#bows
this is how the poetry bows out
the tying of the tongue,
fingertips are shaved, nubbed,
heart seized, it rhyming ceased,
veins are dammed, arteries blocked,
the emotional fled, to a wild wind wed,
this is how the poetry bows down ‘n out
the remainders, sticky stuck, viscous,
through small pore filters they leak,
with the soap and the sins, all drained,
the shower uses holy water to no avail,
this is how the poetry bows down ‘n out
the brain cognitions loss, realizing a release
ending, time sensitized, the mantelpiece badly
cracked, each of the body’s words in reliquaries hidden,
the other worldly acquaintances greet him joyously,
commence a choir chant, a motet centuries old,
this, this! is how the poetry bows out
Jul 28, 2020
Jul 28, 2020 at 10:26 AM UTC
Wind blows through my hair
Happy dance under tall trees
Dandelions dance
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 10:18 AM UTC
Standing near you
Leaves me breathless.
You lean in
And I'm
Intoxicated
By your energy,
A fiery aura
That draws back
Its bow and
Pierces my soul
With its
Dream-laced
Arrows.
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 1:15 AM UTC
Forged by Hephaestus himself, tempered in Satan's heart.
It moves too fast for the normal eye to see,
But leaves traces of moon glinted footsteps in the fissure of heaven's breath.
In the harmonic tune of clashing instruments, an orchestrated chaos is present.
The chord from the bowstring beats time on wooden shields.
To this, their blade waltz continues.
Their cadence unmatched by surrounding performers,
The maestros continue their viperous style.
Just as a painter cannot take away a stroke of the brush,
A swordsman cannot take away a stroke of the blade.
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 5:30 PM UTC
Light weight, black glossy, perfection
You must hold such a weapon with confidence
Slender black arrows with green feathers
Bundled in the fine homemade black leather quiver
The silver steel tips made to ****
Sunlight playing peak a boo
With the shadows all around you
The ancient trees look down upon you
The wind picks up and gently plays with your hair
You breathe in the familiar smell
Of the ancient forest you call home
You haven't caught an a-wi in days
What will the hungry little ones do?
You see a flash of movement and you freeze
Draw a single arrow from the quiver on your back
Without a sound you take your position
Silently with practiced ease you aim and fire
You hear the death cry of the animal you have shot
Swiftly you run to were the cry came
There lays the plumpest most beautiful a-wi you have seen in moons
Thanking the a-wi with the words you were taught as a child
"Thank you dear sister/brother for giving your life so that my family could continue to live theirs"
With the sacred whisper you end the a-wi's pain with a quick slice from your blade
Smiling and whispering you’re thanks to the Great Spirit
You run as fast as you can to get the villages warrior braves
You are small but you are part of the Tsa-la-gi
Therefore you are never alone
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 10:13 PM UTC