#frail
i think i know
that somewhat ulterior suggestion that you crept into my mind
like a vivid rainbow across your face
light transmissions offering up your words
your image is on repeat
and our sentiments are all quite something else
always on hindsight
on turmoil
easily not speaking
confused about what we want
overexposed to death
we each smell detached
the way we sound in the distance
often too frail to reach inside our beautiful loneliness
Dec 20, 2021
Dec 20, 2021 at 5:12 PM UTC
Scorched skin and broken nails
This love makes me so **** frail.
Inked-on stars and shaking fingers
My heart thrives on these lurches and twinges.
Apr 26, 2021
Apr 26, 2021 at 12:47 PM UTC
I wish for the future to come
Just like anyone else
I take to the skies
As if I could fly
Oh world oh world
Hello world!
Please be gentle with me
I’m the precious little flower
So delicate, so frail
I need all the attention of the world
In order to not disassociate
I keep grasping to my innocence
As if my life depends on it
So what is it?
to live in complete ignorance
Or to realize we’ll never be perfect
But it’s all okay
Just be you
Because at the end of the day
Nobody really has this figured out
Feb 7, 2021
Feb 7, 2021 at 4:17 AM UTC
Staring at the sky
Pale blue
Is there any hope left
Wish non of it were true
How did I get here?
Is there any place left
I can call my home
The clouds are pouring in
Burning me within
Missing in a maze
Disarrayed and alone
Thought I could see
After all I was blind
All that I've cared
Is nothing but frail
How fragile was I
With nothing left to grasp
Just turn it into ash
I'm locked in my head
With what I've done
Maybe there was somebody
Who could've rescued me
But I didn't let anyone in
Now all that's left of me
Thoughts consuming me
With all that could've been
Non-Entity
Please someone grab my hand
And run far away
Just save me from myself
Nov 12, 2020
Nov 12, 2020 at 5:21 AM UTC
To trust someone
is something frail
you give others.
They break it with ease,
You're left alone to fix.
Aug 10, 2020
Aug 10, 2020 at 10:49 PM UTC
It is so hard to watch you leave.
Especially,
when you turn away
without saying a word.
It feels as if someone has stabbed
through my heart with a sword.
I can’t breathe, it is as if someone
is breathing the life out of me.
I want to break free
but I am too weak.
I am too frail to even try and fight.
This feeling is sickening
and it is filling my heart with grief.
A grief that I didn’t know existed
till I saw you leave.
I see your hands touch the door ****
and I want to scream your name,
but all I can do is sit and watch.
No, I can’t watch!
I can’t watch you leave
because it fills my heart with grief.
Instead I will turn my back on you
and let you go.
May 5, 2020
May 5, 2020 at 1:39 PM UTC
Frail Envelope of Flesh
by Michael R. Burch
for the mothers and children of Gaza
Frail envelope of flesh,
lying cold on the surgeon’s table
with anguished eyes
like your mother’s eyes
and a heartbeat weak, unstable ...
Frail crucible of dust,
brief flower come to this—
your tiny hand
in your mother’s hand
for a last bewildered kiss ...
Brief mayfly of a child,
to live two artless years!
Now your mother’s lips
seal up your lips
from the Deluge of her Tears ...
Note: The phrase "frail envelope of flesh" was one of my first encounters with the power of poetry, although I read it in a superhero comic book as a young boy (I forget which one). More than thirty years later, the line kept popping into my head, so I wrote this poem. I have dedicated it to the mothers and children of Gaza and the Palestinian Nakba. The word Nakba is Arabic for "Catastrophe."
Epitaph for a Palestinian Child
by Michael R. Burch
I lived as best I could, and then I died.
Be careful where you step: the grave is wide.
Autumn Conundrum
by Michael R. Burch
for the mothers and children of Palestine
It’s not that every leaf must finally fall,
it’s just that we can never catch them all.
For a Palestinian Child, with Butterflies
by Michael R. Burch
Where does the butterfly go
when lightning rails,
when thunder howls,
when hailstones scream,
when winter scowls,
when nights compound dark frosts with snow ...
Where does the butterfly go?
Where does the rose hide its bloom
when night descends oblique and chill
beyond the capacity of moonlight to fill?
When the only relief's a banked fire's glow,
where does the butterfly go?
And where shall the spirit flee
when life is harsh, too harsh to face,
and hope is lost without a trace?
Oh, when the light of life runs low,
where does the butterfly go?
Such Tenderness
by Michael R. Burch
for the mothers of Gaza
There was, in your touch, such tenderness—as
only the dove on her mildest day has,
when she shelters downed fledglings beneath a warm wing
and coos to them softly, unable to sing.
What songs long forgotten occur to you now—
a babe at each breast? What terrible vow
ripped from your throat like the thunder that day
can never hold severing lightnings at bay?
Time taught you tenderness—time, oh, and love.
But love in the end is seldom enough ...
and time?—insufficient to life’s brief task.
I can only admire, unable to ask—
what is the source, whence comes the desire
of a woman to love as no God may require?
"War" is a poem I wrote in my teens that mentions the Jordan River and wars waged with axes in ancient Palestine.
War
by Michael R. Burch
lysander lies in lauded greece
and sleeps and dreams, a stone for a pillow,
unseeing as sunset devours limp willows,
but War glares on.
and joab's sightless gaze is turned
beyond the jordan's ravaged shore;
his war-ax lies to be taxed no more,
but War hacks on.
and roland sleeps in poppied fields
with flowers flowing at his feet;
their fragrance lulls his soul to sleep,
but War raves on.
and patton sighs an unheard sigh
for sorties past and those to come;
he does not heed the battle drum,
but War rolls on.
for now new heroes grab up guns
and rush to fight their fathers' wars,
as warriors' children must, of course,
while War laughs on.
War is Obsolete
by Michael R. Burch
War is obsolete;
even the strange machinery of dread
weeps for the child in the street
who cannot lift her head
to reprimand the Man
who failed to countermand
her soft defeat.
But war is obsolete;
even the cold robotic drone
that flies far overhead
has sense enough to moan
and shudder at her plight
(only men bereft of Light
with hearts indurate stone
embrace war’s Siberian night).
For war is obsolete;
man’s tribal “gods,” long dead,
have fled his awakening sight
while the true Sun, overhead,
has pity on her plight.
O sweet, precipitate Light! —
embrace her, reject the night
that leaves gentle fledglings dead.
For each brute ancestor lies
with his totems and his “gods”
in the slavehold of premature night
that awaited him in his tomb;
while Love, the ancestral womb,
still longs to give birth to the Light.
So which child shall we ****** tonight,
or which Ares condemn to the gloom?
Something
by Michael R. Burch
for the children of the Holocaust and the Palestinian Nakba
Something inescapable is lost—
lost like a pale vapor curling up into shafts of moonlight,
vanishing in a gust of wind toward an expanse of stars
immeasurable and void.
Something uncapturable is gone—
gone with the spent leaves and illuminations of autumn,
scattered into a haze with the faint rustle of parched grass
and remembrance.
Something unforgettable is past—
blown from a glimmer into nothingness, or less,
which finality has swept into a corner ... where it lies
in dust and cobwebs and silence.
Keywords/Tags: Frail, envelope, flesh, Nakba, Gaza, Jordan, Palestine, Palestinian, children, mothers, tiny, hand, kiss, mayfly, deluge, tears, epitaph, grave, butterflies
The childless woman,
how tenderly she caresses
homeless dolls ...
—Hattori Ransetsu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Clinging
to the plum tree:
one blossom's worth of warmth
—Hattori Ransetsu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
One leaf falls, enlightenment!
Another leaf falls,
swept away by the wind ...
—Hattori Ransetsu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Advice to Young Poets
by Nicanor Parra Sandoval
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Youngsters,
write however you will
in your preferred style.
Too much blood flowed under the bridge
for me to believe
there’s just one acceptable path.
In poetry everything’s permitted.
Pan
by Michael R. Burch
... Among the shadows of the groaning elms,
amid the darkening oaks, we fled ourselves ...
... Once there were paths that led to coracles
that clung to piers like loosening barnacles ...
... where we cannot return, because we lost
the pebbles and the playthings, and the moss ...
... hangs weeping gently downward, maidens’ hair
who never were enchanted, and the stairs ...
... that led up to the Fortress in the trees
will not support our weight, but on our knees ...
... we still might fit inside those splendid hours
of damsels in distress, of rustic towers ...
... of voices heard in wolves’ tormented howls
that died, and live in dreams’ soft, windy vowels ...
First Steps
by Michael R. Burch
for Caitlin Shea Murphy
To her a year is like infinity,
each day—an adventure never-ending.
She has no concept of time,
but already has begun the climb—
from childhood to womanhood recklessly ascending.
I would caution her, "No! Wait!
There will be time enough another day ...
time to learn the Truth
and to slowly shed your youth,
but for now, sweet child, go carefully on your way! ..."
But her time is not a time for cautious words,
nor a time for measured, careful understanding.
She is just certain
that, by grabbing the curtain,
in a moment she will finally be standing!
Little does she know that her first few steps
will hurtle her on her way
through childhood to adolescence,
and then, finally, pubescence . . .
while, just as swiftly, I’ll be going gray!
Everlasting
by Michael R. Burch
Where the wind goes
when the storm dies,
there my spirit lives
though I close my eyes.
Do not weep for me;
I am never far.
Whisper my name
to the last star ...
then let me sleep,
think of me no more.
Still ...
By denying death
its terminal sting,
in my words I remain
everlasting.
I have the most childlike heart ...
—Sappho, fragment 120, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Awed by the moon’s splendor,
stars covered their undistinguished faces.
Even so, we.
—Sappho, fragment 34, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Those I most charm
do me the most harm.
—Sappho, fragment 12, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Even as their hearts froze,
their feathers molted.
—Sappho, fragment 42, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Your voice beguiles me.
Your laughter lifts my heart’s wings.
If I listen to you, even for a moment, I am left speechless.
—Sappho, fragment 31, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Sappho, fragment 138, loose translations/interpretations by Michael R. Burch
1.
Darling, let me see your face;
unleash your eyes' grace.
2.
Turn to me, favor me
with your eyes' indulgence.
3.
Look me in the face,
smile,
reveal your eyes' grace ...
4.
Turn to me, favor me with your eyes’ acceptance.
Sappho, fragment 52 (Voigt 168B / Diehl 94 / *** 48)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
1a.
Midnight.
The hours drone on
as I moan here, alone.
1b.
Midnight.
The hours drone.
I moan,
alone.
2.
The moon has long since set;
the Pleiades are gone;
now half the night is spent
and yet
here I lie—alone.
Sappho, fragment 24, loose translations/interpretations by Michael R. Burch
1a.
Dear, don't you remember how, in days long gone,
we did such things, being young?
1b.
Dear, don't you remember, in days long gone,
how we did such things, being young?
2.
Don't you remember, in days bygone,
how we did such things, being young?
3.
Remember? In our youth
we too did such reckless things.
Sappho, fragment 154, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
1.
The moon rose and we women
thronged it like an altar.
2.
Maidens throng
at the altar of Love
all night long.
Once again I dive into this fathomless ocean,
intoxicated by lust.
—Sappho, after Anacreon, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Did the epigram above perhaps inspire the legend that Sappho leapt into the sea to her doom, over her despair for her love for the ferryman Phaon? See the following poem ...
The Legend of Sappho and Phaon, after Menander
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Some say Sappho was an ardent maiden
goaded by wild emotion
to fling herself from the white-frothed rocks of Leukas
into this raging ocean
for love of Phaon ...
but others reject that premise
and say it was Aphrodite, for love of Adonis.
In Menander's play The Leukadia he refers to a legend that Sappho flung herself from the White Rock of Leukas in pursuit of Phaon. We owe the preservation of those verses to Strabo, who cited them. Phaon appears in works by Ovid, Lucian and Aelian. He is also mentioned by Plautus in Miles Gloriosus as being one of only two men in the whole world, who "ever had the luck to be so passionately loved by a woman."
You ask me why I've sent you no new verses?
There might be reverses.
—Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
You ask me to recite my poems to you?
I know how you'll "recite" them, if I do.
—Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
You ask me why I choose to live elsewhere?
You're not there.
—Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
You ask me why I love fresh country air?
You're not befouling it, mon frère.
—Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
You never wrote a poem,
yet criticize mine?
Stop abusing me or write something fine
of your own!
—Martial, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
He starts everything but finishes nothing;
thus I suspect there's no end to his f---ing.
—Martial, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
You alone own prime land, dandy!
Gold, money, the finest porcelain—you alone!
The best wines of the most famous vintages—you alone!
Discrimination and wit—you alone!
You have it all—who can deny that you alone are set for life?
But everyone has had your wife—she is never alone!
—Martial, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
You dine in great magnificence
while offering guests a pittance.
Sextus, did you invite
friends to dinner tonight
to impress us with your enormous appetite?
—Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
1.
To you, my departed parents, dear mother and father,
I commend my little lost angel, Erotion, love’s daughter.
who died six days short of completing her sixth frigid winter.
Protect her now, I pray, should the chilling dark shades appear;
muzzle hell’s three-headed hound, less her heart be dismayed!
Lead her to romp in some sunny Elysian glade,
her devoted patrons. Watch her play childish games
as she excitedly babbles and lisps my name.
Let no hard turf smother her softening bones; and do
rest lightly upon her, earth, she was surely no burden to you!
—Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
2.
To you, my departed parents, with much emotion,
I commend my little lost darling, my much-kissed Erotion,
who died six days short of completing her sixth bitter winter.
Protect her, I pray, from hell’s hound and its dark shades a-flitter;
and please don’t let fiends leave her maiden heart dismayed!
But lead her to romp in some happy Elysian glade
with her cherished friends, excitedly lispingly my name.
Let no hard turf smother her softening bones; and do
rest lightly upon her, earth, she was such a slight burden to you!
—Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Martial wrote this touching elegy for a little slave girl, Erotion, who died six days before her sixth birthday. The poem has been nominated as Martial’s masterpiece by L. J. Lloyd and others. Erotion means “little love” and may correspond to our term “love child.” It has been suggested that Erotion may have been Martial’s child by a female slave. That could explain why Martial is asking his parents’ spirits to welcome, guide and watch over her spirit. Martial uses the terms patronos (patrons) and commendo (commend); in Rome a freed slave would be commended to a patron. A girl freed from slavery by death might need patrons as protectors on the “other side,” according to Roman views of the afterlife, since the afterworld houses evil shades and is guarded by a monstrous three-headed dog, Cerberus. Martial is apparently asking his parents to guide the girl’s spirit away from Cerberus and the dark spirits to the heavenly Elysian fields where she can play and laugh without fear. If I am correct, Martial’s poem is not just an elegy, but a prayer-poem for protection, perhaps of his own daughter. Albert A. Bell supports this hypothesis with the following arguments: (1) Martial had Erotion cremated, a practice preferred by the upper classes, (2) “he buried her with the full rites befitting the child of a Roman citizen,” (3) he entrusted her [poetically] to his parents, and (4) he maintained her grave for years.
Catullus I (“cui dono lepidum novum libellum”)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
To whom do I dedicate this novel book
polished drily with a pumice stone?
To you, Cornelius, for you would look
content, as if my scribblings took
the cake, when in truth you alone
unfolded Italian history in three scrolls,
as learned as Jupiter and acing the course.
Therefore, this little book is yours,
whatever it is, which, O patron Maiden,
I pray will last more than my lifetime!
Catullus LXXXV: “Odi et Amo”
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I hate. I love.
How can that be, turtledove?
I wish I could explain.
I can’t, but feel the pain.
Catullus CVI: “That Boy”
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
See that young boy, by the auctioneer?
He’s so pretty he sells himself, I fear!
Catullus LI: “That Man”
This is Catullus’s translation of a poem by Sappho of ******
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I’d call that man the equal of the gods,
or,
could it be forgiven
in heaven,
their superior,
because to him space is given
to bask in your divine presence,
to gaze upon you, smile, and listen
to your ambrosial laughter
which leaves men senseless
here and hereafter.
Meanwhile, in my misery,
I’m left speechless.
Lesbia, there is nothing left of me
but a voiceless tongue grown thick in my mouth
and a thin flame running south...
My limbs tingle, my ears ring, my eyes water
till they swim in darkness.
Call it leisure, Catullus, or call it idleness,
whatever it is that incapacitates you.
By any other name it’s the nemesis
fallen kings, empires and cities rue.
Catullus XLIX: “A Toast to Cicero”
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Cicero, please confess:
You’re drunk on your success!
All men of good taste attest
That you’re the very best—
At making speeches, first class!
While I’m the dregs of the glass.
The famous Roman orator Cicero employed “tail rhyme” in this pun:
O Fortunatam natam me consule Romam.
O fortunate natal Rome, to be hatched by me!
—Cicero, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The Latin hymn "Dies Irae" employs end rhyme:
Dies irae, dies illa
Solvet saeclum in favilla
***** David *** Sybilla
The day of wrath, that day
which will leave the world ash-gray,
was foretold by David and the Sybil fey.
—attributed to Thomas of Celano, St. Gregory the Great, St. Bernard of Clairvaux, and St. Bonaventure; loose translation by Michael R. Burch
I must admit I’m partial
to Martial.
— Michael R. Burch
Did Sappho write the world's first "make love, not war" poem, more than 2,500 years ago? This poem has been variously titled “The Anactoria Poem,” “Helen’s Eidolon” and “Some People Say.”
Some Say
Sappho, fragment 16 (Lobel-Page 16)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Warriors on rearing chargers,
columns of infantry,
fleets of warships:
some call these the dark earth's redeeming visions.
But I say—
the one I desire.
And this makes sense
because she who so vastly surpassed all other mortals in beauty
—Helen—
seduced by Aphrodite, led astray by desire,
lightly set sail for distant Troy,
abandoning her celebrated husband,
leaving behind her parents and child!
Her story reminds me of Anactoria,
who has also departed,
and whose lively dancing and lovely face
I would rather see than all the horsemen and war-chariots of the Lydians,
or all their infantry parading in flashing armor.
Mar 28, 2020
Mar 28, 2020 at 3:39 AM UTC
See
by Michael R. Burch
See how her hair has thinned: it doesn’t seem
like hair at all, but like the airy moult
of emus who outraced the wind and left
soft plumage in their wake. See how her eyes
are gentler now; see how each wrinkle laughs,
and deepens on itself, as though mirth took
some comfort there, then burrowed deeply in,
outlasting winter. See how very thin
her features are—that time has made more spare,
so that each bone shows, elegant and rare.
For life remains undimmed in her grave eyes,
and courage in her still-delighted looks:
each face presented like a picture book’s.
Bemused, she blows us undismayed goodbyes.
Keywords/Tags: Elderly, woman, grandmother, thin, thinning, hair, airy, emu, moult, soft, plumage, wrinkles, laugh lines, frail, gaunt, bones, winter, grave, eyes, courage, laughter, family, gathered, bedside, kisses, hugs, goodbyes, farewells, life, death, photo album, pictures, photos, photographs
Published by The Eclectic Muse, Love Me Knots (an anthology of the top 100 contemporary love poems), Nutty Stories (South Africa), Black Medina, The New Formalist, Better Than Starbucks, Potcake Chapbooks, Strange Roads, Sonnetto Poesia, Litera (UK), Poems About, Poetry Life & Times, MahMag (in a Farsi translation by Dr. Mahnaz Badihian), Somewhere Along The Beaten Path (Anthology), Freshet, Life & Legends, Famous Poets & Poems, Short Quotes & Poems (listed in the top 10 short poems) and Victorian Violet Press. “See” won 3rd place in the 2003 Writer’s Digest Rhyming Poetry contest, out of over 18,000 overall entries, and was published in Writer’s Digest’s The Year’s Best Writing.
Mar 6, 2020
Mar 6, 2020 at 4:44 AM UTC
Pfennig Postcard, Wrong Address
by Michael R. Burch
(for the victims and survivors of the Holocaust)
We saw their pictures:
tortured out of our imaginations
like golems.
We could not believe
in their frail extremities
or their gaunt faces,
pallid as our disbelief.
They are not
with us now ...
We have:
huddled them
into the backroomsofconscience,
consigned them
to the ovensofsilence,
buried them in the mass graves
of circumstancesbeyondourcontrol.
We have
so little left
of them
now
to remind us ...
It was my honor to work with survivors of the Holocaust as we translated their poems and prose accounts into English as a way of preserving them and making them available to larger audiences. Unfortunately, time waits for no one and the Holocaust survivors I worked with are no longer with us. But their words and testimonies remain, if we will only take the time to read and consider them. Keywords/Tags: Holocaust, victims, survivors, mass graves, pictures, images, tortured, frail, gaunt, skeletal, emaciated, thin, malnourished, golemic, horror, terror, inhumanity, madness, racism, antisemitism, slave labor, slavery, death camps, concentration camps, gas chambers, ethnic cleansing, genocide, memory, remembrance, memorial, tribute
Feb 29, 2020
Feb 29, 2020 at 4:16 AM UTC
Take solace in my blistered heart
a disarray of bleeding memories
for I will rise from the ashes
unharmed and unscathed
a moment of equilibrium
glances of ambition
shattered photos of weathered faces
it would appear that I've been reborn
Bask upon the decline
the memories once again fade
becoming decadent once more
for I am frail.
Feb 17, 2020
Feb 17, 2020 at 12:29 PM UTC
I was the nail in a coffin
of hardship.
But just because I was a nail
didn't disconnect me from
the ideology of my use.
I held it together,
for many this was to much,
brittle and frail they never dug
down deep.
Where I held this all together,
I wasn't about to let life
pull me out,.
I was a nail, holding my life together,
a coffin of hardships that 'll
bury one day..
but for now I'm in deep enough
to keep it together.
Feb 7, 2020
Feb 7, 2020 at 9:11 AM UTC
i am.
like an old porcelain doll
cracked.
i don't want to be dropped
I'll shatter,
pieces all over the floor.
on a shelf i sit
next to others sitting pretty
in dresses and makeup
looking like people they aren't.
i am quiet but honest
because i need protecting.
i know where i've been recently
i've been covered in dust
sitting alone
in a room with no one to hold me.
pushing myself off the shelf,
allowing the cracks to move
across my
body.
Jan 20, 2020
Jan 20, 2020 at 11:55 PM UTC
There were warning signs to beware,
great walls you had to climb,
more parcels inside,
sealed with labeled reminders
to handle with care.
That a wrong cut of a wire
could trigger explosives,
that the place wasn't just fragile,
it was also volatile.
There's a reason why
from miles away you'd been told
to keep your own distance.
Why this wasn't just something
you could happen to stumble upon,
but a shipwreck, a paper town,
a lost city you needed to find.
When it dawned upon you
that this was not paradise,
but a haunted cemetery of some kind,
you snuck your way back
to the hole you fell into;
burning the place to the ground,
like the ones who came before you.
Oct 8, 2019
Oct 8, 2019 at 8:59 AM UTC
Flutter of an evening chill
the black rain, bores into me
Another diamond
engulfs me
Opaque
Tarnished
Branded
Announces
a failing
flickering candle
then smoke
The lower breeds
Lust
Consumes
Jun 4, 2019
Jun 4, 2019 at 11:38 AM UTC
Head placed upon the middle of your pillow,
leaving a circular dent surrounding it-
Your pigtails on the side,
tied in pink and red bows.
An attire of frilly, cotton, pyjamas,
tainted with dainty flowers-
a total of 32 spastically placed.
Memories
Filled with frills and pixie dust,
along with the shards of glass
-lined with blood.
Thinking back,
On the beauty of the moments,
Of the innocence that once filled your mind-
gently placed upon the pillow
lined with delicate lace,
beneath your frail, fazed face.
Apr 26, 2019
Apr 26, 2019 at 12:50 PM UTC
I leave a trail of shattered hearts.. so frail..
Clumsy I am...
Mar 18, 2019
Mar 18, 2019 at 3:14 PM UTC
Do not say, what you feel
I'm not here
To listen
Do not remember me
I'm not the one
Who cares
Do not dream of me
I'm not the one
You deserve
I can't be there, where
You want me to be
Then ***** felt
Nothing left
No dreams
No wishes
No voices
Nothing at all
Stayed silent with
A fragile heart
A heavy head
A dead soul
Since then
Mar 16, 2019
Mar 16, 2019 at 12:02 AM UTC
She has taken Times test
And stood till she was 80
The skin is thin on those old bones now
She shivers
And for the first time feels
old and frail
Mar 15, 2019
Mar 15, 2019 at 8:26 PM UTC
even love, a faded meaning
the uneven skill; bludgeoning the compass
a longing, a thirst for fortress in the prodigal past
always seems to swim so shallow
an even meaning when roses die
a shadow walking ground, a skeleton in the earth
leaning on its symbiotic ecstasy;
frail and ephemeral dipped in a sea of ash
when paradise keel's over in sea
awake in this lucid dream
let loose of the pipe
lest you breath as love
a silent lips for astrologers, even a tombstone for gazers
blood streaming down the crown;
never to grow rose
love is the soil.
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 5:15 AM UTC
You keep on running back to me,
You sneak into my skin,
Banging on my frail bones, shouting
“Please let me come in!”
I try to keep the blinds closed
And pretend that I’m not here,
But you wait until I yield to you
Before you disappear.
Nov 13, 2018
Nov 13, 2018 at 9:06 AM UTC
Ramshackled dream
Held together with glue and string
And prayers
Floating as a feather
Yet easily the heaviest of things
What tapestries you inspire
Yet not strong enough the exit my mind
Keeping you hidden
Incubating long term
Until you’re almost over cooked
Make I take a glimpse of you
Never to touch, in fear of the break
Complexly understated
A warming flame
Flickering in this empty cold world
Ramshackled dream
Pretty to most, breathtaking to me
Sitting ever fervent
Waiting to shine
Wait to breathe the air
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 8:08 AM UTC