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As I Fall Asleep to the Sounds of Breathing

Fading away, like a music.

No jolts, no sadness.

Just a beautiful face.

Religious sacrement is ambiguous.

 

Failed priests. Another age.

But why would you sacrifice?

Offering instant gratification

to the masses.

Malicious intent is still intent.

Another dimension. Another reality.

Goodbye.

 

Who do I listen to?

 

Perhaps you should have stayed

silently, creating something

special with your studies.

Build your wealth,

employ your sciences only with

amazing goals. Ah, my brain.

 

Must charter the universe.

There is no web, there is no

spider weaving. Only matter.

 

Matter and history.

Learn from us, your bitter

ancestors, the sweep of evolution.

The great story, you martyr.

You seem reluctant.

 

The shores, they lick at your

ankles. Salt deposits and foam.

All that is, or ever was.

Contemplations stir.

 

Leave us alone, without our

sensations of grandness.

I need not your preaching,

your sadness, your dust.

 

Tiny planetary moulding rock.

Simply dangerous and promising.

Why must I trust another speck

with my entire life? My fate?

 

It is my own truth, filled with

speculations and masturbations.

Exquisite relationships only

fill me with tainted deepness.

 

Some part of me knows.

That Ocean is entirely my body.

Starstuff and dust.

My journey begins in my skull.

 

Tapping my temple, I pull apart

the dandelion puff and bite

the bitter milk.

The blood, plants scream when they

are plucked.

 

Their juices are not for such as I.

First voyages and scienctists

are better than my own cries.

The depths of embedment are vast.

 

Birth, live, death, tumultuous.

Jets of energy, my core is

incinerated.

Detroy all in our path.

A splash in my pond, step, step.

A ring, your iris it shines.

 

Holy local groups, I find.

Containing island chains.

Only 2 million years from home.

Passing over our satellites.

 

No more writing, no more stars.

Gravity prevails and globes unite.

Centres are millions strong,

like a swarm, a sun, the bee has

stung.

Impossible to stuff the guts.

 

Spiralling in nothingness.

Arms turn, turn away. Turn from

my face. Curdles outside.

Our home is orange and wide.

Blue in the obscure waters, we

have evolved.

 

Such intelligence is no indication

that any edge-on view is right.

Please, don't tell me what to believe.

Request permission to use this poem
Written by
katrina-maria
Canadian
Published
Aug 28, 2012
Lines·Words
80·369
Permission

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