let me be
   let
       me-

_stop the bit
      I'm out of breath

Sonnet: Second Sight (II)
by Michael R. Burch

(Newborns see best at a distance of 8 to 14 inches.)

Wiser than we know, the newborn screams,
red-faced from breath, and wonders what life means
this close to death, amid the arctic glare
of warmthless lights above.
Beware! Beware!—
encrypted signals, codes? Or ciphers, noughts?

Interpretless, almost, as his own thoughts—
the brilliant lights, the brilliant lights exist.
Intruding faces ogle, gape, insist—
this madness, this soft-hissing breath, makes sense.
Why can he not float on, in dark suspense,
and dream of life? Why did they rip him out?

He frowns at them—small gnomish frowns, all doubt—
and with an ancient mien, O sorrowful!,
re-closes eyes that saw in darkness null
ecstatic sights, exceeding beautiful.

Published by The Neovictorian/Cochlea. Keywords/Tags: sonnet, newborn, baby, birth, labor, slap, breath, screams, life, sight, vision, mrbson

and here comes the day when she no longer can feel her soul, the lullabies of her atom that used to move every substances inside her reckless personification. she is numb, but no longer have intention to overcome it. she was there, breathing, exsisting.

Today is a new day
a fresh start
breath in
breath out
a new opportunity
Accept that yesterday is gone
Live now
Live today
Live forever

Please, tell me to love you again
For I will
I will love you with every breath
Like I'm a dying star and
You are the brightest light

Please tell me you love me again
And mean it
Love me with every one of
Your broken pieces and
I will love with every one of mine

Please don't walk away
Without saying goodbye
My heart is fragile
And it wants to love you
Yet I don't want to let it

So please give me a reason
Tell me it's ok to love you

You were the spell,
              I was the words

and together we created

                              happiness.

I'll burn you all like your stumps,
          cutting you lower than you define.


You thought you were surpassing
         maturating high with fake

                               terminology that

        never matured more than a seed
                      of contemplation.

Your dead before you reach my height,
                limp stumps brittle to the flow

of my breath..

windswept failings, your just a seed
                dead in the wind of change.

But the only thing you fall is fake...


          I'll grow beyond your seeds of discontent.

           Watch my syllables plant in the young,
                    growing in height that you never

clipped, every word is nourishment that is
                neither an ego to grow.


But I1'l grow with every sentence read.
         your my wind, gusting me to new

Ground to fertilise the metaphors of nourishment
              that i feed to the masses, no pesticides
                   were used in the growth of this word.

Wasn't the one that fit in,
   table to myself, an ocean
                          of pressed wood

that I float on alone....


But...


    You know there's always a but,

Never really wanted
                                  anyone
on
       my life raft of solitude.

I just look up and know
that
        there's
no one to obscure
       my view of life...

My ocean is a fishery of thoughts,
                                  that are mine.

Swimming into
  uncharted life choices...

But I'm fine alone,
I'll talk to the fishes
every now
and then.

But throw them back
             when

I've finished with them..