culture burned off my fingertips,
splinters, morphed into unsightly locusts
behemoths are used to scavenging.
peering at the soft light,
the seconds flew by,
humming quietly.
a voice mystified the atmosphere
the walls began to turn
reveling in my pattern sinking
deeper than paradigm.
stardust clouded the room
all was natural.
most would call it ambrosia of the mind,
what matters most at heart is failed to be recognized.
candles whisper their oak secrets.
one would, prefer a wine tasting
licking off the fine print left behind on the fold.
illegality, temperament, bitterness.
a lifetime wouldn't be as cold.
once again, gathering my thoughts
smoked cleared the room
only lipstick was left behind on the chalice
what remained of my vision
was merely the clearest confusion.
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 1:50 AM UTC
culture burned off my fingertips,
splinters, morphed into unsightly locusts
behemoths are used to scavenging.
peering at the soft light,
the seconds flew by,
humming quietly.
a voice mystified the atmosphere
the walls began to turn
reveling in my pattern sinking
deeper than paradigm.
stardust clouded the room
all was natural.
most would call it ambrosia of the mind,
what matters most at heart is failed to be recognized.
candles whisper their oak secrets.
one would, prefer a wine tasting
licking off the fine print left behind on the fold.
illegality, temperament, bitterness.
a lifetime wouldn't be as cold.
once again, gathering my thoughts
smoked cleared the room
only lipstick was left behind on the chalice
what remained of my vision
was merely the clearest confusion.
Request permission to use this poem