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A house full of spectres,
a mouth full of rye,
left out in the darkness,
someone will cry.

death was a reason,
tears were for show,
once out of the bottle,
these spectres wont go.
© H V Swan
I'm dressed in blue and green today,
the colors of the mighty sea;
the color of the earth and sky,
flow in my veins through me.

Bicyclists climb distant hills,
'neath clouds of silver-grey:
bright dots among the landscape,
pedaling their hearts away.

I've never seen the grass this high,
nor so many shrubs in bloom;
Queen Anne's lace, lupine flowers,
dance in a breezy tune.

The monsoon rains have come,
with all it's frightful power;
with hard and driving force,
instead of just a shower.

Half a year's total comes quite fast,
flash flooding in dry creeks;
but nothing escapes water,
as it's own level it soon seeks.

Then the sun regains its throne,
once more, the sunny reign;
dispelling all dark clouds,
over shadowed plain.
synchronicities
are the starlights
to show the way
i once knew why
i came here
don't know
if i'll stay

the moon
is pouring
down
fills me up

eyes are open
looking for
answers
in the
empty

not sure
what to
extract
what to
reflect
back

i'm only seeing
pieces
of
the waves
dancing
to a time
far beyond
the
capacities
of
my design

the moonlight
is
beautiful
but it's ****
to write by

can't read
a word

there
now

it isn't
so
abstract
i'm alive
******
you can't
****
this
you can't
suffocate
what i am
though
i know
you never
meant to

someday
i hope
you see
me

someday
i hope
you see
yourself
i was drinking moonlight
while you were bullshitting
and perpetuating nothing
naming me strange
half-lighted and deranged
talking to voices
i shouldn't name
because the behave
like they transcend
the mundane

i care
truly
but i don't think
the way you do
and you think me
insane, fumbling for
embers in a cold place
chasing echoes
wishing i was someplace
different

wishing someone else
could drink the moonlight
this life
is but a passing rest
in a symphony of winds
the solace between lightning
and thunder
a place where
the sacred pains of isolation
are enlightening
where we resign
in an umbrage of evanescent agony
to be imbued with contrast
and rise through the murk
a mobius ribbon
blooming into color and radiance
my mind grasps for words
floating on the wind

thoughts come and go
like great indifferent clouds
ignorant to
the insignificant miasma
roiling in the petri dish
below

temptation and trepidation
volition and admonition
regretful countenances
conduct the vessel
while gently noted
by something beneath
sinking through my shadow
down the oubliette
of my retraction
drunk upon
nepenthe: contempt
of insurmountable distraction

i can siphon
all this blood
into a staining chalice
down again
another round
and hope to
drown again
within the sounds
of screaming
stifled under skin

claws maw
ravenously
the inner walls
of a carapace
too far gone
in its accretion
to spare
the raving calls
the solitary
somber narcissist
of slow and painful
suffocation

eloquence
an incomplete attempt
to justify,
to anthropromorphize

and endeavor
i shall, forever
to cauterize this soul
but its far too cold
to build a fire

— The End —