Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
By Arcassin Burnham




Both grew tired,
It wasn't non of your overshadowing,
And I could taste the fire,
Of heavy lies,
I didnt really ever imagine,
Spending a day without you guys,
But your ignorance disgusted me so much,
I had to design,
A way,
That I could get away from you,
I sacrificed,
My soul,
Isn't it golden.
I thought you were my friend , but you just like everyone else ...
 Dec 2014 Ronald J Chapman
Juneau
patterns in the stars
describe all knowledge of man
just look up above
November 27, 2014

thirty-one
 Dec 2014 Ronald J Chapman
Juneau
religious figures
are depictions of the same
we call it the sun
November 27, 2014

thirty-two
 Dec 2014 Ronald J Chapman
Juneau
From the sun above
deep sea hydrothermal vents
god is a heat source
November 27, 2014

thirty-four
I
h
a
v
e
f
e
e
l
i
n
g
s
that
form
thou
ghts,
that
form
words,
that          form
sente            ­     nces,
that                       form
rope,                         which
ties                               itself
into a                            noose.
Your                         ­     words
are also                    a rope,
that saves me from
drowning.
Sorry if you can't read it.
Kinda.
Fishing on a pier
In midsummer haze
With my grandfather,
Out on a misted lake,
The blues of the waters,
Stirring, deepening blues
Of drizzled sky, we baited
Our hooks, lapping waves
Caressed the drowsy pillars
We rode and so, were reminded,
That there is one colour for both
Joy and sadness. Over slow time
Different fish appeared, bass, pike
Trout, hornpout, but mostly the rangy
Perches, scaly pugs of yellow-orange,
Like slabs of weighted, tiered sun, they
Fought on the reel with high crested spine,
A quiet, noble ferocity.

                             Later, moving lethargically
In the grey of our pail, like broken beads
Of water shed from the morning sun,
How I wanted to toss them all back.
In New England, “hornpout” is a local name for a catfish, it is also known as a bullhead, and horned pout.
The dress clung to me
As I stood
Lost
Staring, staring back at the stranger
The mirror offered a glimpse
Of me,
The messed up stranger smiled
With heartbreak resting on each drugged eyelid
Pain
Coagulating in each vein
Every vein.
The stranger tore her dress
My arm became cold, so cold.
My heart became frozen,
Broken,
This time beyond repair.
 Dec 2014 Ronald J Chapman
ryn
Cradle my emotions in the gentlest of whispers
Lace my heart with sultriest of ribbons
Fill full my sail with the worthiest of winds
Engulf my being in the sweetest of notions

Colour me beautiful with the most vibrant of rainbows
Propel my universe into the farthest reaches
Soothe my aches with the most abundant love
Carry my vessel to the sandiest of beaches

Embed my thoughts within the fluffiest clouds
Let soar my dreams on the bravest of kites
Set my destination in the furthest horizons
Present me with life's buffet with the tastiest of bites
Can you tell me what true love is like?
Like gold spun into silk?
Or maybe it’s be just like,
A perfect glass of milk.
Perhaps, like a beautiful field,
Admired from afar.
Or instead, a road with no sign to yield;
A song on in your car?
Tear drops that will never fall;
A child that can’t stay still?
A dog that has a rubber ball,
Or a fire you’d never ****.
An angel spotted near the Heavens,
Or a devil far below.
A jackpot; three sevens?
Bare feet on icy snow?
Can you tell me what true love is like?
Is it painful? Is it nice?
Please, tell me what true love is like.
For I fear its grip is upon me like a vice.
Written 9-8-14
Next page