Scribbling the pointed tip of a feather
Across the fleeting pages
As if the hand was under someone else's tether
The ink turning to uncontrollable rages

As if the semblance was trapped in a clink
The great facade turned futile
And with that momentarily blink
The genuine thoughts unshackled through doodles

Unlocking the cages
Honest words overflow
Crowding the pages
Inked by the soul

Whispers of heavenly death, murmur’d I hear;
Labial gossip of night—sibilant chorals;
Footsteps gently ascending—mystical breezes, wafted soft and low;
Ripples of unseen rivers—tides of a current, flowing, forever flowing;
(Or is it the plashing of tears? the measureless waters of human tears?)

I see, just see, skyward, great cloud-masses;
Mournfully, slowly they roll, silently swelling and mixing;
With, at times, a half-dimm’d, sadden’d, far-off star,
Appearing and disappearing.

(Some parturition, rather—some solemn, immortal birth:
On the frontiers, to eyes impenetrable,
Some Soul is passing over.)

The Cumaean Sibyl was the priestess presiding over the Apollonian oracle at Cumae, a Greek colony located near Naples, Italy. The word sibyl comes (via Latin) from the ancient Greek word sibylla, meaning prophetess. (Wikipedia)


Songs of prophecy on oaken leaves
Unread; unclaimed; unrequested
Fly from out either of the many entrances
To her cave chambers.

She doesn't mind. Poet or prophet, the
Wind has hands greater than human;  
Words without willing ears wrestle away
Without struggle.

Only they and the wind see the beauty
Of it. She? She doesn't mind.
Guide to the Underworld, she has greater
Things to meditate on than

The Infants of the Universe
In their insignificant sandboxes.
Here; more poetry. Come who may,
To read.*

Who may.
Apollo's twisted payment for her
Pleasures: As many years of life as grains
Of sand in her hand.

But she forgot to ask for youth.
After a thousand years, only her voice is
Left, whispering: Children, all will
Be well. It already is.

It already is.

"Our song came on the radio yesterday and for the first time, I didn't roll down my windows or turn it all the way up or sing along. I forced myself to turn it off."
"I washed your sweatshirt after sleeping in it for so many nights so it wouldn't smell like you anymore and I boxed it up to put in the top of my closet, out of sight."
"Remember when we went to the beach and kept snapping photos? I finally burned them yesterday. I watched as the flames burned out, just like we did."
"Our anniversary passed, and I didn't feel empty like I did the month before. It only took me four months."
"I'm deleting your contact out of my phone so I won't feel tempted to text you when I lie awake at night thinking about what we used to be. I guess I'll be doing you a favor, seeing as you don't care about the past us like I do."
"I hope you're happy with her, because after all this time I'm finally happier without you."

"They admire us" a bucktoothed pirate
stinking liquor and wearing  clothes unwashed
straight for an year at least, beams
with such ill founded pride;
pirates are called other names
that sound ironically like accolades!
Protective Gods wielding punitive powers too,
on the other hand, did you notice,
are feared like autocratic patriarchs,
and hated secretly for their temper,
a long standing problem, this! a clear case of
warped  human imagination, I'd  guess
why not God almighty, find some time
to set right this one problem vexing us for so long!

You made my blood stand still when you came in,
My cerebellum panicking wildly
As I stood, my will could not be caved in
I approached and asked for a dance, mildly.

Everlasting oceans crashed inside you,
Washing over my broken, waking shore,
Pulling me down into your bitter blue
I wonder what the bottom has in store

I see you drowning me in lullabies
Enticing, pulling me into your sea
I know even mermaids had their dark side,
Drag me through the waters, a silent scream

I flash back, and you're still in the doorway
I'll leave you be, I can't swim anyway