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Sep 2013 · 850
In your black hole.
papertigress Sep 2013
In your black hole, I find my solace
walking backwards, tracing walls of the cave
leaves crunch underfoot, I strain to hear your footsteps
the last ray of sunlight fades with the evening embers

In your black hole, you'll find my bluebird
she sings, dances, flutters and cries
poisoned ivy sear her songs of mirth
sonnets of longing in the cold moonlight

In your black hole, there lies my gift
anticipation, trepidation, my fingers reach out
wrapped up in memories, tattered and creased
A carousel of lies and counterfeit smiles
Sep 2013 · 515
Reverberations
papertigress Sep 2013
The dying sun,
the gushing sea,
the crashing waves,
sand below her feet,
the purple sky on the horizon,
brings to her soul tranquil and peace,
a dip for divine ablution,
she curls her toes and leaves her impression,
to see her burdened soul released,
a look back at the clean slate of sand,
the grudges swallowed,
the mistakes washed away,
tomorrow is a lovely new day.
Humbled by the powerful force,
she prays to the vast expanse,
pain and sorrow sans.
But in her head there haunts a babel,
screams and shouts she cannot strangle,
she looks up to where they must be,
memories, tears and shambles.
Sep 2013 · 483
Into your eyes
papertigress Sep 2013
Into your eyes i steal a glance
floundering attempts to regain my stance
my finger tracing nothingness on your hand,
the colorful intoxication, can you withstand
heightened desires outside our reach
sloppy kisses and slurred speech
whispering and breathing as our noses brush
And all the nights magic, seems to twinkle and hush
And all the soft moonlight, seems to shine-
In your blush.
Sep 2013 · 955
Weathered
papertigress Sep 2013
this face, he knows for way too long
this face, he knows has now no song
he knew not when, her happiness he breached
for rescue and redemption, her eyes beseech
sombre, solemn, the way it never was
his soul cried, he knew no cause.


the creases that adorned her smiling face
turned to spite, wrinkled flowers in her vase
the violin stopped, the scotch ran out
the crack in the wall, the sound of the drain
the dance of the clocks, all so mundane
that face he knew, every summer every fall
that face he knew, he knew not at all

— The End —