forgive or forget,
  Trespass big or small,
The look in your eyes,
    States it all.

Seeing through this
  Shell of Beast,
In your smile,
   My fears cease.
Inspired by my life and 'The Beauty and the Beast'.
Jan 2016 · 1.2k
The Last Time We Kissed
Lucas Keith Jan 2016
If I would've known the last time
  I kissed you would be the last time
I kiss you, I would've kissed you
   more deeply.

If I would've known the last time
  I kissed you would be the last time
I kiss you, I would've whispered
   'I love you' more sweetly.

If I would've known the last time
  I kissed you would be the last time
I kiss you, I would've held you
   significantly longer.

If I would've known the last time
  I kissed you would be the last time
I kiss you,  I would've strove to make
   our bond stronger.

If I would've known the last time
  I kissed you would be the last time
I kiss you, I would've met your eyes
   more intently.

If I would've known the last time
  I kissed you would be the last time
I kiss you, I would've given myself to you

If I would've known the last time
  I kissed you would be the last time
I kiss you, I would've stopped time so
   that kiss could last forever.

If I would've known the last time
  I kissed you would be the last time
I kiss you, I wouldn't be stuck here
   between regretful 'what if's?'
  and hopeful 'if ever's'...
Dec 2015 · 903
The Gifting Tree
Lucas Keith Dec 2015
I dote upon the gifting tree
And bated waiting eagerly
As it sits appearing soft yet stern
It's mind content to quietly discern
What each pilgrim needs from it
Whether food or rest, charm or wit
The pure soul gains it's delight
Yet it also serves those full of fright
Or anger burning, or reeling pain
Or thoughts consuming selfish vain
As it understands the power of gifts
And delights as it feels spirits lift
To joy from sorrow, to light from dark
To the fanning of the faintest spark
To turn your lips in a heartfelt smile
The contentment as you sit a while
Under the boughs, branches, bark, and leaves
Of the tree that gives more than it receives.
It came to mind, while I was trying to fall asleep. I'm not trying to rip off 'The Giving Tree'.
Dec 2015 · 11.7k
The Fool
Lucas Keith Dec 2015
Fear is cold, dark, and safe.
 It's always there, always stays.
It hides when it isn't bold.
 But still remains truth be told.
It whispers soft before it yells.
 It speaks in secrets it always tells.
It holds my tongue from giving thoughts.
 It ruins lives that can't be bought.

Yet love can bring light to dark.
 It can find the kindling with a spark.
It starts to smolder in childish ways,
 Then catches fire and burns bright as day.
It shines right through with radiance.
 It shows me to the second chance.
It fills my chest like a well lit room.
 It stamps the letter and seals my doom.

Love and fear sometimes coexist.
 The answer is found in who wins.
My silence before came as a fearful fool,
 It's broken now, because 'I love you.'
Mar 2015 · 662
Insignificance, Eternity
Lucas Keith Mar 2015
Who are you?
       Buried in juxtapose,
  Who am I?
A stranger soul,
  or just a stranger,
my reflection a liar
   as the rest.
Irony abounds,
  tracing lines on faces,
drawing wrinkles in sand,
   killing softly where
     and what it can.
But of 'when'?
  How is that left
aside, shakespearean
   to the curious?
Why alone
  amongst the multitudes,
written already,
    and preoccupations?
Silent, time continues
  etching the past
to stone, blinking
    grain by grain.
Desist and ever
Rewind and return,
  to move through
with pure intention,
   foreknowledge of
     a thousand timelines.
To know you,
  every secret,
every lie, every love,
  every dreaming
To be unknown,
  ignored, left to
despair in infinite
    knowledge and
To pass on alone,
hand in hand with
    death, knife to neck
with Charon.
Never yours,
  and never noticed,
the ache and therapy
   of oblivion,
     of irrelevance.
Who are you?
   ****** by juxtapose,
  Who am I?
Broken in silence.
Sep 2014 · 3.2k
The Dead and Equal
Lucas Keith Sep 2014
Be mindful where you dig,
  don't disturb the bones.
All the graves are shallow,
  the dead chewing stones.
Turn the grass over,
  careful to replace the sod.
Don't smell the flowers here,
  unless you'd like to meet God.

Throw the dirt back into the grave.

No matter the content of life,
  all are the same here.
Bones are bones are dust,
  the tyrant, the pauper, the seer.
Be it the axe to sever head,
  or the cold eventual reaper,
a lover's poisonous goodbye,
  there's no need to dig deeper.

Throw the soil back onto the grave.

Hold the flame close, but high
  and respect the shadows dim.
The dead are patient, silent,
  their toothy guises, malicious and grim.
Intentions hidden, grinding
  slowly at their machinations.
They only desire company,
  new, lifeless, buried nation.

Push the earth back into the grave.

Foolish the decision to tempt
  the cover of darkness.
Entertaining wild imaginings
  and ghouls to impress.
The decaying scent surrounds,
  creeping in from every side.
***** neck hair, cold as bone,
  silence ominous where you died.

Pull the earth down onto your grave.
Lucas Keith Sep 2014
  Beget at your behest.
     Frantically my burdening hell.

I loved you.
13 word Thursday
Sep 2014 · 4.6k
Ten Word Tuesday
Lucas Keith Sep 2014
Aug 2014 · 312
The Epiphany (10w)
Lucas Keith Aug 2014
I write
  My words for me,
But you,
     Could see...
Aug 2014 · 474
More Than the Surface
Lucas Keith Aug 2014
Grinning maw open wide,
consuming all hope in stride,
painting the sky with eternal rain,
filling my mind with crushing pain,
leaving behind an emptiness that makes
my muscles twinge and body ache,
beholden to a blank stare,
only of the deep-seated void, I'm aware.

My constant companion, my gravest foe,
a brighter day I may never know,
we share this vessel broken,
incessant reminder token
clutched as a savior preserver,
ever a burning idol waver,
to remain and refuse to proceed,
addressing the deepest shadow's need.

We're it regret,
I would simply forget,
we're it a scar,
it would only mar,
but it's a wound that festers,
and before it heals, a resurrect arrester,
the forever guest
that stays at their own behest,
with whom you learn to live
and breathe and give
but silently hope disappears
and stops haunting the creeping years.

Morose is not enough to declare,
melancholy is hardly fair,
when I'm clinging to every beam
that peeks through the cumulus seam
for a fleeting taste of joy
and that barely familiar semblance
of what everyone else considers a decent
Jul 2014 · 508
The Bartered Unworthy
Lucas Keith Jul 2014
In my dreams, I run through the forest. A forest full of trees disguised as knife-
wielding sycophants, only appearing as such, however, after you pass them.  Yet even
though I can pierce through their veil by turning my head, I face forward knowing they
crave to chase me. Looking back would only slow me down, and I aspire to keep my
back absent of holes, as their blades aren't just jagged steel, but the focal point of their
deep-seated hatred for the unrooted.
A thought caresses the edge of my mind, throwing me into a stumbling wild caper
of surreal colors,
'Perhaps they have no desire to **** me. Maybe their only ache is to wound me
enough to fill me with their blades, their hatred.'
Still reeling through the chaotic palette of my imagination, I realize there is an
edge, a drop-off, not to far from me.  Their whistling whispers begin faint like a breeze,
yet build exponentially towards a gale, so out of desperation I lurch and throw myself
over the cliff.
A shallow drop finds me stranded on a sidewalk far from the forest, yet the fear
has not settled. A rhythmic tapping faintly grows closer; footsteps on pavement.  I look
behind me expecting a knife-slinging ******, but instead a white-clad gentleman with
an obviously casual gait, is approaching steadily. Sitting up, I wait for him to reach me,
the closer he comes, the clearer his features become, before fading vaguely, and returning
to clarity. His skin appears blue one moment, and a khaki color the next, jumping back and
forth with no apparent frequency.  He stops in front of me, offers his hand and states,
"I shall bring you to an angel."
He pulls me up, smiles, and I begin to follow him.  Down, down, down the sidewalk
that leads to a somewhere, nowhere and all the houses are the same, compiling the
mindless eternity image. The white-clad gentleman begins humming to himself a
familiar tune about calming apples and shy phantoms.  Then I noticed an interruption
in the forever houses: a garish, distorted being, dancing around an easel in a petric
fashion.  I turned to the blue, or khaki, man with an inquiry of this being, and he
shrugged with a mild disinterest and lack of knowledge.  
Not much further, and miles down this insomnia vision and its somewhere,
nowhere sidewalk, we came abreast a troupe of Irish girls dancing lively reels,
and trying to entice me with return gift attitudes.  For a moment, my mind melts and my
feet move in accordance with their time, but the khaki, or blue, man chastises me to
stay on the sidewalk.
After a tiny eternity, my companion and I come to a 'sort-of' ending of the somewhere,
nowhere sidewalk.  This ending is more of a cul-de-sac turnaround but the look on the ivory
adorned man states we had arrived at our destination.  The first glance at the cement space
reveals nothing, so I turn to my companion guide to divine the purpose of our venture, and he
is gone, as if he never was.  My eyes return to the cement turnaround and discover its no
longer vacant.  The most exotically beautiful creature ever known stands next to an obsidian
harp, observing with inquisitive eyes.  I peer closer and realize sheepishly that her only covering
is her four ebony feathered wings.  She smiles, as if reading my reticence, and beckons with
the sultry tones she plucks from the harp's crystal strings.
My feet step forward to her will, my heart pushing and prodding the rest of me to
follow.  Passing her raven instrument, my hands slip around her waist: her skin, hot and
softer than clouds, her scent sends my mind cascading into euphoria.  She returns my embrace,
and whispers between her teeth, lips lightly brushing my ear,
"I'm your Evil Angel."
She tangles her fingers in my hair, presses her lips firmly to mine and the world falls away.
My existence intertwines within the arms of this sordid Seraphim and in the secure comfort
of her lust I fall asleep.
Cracks of light break through the crust known as sleep and I wake to the reality of this
present stupidity.  At a final loss, I am keenly aware of the hole where my heart used to be, or
could've been.  Such a fool, always a fool, and still desiring to sleep away the pain.
It's more of a super short story, but it's kind of abstract and such.  It's old too, but what the heck.
Jun 2014 · 620
Love Poem X
Lucas Keith Jun 2014
'I love you.'

Simple words,
  but what do they mean?
Digging deeper,
  past the ****** and obscene,
the mists fade,
  and sight becomes clear.
To begin,
  they are absent of fear,
but hold tight
  a certain hesitance,
just like
  asking for that first dance.

Within the words
  are layers of composition,
containing different,
  yet elemental cohesion.
It is the
  quiet stare that stands on
the cusp
  of diving into conversation,
the course deviation
  that leads me next to you.

The flowers
  dancing all summer through,
the crystal flakes
  that blanket the ground,
the silence
  of space that resounds,
the crescent moon,
  waning philosophical mute,
the acorn,
  dying to feed the shoot,
as am I,
  all these things in union.

My dreams,
  your fetching face,
and the kisses,
  which I intentionally place,
brushing them,
  across your eyes and nose,
down your neck,
  tracing where your collar bones go.
Drifting slowly
  across space-time and cosmos,
tangled up
  in your arms, as the galaxy flows,
a thousand stars
  stream by, but I'm consumed
with you,
  my entire world in bloom.

You alight
  dancing from planet to moon,
tiptoeing Saturn's rings,
  skipping across Neptune.
Running fingers
  like paintbrushes, you create
art like breath,
  swirling storms and fate,
Arms swaying,
  stars glittering in each swirl,
you caper towards
  the Sun in graceful twirls.
Spinning past
  Earth and the God of War,
Miming the backward,
  and skipping the Mercurial shores,
the Sun
  burns hot and bright,
striving to outshine,
  and dims in shallow spite.

But before
  you're confident smile grows,
I want you
  to step back and hold,
the world,
  our blue, sordid home
in your hands,
  then turn and look beyond that dome.
The galaxy,
  in it's vast glowing brilliance,
the stars and
  nebulae and shining dalliance,
for that,
  is my love encompassing,
far greater than
  this Earth, on which we are living.

Then I
  awake, aching desire
to let you
  know of this deep-seated fire,
that wishes
  you were waking next to me,
feline stretching,
  stifling a yawn, then I'd be,
kissing your neck,
  and whispering in your ear,
'I love you'
  hoping that it was clear,
just exactly
  what I meant, knowing
I could never
  explain exactly or wholly.
Apr 2014 · 738
Worlds (Parts 1 & 2)
Lucas Keith Apr 2014
Is there no other way?

What else could I say?

Broken blood,
  Bruised bond,
    The callous full of rage.
Shallow suitor,
  Sifting silence,
    Alien deference center stage,

Pressing pencil to page only leaves
  a No. 2 imprint, the lead, hovering
The explanation remains aloof, all
  aglow, with arrogant mystery, hiding
     behind truths.
Were it believable, we would comprehend;
  were it excusable, we would not defend.

Plush and terrible, scores of pulpy,
  rotting sun-kissed remains, the
Fools led in marionette whimsy towards
  a hopeful siren mirage, ventriloquist
    dreams seeping from betwixt their lips.
Climbing over each carcass apology,
  past the caressing vulture whispers, each
     spark of hope kindles the fool's fire deeper.
Seated in iron clad marrow urges, ignorance
  assaults memory in waves of ecstasy to
    continue the familiar journey.

  In pulse.
Out pulse.
  Over and over,
    the fuse falters.

Dead again, an addition to the spire,
  this fictitious, visceral altar of the
    amorous intentional.
Pallid and weak, eyes closed towards
  the nothingness of space and memory,
    forgetting again.

What else could I say?

Is there no other way?
Jan 2014 · 452
Life, the Decay
Lucas Keith Jan 2014
As cold as night,
the coldest light,
I have fought the moon,
but never prevailed,
always to assail,
returning as the fool.

Crafty and grinning,
the craft of sinning,
I have the greatest boon,
but always lose,
and never through,
this effervescent cool.
This is just something I've been mentally working on... it isn't finished yet, but I haven't posted/written in forever so here it is.
Dec 2013 · 844
Were I Real
Lucas Keith Dec 2013
Were I real, I would paint the sky.
  Were I alive, I would chase the stars.
Were I plastic, I would never die.
  Were I honest, I would be the King of Mars.
But I'm not these, nor am I yours,
  for the die had been cast far before
I looked deep into your eyes, entranced,
   and unable to perceive any but you.
Time froze for an eternal moment,
  then I blinked, causing the world to
return around me.
Ruination was the path before me,
  disguised as promising hope and
potential happiness, so in disregard
   I continued forward, blind.
My heart ran ahead, like an excited
  child, letting go of my hand, it
raced forward towards wonder
   but instead found a broken clock.
It's face cracked and missing glass,
  it's arms bent and twisted into mockery,
it's frame warped and weathered,
   it's intentions dead and silent.
I lift it up and gaze solemnly,
  my reflection broken up by the cracks,
and anger burns through me, my
   reflex to throw it away.
But the beauty of it's brokenness
  drives human nature home and
I can't release it from my hands
   out of violence.
I replace it on the ground for another
  to find, for another to hold for a moment,
hoping that soul can maintain it,
   can bring some life back to it.
So I fade away into mist and memory,
  never suitable and again less than enough,
praying that my heart will hold my hand,
   and only leave to be held by an understanding soul.
Lucas Keith Nov 2013
Silence lies under the chatter of squirrels,
  under the crunch of dried leaves,
    under the wind navigating the trees.
On it's edge, before utter deafening nothing,
  a flutter whispers in haphazard random
     and wild, but intentional motion.
Dancing through the air, mantled in off-white,
  she flies from tree to tree, and lands on a
    moss and fungus consumed stump.
Beauty incarnate contrasting the death
  that surrounds, as the northern world
    prepares for a season of slumber.

Silence stretches from space to surround,
  to reach through the cloud of thoughts,
    to calm and quiet a busying soul.
On it's edge, ribbons of promise in taut
  bows, gifting reprieve from the paranoid
   madness and intentional destruction.
Dancing in interweaving concentric circles,
  clad in flannel and black, she smiles and
    shatters the balance nearly achieved.
Beauty that commands attention, contrasting
  the normal ghosts, a northern belle with
    hazel eyes, that haunts my slumber.
From my dreams, from the forest.
Sep 2013 · 966
My Eyes Have Seen
Lucas Keith Sep 2013
I saw them frenzied and purposeless.
  I saw them hectic and hurried.
    Wayward ants with no queen, no
Madness of movement, building… fixing.
  To no end, they continued, ashes
     and rubble bequeathed new crowns.
        Shiny modern facades and feats.
They weren't in union, isolated incidents.
   Unbound by laws, but held by expectation.
      Ignored cries, human deprivation, and
        dreamless sleeps till death.
Progress protected fleshy robots, preserving
   the fevered pointless rushing.
     I saw them pretending to live, to connect.
       I saw them die, become dust, pounded
          into cement and forgotten.
I saw them cold and apathetic.
   I saw them with falsetto smiles, screeching
      sincerity, while left hand denying it.
         I saw them fade, to nature and ghosts.
Aug 2013 · 1.6k
The Way She
Lucas Keith Aug 2013
She speaks only in soliloquy,
   never daring a coupled conversation,
  for who could understand her innermost
    thoughts better than she?

The whispers dancing from left
   to right, logic to lunacy, and back
  again, painting a world that none
    have the privilege to see.

Silence casts a clever shadow,
   blank stares like broken downtown
  walls, painted with attempts at
    liquid existential monuments.

Yet it's more than empty air
   shimmering with anticipation for
  words to alight across the dust
     to carry the world she lives in.

She speaks… but only in soliloquy,
   never caring for a coupled conversation.
Jul 2013 · 3.5k
Falling Sun Lake Michigan
Lucas Keith Jul 2013
The Sun sinks in an ocean of red-orange,
   finger-painted clouds wisp skyward like
     a crown along the horizon.

The breeze coming East off the lake flirts with
   the transitional line into light wind, caressing,
     then pushing the waves to the shore,
       capping them with foam and bravado.

As the water continues its advance and retreat
   maneuvers, the ever-changing line of damp
     sand eventually gives way to dry granules.

They gather loosely but build and construct
   their tiny selves into a quickly gradient hill,
     reaching up in defiance of the water below.

To further their illusion and separate from
   their desert cousins, dune grass soon secedes
     to towering White Pines, who's darkened implacable
       stare is only softened by their swaying and the
   translucent white halo given by the nearly
     full moon.

Paying little attention to the tides she tugs to
   and fro, Luna stares solemnly west toward
     Venus who shines piercingly alone in the
       darkening sky.

A thigh thick sand-covered driftwood log
   imitating a bench rests peacefully, poised for
     company to sit down and enjoy the perfect

So I sit, and feel small, even as a sand spider
   skitter bursts past my feet and the insects fight
     the breeze that would seem a maelstrom if I
       were as tiny as they.

Calm becomes an essence in the air much
   like the sixth sense of foreboding, every breath
     an aeon, every blink a motion capture shutter

The heads of swimmers that bob betwixt the
   waves like human fishing lures burned to my
     memory, the scent of water meeting earth
       coats the interior of my nose.

The world envelopes my ears, as I close my eyes;
   distant laughter, splashes of cloven waves, branches
     brushing in sober communion, the wind touching
       every tangible entity.

Then it's a walk back to the car...
Jul 2013 · 590
Elevator Door (10w)
Lucas Keith Jul 2013
Excuse me Miss,
  I would just like to say that...
I guess it's a Tuesday thing.
Jun 2013 · 302
Toward (10w)
Lucas Keith Jun 2013
In eternal pursuit
of the forever darkness,
that silent finality.
May 2013 · 595
I Miss You
Lucas Keith May 2013
I miss you...
Every time I get the chance,
Like today sitting in my room.

I miss you...
Dealing with my madness
Ready to drink the sane away.

I miss you...
Entering and exiting promptly
Dressed to face the day.

I miss you...
Lying to make me smile,
Under duress from dawn till dusk.

I miss you...
Careless in your thought,
Angry in your heart.

I miss you...
Standing silently in your fear,
Knowing not how to start.

I miss you...
Even though I mostly don't,
Irritating as you're so pathetic.

I miss you...
Toiling even in your sorrow,
Hating you for your foolish genius.

I miss you... Me.... sometimes...
May 2013 · 937
Lucas Keith May 2013
Your breath, the wind that caresses my face,
a breeze cooled by the lingering goodbye.
The pheromone scent carried in the air,
entrancing nostalgia gripping my mind,
crushing weight and drowning sense.
Every muscle twinges, twisting into aches
of desire, poised on the edge of leaping,
taut and ferocious lion.
Mesmerizing eyes, dracula draining will
and caution, yet a stance of stone I engage.

My breath, the sigh that expels freedom,
a battle and war, heavy bleeding costs goodbye.
The belligerent stare through mirrored eyes,
entrancing visage, broken thoughts and lies
capture fate and divining past.
Every muscle limp, embracing liquidity and
release, collapse and greet dirt abrasive,
fool and torrid, dying snake.
Deliberate design, signs of sweat and
shattered ego, dreams alone steal cage.
May 2013 · 875
F^ck Yo^
Lucas Keith May 2013
A Short Mental Conversation*

"They told me, 'Yo^ only have the right to the
p^rs^it of happiness, not the right to happiness
Well I never cared m^ch for the egotistical
power-hoarding 'they' so I told them, in all
honesty, 'I don't really give a f^ck abo^t happiness
See, I always fig^red being happy was a fickle, fleeting
thing, a sq^irming worm prone to be snatched away
by the next passing bird.
However in opposition to happiness a revelation came
^pon me, and it was this:  Joy is more end^ring and
similar to enlightenment or ascension.  Happiness
co^ld be taken from yo^ b^t joy, I foolishly tho^ght,
wo^ld remain even in the absence of the former.
However that clever ******* 'they' ret^rned and with
a toothless grin retorted, 'Joy is empty and feeble witho^t
the presence of an ^ndying hope.'
They then absconded with hope and garishly painted the
word in a negative light, b^t then I realized I never tr^ly
wanted any of that b^llshit anyways.
As it is with life and rabbits, I ret^rned f^ll-circle and
decided that in addition to not needing them, I was
j^st going to do what bro^ght me joy, or happiness, or
whatever and forget abo^t everything else.
They didn't dig this m^ch beca^se they realized that
I didn't need them to define me.  More importantly
I realized I didn't need them to define me.
Individ^ality is a 'f^ck yo^' to them in a 'kick to the *****'
kind of way, and maybe that's still allowing them
to control thro^gh intentional disassociation,
however my conscience is clear.
In the end, I g^ess that's all that matters.  Some may call
that mindset 'a perpet^ation of circ^lar j^stification', b^t
what do they know?
So, anyways feel free to disagree, if that's what yo^
act^ally think, j^st don't conf^se tho^ght with reg^rgitated
machine speak.
And if yo^'re part of them, well... yo^ know…
F^ck yo^."
I had to use ^ so that the whole thing wouldn't be full of random Italics.
May 2013 · 1.0k
The Painter/The Canvas
Lucas Keith May 2013
I see you yet again, tattooed and a particular shade of grey.
I know it's been quite a while since a smile painted your face.
Full of pain and aches that liquor, lust, and drugs could never touch.
Hiding behind Violet dreams that keep you down and paradise lost.
Blank Face
Blank Canvas
Fade Away
Blend the Pain

Curse, spit, and reel away from this crude reality.
Bare teeth in still-frame rictus, cast Iron apart and
Placing all your hope and fear on a faded Canvas.
Washed out color, glowing blue, disparate Loner Avant-Garde.
On your ***,
Giving in,
Can't get past this
Hell you're in.

You look through me yet again, a single pane window view.
Words pour from my lips, pale, extraneous golden hue.
Brushed steel buckles, a tell-tale drip, and painful medical light.
The glint and gleam, your scalpel, brush strokes and red design.
My Chest
Your Canvas
Cut Away
Numb the Pain

Slip underneath my skin, scar and crack and
Break my ribs to wrap your hands around my heart.
Reaching for your brush and dip it in my blood.
Splash away at the walls like some kind of surrogate, Donor, Avant-Garde.
On my back,
Giving in,
Can't get past this
Hell I'm in

Amidst the silence, shallow breath and fading.

Imperfections give character.
    Perfection, a fruitless pursuit.
       Leaves you lost and blind,
          And I know you're just trying to get by.
             Brush on...

Breathe,  Rapid in and out.
  I took the red and the blue.
    So did you.
  Awake and restless
    In between ultraviolet view.
      What is real and what is not?
      What is real and what is not?
      What is real and what is not?

Brush on by,
Brush on by,
Brush on by,
Brush on by.

Curse, spit, and reel away from this crude reality.
Bare teeth in still-frame rictus, cast Iron apart and
Placing all your hope and fear on a faded Canvas.
Washed out color, glowing blue, disparate Loner Avant-Garde.

For Fay.
Lyrics from a song I wrote for my solo project, 'The Left and the Right'.  For Fay.
May 2013 · 596
Lucas Keith May 2013
Depth and oceanic abyss aside,
In my fear is where I died.
A paralyzing realm more expansive than the sea,
and a more hellish realm than that of Dante,
Dripping agony from the Vase of Pain,
The Law and Letter removing the vain,
Kept still in a razor straightjacket lie,
Fire beneath my feet, so to move and die.

Amongst the fake I've moaned and grieved,
never a moments relief, or brief reprieve.
With bolts, washers, nuts, and screws
a mask of honesty secured ****** view.
One more lie to provoke the truth
Fastened steel deep to bone and tooth,
Pulling high and tight to form a grin,
This face as amoral as my original sin.

I awake, pain lancing along my jaw,
visions of hell, blood, pain, and unjust law.
My muscles spasm and I try to gasp
Breath leaving my nostrils in a silent rasp.
Adrenaline and anger swell inside my throat,
Guttural instinct attempting to devote
All will and hatred to escape
but no longer can my mouth be agape.

My sins weighed and judgment passed,
these lips forever sealed fast.
Not a lie or truth to be told
So that fear can no longer hold.
Silent tears leave the darkest eyes,
A permanent grin my disguise,
The words can't pass my lips to start,
Ever dripping Agony from my broken heart.
May 2013 · 894
Lucas Keith May 2013
Who is she?
She strolls across the moon and makes the earth slave to her beauty.  
She turns the tempest aside and commands the elements to dance to the lacy whims of her muse.  
Delicate is her smile yet strength her true mantle, unwavering and immovable, like the roots of a mountain or the implacable stare of the tsunami.  
Grace becomes her as unlike she, there exists no example of such.  
Flames may dance and the stars may shine and glitter, yet both are less in her presence, desire consuming them in unparalleled jealousy of her radiance.  
How she haunts my every step and casts her darkness across my path, a more futile existence I may never know, this pursuit of the unknowable.
Fleeting this reality becomes and into dreams I ascend, praying beyond all gods that she blesses some world, fictitious or temporal, believable or buried in hideous lies,
with her footsteps.  
Silence becomes my mind, the hum of thought ceases and the hot, burning spike of ruination is driven deep into my heart.  
Lost without the slightest inkling of rescue or recourse,
in a fathomless valley on a foreign rock,
orbiting an alien sun, fails to mar the target registered
as the stand-in visual for this devil of loss lodged in the usual vacancy of my chest.  
Bereft of the glory entertained by loving her as my purpose foreordained,
I've forgotten the taste of life and bartered with the unworthy.
My smile stole and the light hidden in my eyes snuffed out, I tarry on the cusp of eternal darkness, courting my eradication instead of my enlightenment, wishing on a fallen anything that this timeline isn't frozen still in diamond and unforgiving.
May 2013 · 323
Love Poem
Lucas Keith May 2013
To love and lost, or to love and hate?
To love and loathe, I do relate.
I care about you, I truly do,
But hold that thought as I continue,
Virtue owns its right and place,
Judging from the look of your face,
The word is lost between your ears,
It is again as I had feared.
May 2013 · 414
Reality, a Perspective
Lucas Keith May 2013
Forever held above the touch
of grass,
of soil,
a slave to gravity.

Rain slides down my body
like a deluge of salty tears
racing and collecting,
then racing again to bridge
my toes to the ground.

It's beyond reach, no matter
however I stretch,
twist, strain,
and gasp, throat raw
from focus.

The world kaleidoscopes,
twirling in on itself.
May 2013 · 821
The Ebb and Flow of Madness
Lucas Keith May 2013
The ebb and flow of madness, the tides
of my lunacy reaching ever further up
these shores.
A thousand thoughts swirling, grains
of sand and sanity mixing with the water,
falling from the cracks of time.
Whether a flooded landscape or deserted
wasteland, the weather always a tempest,
both day and night.
Wandering mind, wondering soul, time is
immeasurable and incomprehensible,
ever flowing nowhere, unchanging.
Amongst all the chaos, there lies a
silence, a dishonest stillness, beckoning
and gnawing at my attention.
Grief and gladness, mirth and madness,
fear and futility, love and loathing, and
all nonsensical direction dancing still-
life mannequin.
Curve my interest abreast Saturn's rings,
breast afire, breath escaping vapor
trail lost in the ice and rock.
Push and gravity pull, witless witness to
my own burning descent into Saturn's
perpetual storms.
Midriff lightning stuck, struck down adrift
in the air, drowning again in the vast
ocean of madness, rotting on the sands
of sanity.
Collide and coalesce, mix to a muddy
yin and yang, a clear smiling despair
laced with dishonest truths.
Nothing reaches my eyes, a disguise of
two, blue yet brown, salty tears of joy,
despise despite the spite, love left for
all the leaving.
Goodbye and hello again.
Apr 2013 · 775
Front-yard Philosophers
Lucas Keith Apr 2013
Black cats under the sorbet full moon,
   misty shrouds building in the voids
      painted saffron by illumined iron giants.
   Hide and seek souls ghost from shadow to shadow,
      melancholy strays with cavern eyes and hungry grins
         hunt by the scent of fear on the edges of dim light.
Muffled screams hum as they reflect often barren walls
   and refract off the cool sweaty air, portents of
      soluble sirens, their crimes and ravenous lockboxes.
   Callous constructed guises hover in line determination,
      intentional malice window panes, urging pallid countenance,
         to continue on, presence removal an absolute statute.
Apr 2013 · 1.2k
Suffer No Ballast
Lucas Keith Apr 2013
It echoes upon itself.
Wave after wave crashing,
smashing, dashing upon
the rocks.
An ascendent assault.
A greater vision defined
by falling through
the floor.
To fetal and die.
As the valleys rush,
the calm and silence betwixt
the peaks.
Fill it yet again.
Closer to god becoming
a futility, inward and against
the woodgrain.
Caress my skeleton.
A barrage exterior dermis,
salt grinder incessant to peel
the skin.
Cease the pushing back.
Assuming liquidity to seep
through the cracks, cursing Newton
the third.
Backstroke marionette whimsy.
Losing direction baring
fibrous guise trying to distend
the ego.
Cast away corporeal.
Divide miotic intension
from the incapability to parallel
the wall.
Calming the dead.
Stars gazing upon face
down float and blase depart
the soul.
Last call cadence.
Leadened limbs impartial
to flying, to dying, and remain
the anchor.
Omega two dimensional.
Cleft vision, right bound face,
left climbing through realms,
the alien.
Apr 2013 · 1.8k
Blessed are the Ignorant
Lucas Keith Apr 2013
Of the Original Darkness none now speak
For most hearts skip straight towards the Light.
Utter silence with no whispering engagement,
And a void indescribable, save by the deepest parts of the mind,
Cold, cavernous, unholy, and riddled with pitfalls.
In this dream before the Creator spoke,
Is where I find myself, sweating and frozen.
Every idea and thought strikes the unformed conscience as
Base, and empty, devoid of vision and purpose,
Like an unborn child growing in the womb.
Yet, touching, through a perceived gap of a million miles,
Three inches away, on the edge of reality there exists warmth,
There exists love.
This entity holds back, impatiently waiting,
Waiting to grasp my hand and show me the light.
The void I rule trembles, then shakes violently.
Waves and waves of energy whisper gently,
Caressing my recently formed ears.
"Let there be Light."
"Let there be Life."
Slowly and instinctively, I adjust to the notion of direction.
From below, yes, this comes from under,
A light it must be.
Some force is pulling me towards this phenomenon,
outside the comforting darkness, away from my certainty.
Silhouettes block the full view of this opposing reality,
And these shadows respond as I desire them to.
Spinning, spiraling, tumbling, and redirected,
This realm of mine closes in and squeezes tight and close.
Every point of this corporeal form realizes its existence,
And the connection between them and I, or maybe,
Steadily approaching and shining brighter,
A world unknown reaches forward to assimilate.
My cold home finally turns about and heaves.
Once again I'm floating,
Save that on this occasion I seem to be floating
Suddenly this new planet becomes flat,
And pain replaces the pleasure of hovering.
Of all the things to perceive, the first to find
Happens to be a gritty, rough, immovable mass.
From this infant introduction to the physical,
I try to move this newfound body upward.
All the ground around me is slick, and oily,
Coated thoroughly in birthing fluid.
After a few eternal moments,
My just discovered limbs adjust and push me
Into an upright standing position.
Shoulders hunched, I survey this form I own.
Within the thin sheen of liquid,
There stands a white body that the light surrounds
And is reflected to leave a strange glow.
Just below my vision I have  appendages,
To the right,
And to the left.
Both are moveable and also own attachments,
Ten to be exact,
Save two that seem to disagree with the others.
Below these and more centered,
Another pair of limbs exists.
Again, one on the right
And one to the left,
But both are planted and immovable,
Stuck in the rut I placed them.
Oddly enough, a tube of sorts
Is attached to my middle,
And it leads away, up into the sky.
Pulsing, beating, this umbilical connection
It satisfies.
Flowing continually with knowledge,
And all the grey between.
Increasingly, bit by precious bit,
My realm of consciousness expands.
This pipeline's sustenance courses through my veins,
As I'm told the nature of my existence.
Like Eve's Luciferian Serpent,
The vine snaking away leads me into "reality".
Awareness, then Comprehension, then Understanding
Leaving me naked and confused,
With no direction.
All the known
Facts and fiction
Make the world
Respond violently.
All of existence
Rotating in a Daze.
My mind opened too quickly,
Like a video of a Flower growing in Fast Forward.
At first so quiet and immature.
Now the voice screams and echoes,
Why awake to this existence?
Why bring me out from ignorance?
My rut no longer holds sway and my feet move.
Faster and faster
Blindly continuing, nothing can stop me now.
Running and running till abruptly,
As if from nowhere,
A Mirror,
Pretending to be a
The pretense fooled even my newly educated mind.
Flat on my back in a drugged daze,
Brain racing, though the body halted.
Distressed eyes follow the source of
Knowledge up and up, still connected
to me, and its tributary of conscience.
Rising up, I gaze into the mirror,
Held fast by the stunned reflection.
How could this be?
Who is this person staring back at me?
Without thought, my hands reach up
And touch the surface.
Clear, yet there must be a malfunction.
My skin was white and unstained.
This fellow is grey and oily,
And his eyes are only half alive.
What's happening?
He's infecting me, I look like him.
This cannot be,
Must not be.
How could I be impure, tainted?
Shadows distort the vision in front.
The cord!
The free offer of a release from ignorance,
The connection that brings knowledge
Must be severed.
Staring into the mirror, both hands twisted around
The thread of idiocy as if to strangle,
Pull one way,
Then the other,
And back again.
On and on
Until finally,
I pulled outward.
The reflection screams silently,
As blood and ****** fluids arc through the air
from the hole where Intelligence previously penetrated.
Slick with the oil on the surface, my grey hands
Slip and slide across the hole trying to
Hold me together.
In this cruel world, this body curled up
And slept away the physical pain,
The emotional pain,
The mental pain,
The anguish of existence.
                     "Awaken".                                            "Awaken".
"Awaken".                                              ­                                    "Awaken".
                    "Awaken".                                             "Awaken".
Echoing through the emptiness,
And surrounding like a prayer,
This word spoken like an omen
And command filled the air,
Somewhat like a dare,
Minus the usual flair,
With no room to spare,
I obey.
Again I see my reflection,
And for all my hate,
There is also love
For the dilapidated, depressed figure filling my vision.
Here, now alone with myself,
I break away from the previous,
Placing the extremes on a shelf,
Like the joyful and the devious.
Then the world around
Begins to mist and fade,
There exists no solid ground,
In this façade.
This website either doesn't allow for crazy formatting or I'm too dumb to figure it out.  Either way, originally this poem is aligned all over to make the words look as more like what they're describing. Center-aligning seemed to work the best.
Apr 2013 · 236
The Invisible (10w)
Lucas Keith Apr 2013
Never given two,
     Never shaken loose,
          Ever needing just,
Apr 2013 · 654
Me, Through You
Lucas Keith Apr 2013
You've never held the silence
of a breaking heart before,
not like this.
The palpable pain echoes
in waves, a tsunami infinite
to your toes.
All your ribs broken poking
inward, stabbing deep
through your lungs.
Calamity interior and fetid
rotting love holds every
second in agony.
The world leaves you,
disappearing portrait
of your vision.
Iron smiles and blank face,
burning threshing floor,
infant violence.
Calling down the furies,
the earth could die and
you wouldn't see.
Pestilent judgement, dying soul,
God would never tell you why,
and neither will I.
Apr 2013 · 1.2k
Excuse and Escape
Lucas Keith Apr 2013
Into the cover of silence,
I fled yet again.
I have no gift of utterance,
and my words bold poison.
Grafting courage as new skin,
and confidence my ire,
I repeal logic and good sense
and take two steps into the fire.
For fear, my Morgana,
closest lover and gravest foe,
desires my heart and sacred flow.
Essence of life spilt upon her brow,
craven of sacrifice and kissing dead.
Her wrathful cup runneth over,
revenge, the stains on her bed.
Nov 2012 · 818
The Imagined Mighty
Lucas Keith Nov 2012
You Spoke to me through Dead poetry,
   while we were on bended knees
crying out to cowardly deities.
Where are you
King of Thunder,
Giver of Rain?
You've left in fear for your own life,
   never caring for ours.
How we've grown to despise
   you and all our righteous Lies.
Hang the Priest in his vestments,
   the appointed mouth of Ba'al.
No more shall we eat the fruit
   of your hidden fallacies.
Growing tired, our eyes to the sea.

You Spoke to me in Dead poetry,
   gripping souls through eternity,
granting no quarter, nor letting them bleed.
Twice scorned for our lonesome eyes
   and pagan dreams.
A death stolen from this existence,
   breath given incessantly, a reviving fiend.

You Spoke to me with Dead poetry,
   Riding the waves of a fated curse,
a vision commanded to disperse,
   to drift across the nothing plains of Time.
To pass under the view of Heaven
   and all the afterlife Paradise,
No anchor thrown, for the gods aren't home.
   They never were.

You Spoke to me citing dead poetry, You Spoke to me.
Aug 2012 · 3.2k
The Painter's Return
Lucas Keith Aug 2012
Flat and Lifeless
These plains so similar
To the untouched canvas.
On and on, stretched and cracked
Dry, and holding its breath.
Lungs full of a Weary,
Nervous, delusional anticipation,
Desire for a strange beauty
Only bestowed by God.
Who of all people can give beauty,
Save the painter himself?
Slowly, like an Hourglass' sand,
Pouring over an eternity,
The first strokes of color
Grace the horribly eager canvas.
Gentle tingling fills my barren soul
As the brush caresses
The lonely desolate landscape.
With the Care and Focus of a Master
A base layer of basic
Emotion, knowledge, and humanity
Begins the agonizing process
Of becoming Human again,
Of learning to love again.
With the precision of a Surgeon
She cuts the layers of skin
Quickly and full of purpose.
Fingers stroking ribs she pulls
Firmly yet gently revealing
The ivory gleam beneath.
Caressing the bone with her saw,
Painstakingly careful to not harm
Lung and other tissue,
Her eyes burn hot as the rhythmic
Beating of my heart becomes audible.
Slowly shades of green are added
To enhance the gradually growing
Soul being created by the painter.
The virulent viridians soon become shades,
Then shapes resembling greater life forms
Born to represent the many facets
Of a resurrected life.
From the base greens,
New colors are added,
And the scene becomes a field
Of Roses of every color
Singing sweetly beneath
A two o'clock sun
And a scattering of striated clouds.
Her hands close gently
Around my still beating heart.
Deep in my chest, pulsing,
Hands surrounding and holding,
She feeds her essence, her love,
Through her fingers
And the black and white line between
Physical And spiritual fades, disappears
Leaving her fused to my soul,
Keeping her closer than my skin.
Brazen brown eyes open slowly,
I look on her for the first time.
The Pale Moon on a clear night,
Hovering over a crystal lake
In no way compares to her beauty.
The intense immensity of the Universe
Compares not with my Love,
Unconditional in its core,
Quintessential in its structure and design.
Blood-stained white walls
Paint the scene behind her
And this strange iron-scented room lurches.
Black specks begin to invade the walls,
And reach across the distance between
Stretching out to consume
The so recently insipid walls.
Strangely the crimson stays.
The two colors refuse to mix,
Operation room no longer sterile
Starts to spin and swirl,
Black and crimson warring
in a circular, Draining sink motion.
Her image fades back into the color battle,
Leaving me alone on my bed,
Still bleeding through my stitches.
Frantically searching this acid induced nightmare,
I leapt off my bed,
Into a green field full of roses,
Under a two o'clock sun,
And a water color scent.
Naked and bewildered I stand
Surrounded by roses of every shade.
The air is richly permeated,
Overflowing with the smell
Of this lover's flower.
The quintet of senses nearly overload,
The beauty of this haven overwhelming.
Each blossom rendered so realistically,
As if the greatest Painter in the world
Reached out and crafted each
And every single one
With the utmost care and love.
My Nose drowning in the reverie
Is awoken by a new scent.
The aroma of a rose,
Yet deeper and with hints of love,
Like the flavor of mint
Added to the finest chocolate.
Quickly succumbing to curiosity
And the strangely familiar
Lacing this feral fragrance,
I venture off following my nose.
Many of these flowers
Are very beautiful
And offer distraction and respite,
But these lesser scents
Cannot hold sway over me.
Closer and closer,
Stronger and stronger,
This one perfume consumes,
And this body soon hurries,
Quicker, quicker, tearing through the field.
Crimson begins to trickle down my legs,
As each rose latches on and
Tries to forestall
The finding of this strange aroma's source.
Pain and fury lance up and through
As the thorns bite deeper into flesh.
Finally stumbling and blindly falling,
The comfortable green grass
Meets my body in a violent fashion.
Spitting out the pieces of pasture,
My eyes wander upward
And land upon the strangest rose.
The blossom of this flower
Is a mess and spiral of black and crimson,
And the possessor of the haunting scent.
Reaching out to caress this most unique of beings,
My hand wanders down the stem
Only to be stabbed and held
By thorns barbed and twisted.
Screaming in horrified pain,
And hastily pulling back,
This rose attached to my hand
Is completely torn from the earth.
As soon as the roots leave the dirt
My heart convulses as if being
Squeezed tightly by two hands.
Clenched and carnal does this hold become.
Insurmountable pain rages through this body,
And it collapses to the ground.
Slower and more infrequent become the breaths
As my eyelids flutter trying to stay open
Trying to stay closed.
Life and Love leave me dying
Shattered and hopeless are my visions
and frozen is the only sensation I feel.
The breeze blows softly across the viridian field
And all that's living responds to its touch.
The grass and roses sway gently
As the stench of death
Mingled with the aroma of Love
Are mixed and entwined
And blown away.
Setting down his Easel
The painter laughs and walks away.
Sterilizing and putting away her tools
The surgeon silently cries a few unsalted tears.
Covered in dried blood
The fool remains forgotten and eternally comatose.
Flat and Lifeless
These plains so similar
To the untouched canvas.
On and on, stretched and cracked
Dry, and holding its breath.
Lungs full of a Weary,
Nervous, delusional anticipation,
Desire for a strange beauty
Only bestowed by God.
Who of all people can give beauty,
Save the painter himself?
Aug 2012 · 873
Lucas Keith Aug 2012
Just in General, I thought I'd Like to know,
From where and why does the wind blow?
Carrying its store holds of pure Snow,
Along the upper atmospheric stream and Flow.
Just in General, I thought I'd like to see,
Golden sense and burning leaves orange, red, no green,
Dying and Death as not funny but perhaps obscene,
A mirror that can not reflect this lesser version of me.
Just in General, I thought I'd like to Believe,
Everything will turn out well for the one who Dreams,
That there are those who wouldn't have to spend their life to grieve,
Perhaps my mind could still be open and breathe, maybe perceive.
Just in General, I thought I'd like to Hear,
Waves Cascading down the falls to break the stone,
Utter Silence in a place completely untouched by the years,
A single Voice full of caressing concern hindered not by a tear.
Just in General, I thought I'd like to Love,
Wholly and totally ascending even higher than the doves,
A Light burning bright through the night from above,
Grievance left dead as the ashes and dust.
Just in General, I thought I'd like to smell,
Ocean tides, and death proclaimed by a Gull's yell,
Trees sprouted buds, portents of a future to tell,
Sulfurous Fires and the horrid decay of Hell.
Just in General, I thought I'd like to Dream,
Perhaps somewhere around Earth, She's thinking of me,
Soaring with eagles without a care or world to please,
Silver eyes searching for another ungodly Scream.
Just in General, I thought I'd like to touch,
Musty books and the dragon's fire, tales of fairies and such,
Cold skin full of life hanging on to and holding so much,
A woman's face without the wretched thought of her as my crutch.
Just in General, I thought I'd like to Think,
Precarious nightmares and pleasures from the brink,
Expressing all desires to the Righteous all-knowing shrink,
That without her, whomever she is, that I won't Sink.
Lucas Keith Aug 2012
Exhausted and oh so tired,
This bag of stones pulls
Hunched shoulders towards Earth
To break and Grind to dust.
Soil never held my tounge's attention
and that's all there is for eating,
Tag team effort of vile composition
These rocks and Gravity hold.
Yet still refused by Mother
who gives not the final resting place,
Stuck here to be ever so slowly
broken and bled out over Aeons.
All the while Sol laughs and Guffaws
Burning all outer protection away,
and Luna tries so hard to comfort,
but can never reach close enough.
Eternally carrying my burden
Punished by the fates similar to Sisyphus
A neverending Herculean task
to leave these weights behind.
Struggling ever on without respite
Clawing the grass and small fauna,
Wishing for some kind of hold,
to pull this corporeal form along.
So far away from the beginning,
and not an inch closer to the end,
Closed eyes and drifting mind,
I pray this world is pretend.
Aug 2012 · 789
Of the Hurt
Lucas Keith Aug 2012
Feathers falling from broken wings
The ***** with the bow
The one who Sings
Reaches out to bestow
One more calamity
With which marked in detail
For all the Fools to see
Instructed to leave and turn tail
Blaming the Soul who stared
Burning Angel still falling
Who was it that truly erred
The answer burns Us all
Inside searching still-life
Broken painted reflections
Floating around screaming strife
Arrows still piercing person
Cascading towards those bound
On Earth with eyes raised
Peaceless Angel yet unfound
Lost, Scared, dreaming Alone
Wishing water to cleanse
Crumbling images left undone
Laughing ****** with no cents
Still shooting to Feather wings
With unholy arrows for
Which all the pain it brings
There seems no real cure
With his brush the Painter
Secures his easel full
Of colors to re-center
The reflective still-life now dull
Bringing vibrancy back to Her,
Broken Angel heart of all.
Jul 2012 · 798
What You Don't See
Lucas Keith Jul 2012
I used to cup your face in my hands
to brush kisses across
your eyelids,
your cheeks,
the corner of your mouth,
but last night was different.
I cupped your face and locked eyes
but all I could do
was brush your tears away
with my thumbs.

It hurt.

It aches now, incessantly,
like a burn from a matchstick.
An ebb and flow pain,
a throbbing in my chest
and buzzing in my mind.

You've moved on I'm sure,
you always do.
That's what hurts most,
my obvious replaceability
after all your arguing
to the contrary.
I'm only unique in that
I will put up with your ****
no matter the pain.

Still I must convince me
that you aren't worth it,
that I deserve happiness,
and trust, and real love.
I miss the curves of your hips,
the heat and sweat of love,
your heartbeat on my lips
as I kiss between your *******.
I'm a person too,
broken and silent,
withering beneath the sun
of your deceit.
The lust in your eyes,
insatiable and burning,
my teeth latched onto your shoulder,
yours gripping my ear.
I'm just one of many
whilst you're one of few,
and I can't love you
or trust your words.
The soft silk of your skin,
the catch of your breath
and nostril exhale,
this sordid ecstasy.

That's all it ever was,

...It hurts.
Jul 2012 · 851
An Evening
Lucas Keith Jul 2012
Tripping through the door.
A typical aversion.
A Light glow growing.

Deepest shades of brown.
Held down by unreal blue.
Put the phone away.

Growing loss of words.
Wandering eyes never lock.
A loveless silence.

Hovering near sleep.
The goddess simply ignores.
A ghost unnoticed.

Dreams, the enemy.
Strolling and tempting figure.
Never existed.
A series of haiku from a while ago.
Jul 2012 · 1.0k
Could've Been
Lucas Keith Jul 2012
Tired... So tired...
It's more like exhausted.
I can't sleep,
and I don't feel like eating.
I'm not sure of reality.
Am I dreaming incessantly,
or hallucinating in my dying sobriety?

Quiet... I lied...
This is my hideaway.
I can't sleep,
But then I never really do.
I've forgotten reality.
Lost in these dreams entirely,
Forbidden embrace and kiss thievery.
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