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raen Sep 2016
close my eyes
think of myself
being there

to where
are free to roam,
then bounce back,
immune to tortured souls

allowed to spread
in       wa     e
                 v     s

for some reason,
Ararat comes to mind
right now
but to be honest,
Arayat would suffice


                   all these rocks

disturb you?

Even just this once...

let me
let out

sanctioned screaming,
and release it to these mountains.
it's been a while, thank you John Stevens.
raen Feb 2015
The angels, with their folded wings
walk on silent ground

They know not whether
to weep,
or wield their sighing harps.

It seems like hearts are stones,
or jewels would they be?

Precious gems, maybe.

Of different hues,
with scattered light.

Encrusted, unpolished
by time and tears,
by things spoken and not. ...

The angels, moving forward--
with their timid halos
and shorn heads-
their soles
touching sacred ground.
Disyembre, 2013
raen Feb 2015
An almost stillness came about as she strode into my door,
like breath itself refused to move,
fearful of touching her mysterious beauty

But her obsidian eyes betrayed her.

Sharp and gleaming,
with a silver sheen
she looked at me,
and I knew…


Molten lava spilled forth from her mouth, melting our clocks—
eighteen hundred nightmares compressed in two hours.
Long hand moving forward, as the short hand moved backward
How can memories persist in such an acrid life?

She spoke of a beast in the guise of a man,
one who ravaged innocence with the flick of a click
A coward that collected milk teeth for hardened bones
of other ***** beasts with no spine

That throaty tenderness when she spoke,
sprinkled crystal seeds of frustration in me
She says she loathed him, denied she loved him,
but her obsidian eyes betrayed her

There she was, a bud he plucked from the nuns’ garden
He grafted then he pruned her,
spreading her pollen, wafting her scent
yet folding her petals to himself

Caterpillars feeding upon her leaves,
she lets them devour her,
yet once they are wrapped in their cocoons to sleep,
she stabs them with her thorns.

Tears then slid down from her midnight lace eyes
and it was all I could do to catch them
She said she was weary of curtailing butterflies,
of tearing their wings before they can even fly

I had to ask, how many… how many winged gems?
She lifted her sleeves, and showed me her scars
One ugly mark for each innocent child plunged deep,
my heart getting slashed at least three hundred a beat.


A certain stillness came about as I strode into her door,
like fear itself refused to move,
letting breath touch her mysterious beauty for the last time....

Her obsidian eyes had betrayed her.

Sharp and gleaming,
with a silver sheen
I looked at the knife beside her.

Maroon-mapped sheets, a stunted womb.

Strains of Bon Iver’s “Flume”
flit past the sighing air like a butterfly,
and I knew…
Agosto, 2014
raen Aug 2012
Place your head on my shoulder,
let it stay there
and we'll just breathe
...and... out

Inhale positivity,
exhale negativity-

Pluck the sadness from the air,
unravel that ball of worry...
We'll find that knot
that started it all,
untangle it,
and wave ribbons
in the air

We'll let those colors swirl
around each other,
we'll blend them...
then weave them

into a tapestry

that comforts us
in the end

Doesn't matter
at all
if it turns out
too short

Our lives
are full of tangles
a lot of thread
out there...

So place your hand in mine,
let it stay there,
and we'll weave
...and.... out...
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