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Poetic T Jul 2017
Like a puddle of conciseness I gazed within, I saw something,
not of reality, was this a nightmare in a teacup of reflections?
But as it evaporated I saw that wondering gaze among the
blind effigies that looked into nothingness.

I wondered my view upon the multitudes of shaded white,
what I hadn't seen as my overlook of what was inner most
close to my perceiving. Then I saw it, how did I not envision
this before? Was my gaze swollen with the shallow husks of
those clambering around me. Like an afterimage fleeting.

It was as if it was jumping in shallow puddles, for just a time
not to make waves in a sea of nothingness. For even the slightest
motions collected on the shores of others perceiving.
I was in a chess match, in a board of rookies..
Where those before me once me? I collected myself.

                  "Was I a pawn or another player in a field
                                                  of knights who had fallen,



I was weaving like spider silk, afterimages of where I
had once been. I had become accustom to the intricate
notions of what could and could not be grasped upon.
The blank ones even though of momentary emotions,
when it or they perjured upon them.

Then I noticed, they became more than just chandeliers of  
static light. Emotions were collecting in the corners of what
were vacant sockets of vision. I was no longer alone in this
place of shaded memories. Knowing that they were not of
the purring kitten collections, more of the great white playing
in a kinder garden of seals.

I watched as they consumed each pool, that which was
vacant now fell dissolving into tears of memories fading
beyond there contemplation. But as each painting of
memories was dissolved they were smirking as if they
or it knew I was watching the destruction of their actions.

Knowing what I had seen, I was the knight on a field of
pawns. They were innocence in playground of land mines.
Each step was unconditionally their continuation or the
inevitable disillusion to extinction. My morals were as in
life as in death, never to let harm befall those of needing.

**To Continued in the final part 4
Poetic T Jul 2017
We wandered our gazes
to the semidarkness Illuminated
above our sight.

Looking at the allurement
that were now empty caskets
hanging on tombstones of lights,
clinging to there eventual demise.

Lying on the earth,
                             we felt at peace.
Knowing we were one day
to be woven within its fabric,
empty shells of pebbles lost in
a lake of timeless moments.

We would be seashells on its shores
gently corroding with each wave.
till we were grains of eternity
variations of us everywhere.

Looking upon each other,
our hands clasping like a
                 momentary fissure
sealing a grain of moments
                 between ourselves.

"Death is a moment where life
is cherry a falling slowly,


For we each hang on delicate
                                moments,
growing till we do as everything
does. Descending till we evaporate
from reflections and thought.

*"Where all echoes who've already past,
Poetic T Jul 2017
Claustrophobic lullabies
collecting in the tear ducts

             He silently exits the chapel.

Her white is transparent of her regrets


He texts:
              *"I'm sorry,
Poetic T Jul 2017
Collecting on the reflections
                          of my actions.

He grows to be a man..

Respect and manners are
gifted to those of closeness...

True gentleman...
Poetic T Jul 2017
Echoes overcast sunrises  
mourning lights evaporation.

A curtain of sorrows collect
                    on the pavement
Poetic T Jul 2017
Deaths
           exhale

exhumed
3 words one word header...
Poetic T Jul 2017
Poetry is a wrist,
                  weeping.

But the tears do not fall,
for the life ebbing to
                nothingness.

Its for the words elegantly woven
of life that caresses this canvass.

Purity of two shades become more
than was non-existent.
               Live and death serenade.

Till both are still, and the words
       stain the wall.
The readers mind, silent, static

These are the poetic words of life...
           For even though later washed
away,
The stain of that lingers, remains
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