"alluded" poems
We held hands as time's sand
passed between. Night chocked
the last sun beams. Our conversation
was pertinent to the dwindling
red wine bottle. As the moon glazed
shore began to roar, she whispered
"Let's cuddle." I dropped you, holding her,
and thought "Oh" and began to coddle.
I wrapped myself around her like a shell to a turtle
and she began to nestle on my chest. I guessed
the indigestion came from the Bordeaux bottom.
Boy, was I wrong. See, as I lay with her,
forgetting about you, I remembered
blood is thicker than water. The loves
we choose are stronger than ones
We've fallen into. I wasn't falling there,
underneath the stars, next to the parked car.
I was laying. I was contemplating
as the wind was spraying the lake
into the air.
I came to the conclusion
I was in an illusion of love.
Confounded by smoke and reflections
from movie magicians. She looked up
to me and I guess she could see
my reality crumbling in the breeze.
She asked if I was ok. My slight smile alluded
I was and we laid in love
until the sun's intrusion.
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 4:44 PM UTC
The thoughts stay awake in my mind
bullied all my life even when I was kind
Struggling, yearning for my weight to go back down,
to where it was when I didn’t frown
Constant reminders of myself
Shopping windows, mirrors and family,
they even put me in therapy
“Brush it off” they all say
talking,screaming,shouting so abruptly
The voices so loud I can’t even distinguish my own laugh
it doesn’t leave
I want it to cast me away
Take me to an unknown island
Forget about me, leave me with the grass
my “flabby arms” and “visible stomach” are my worst enemy,
worse than the seven trench built army
The bullying soldiers both inside and out
They must be right?
I do not doubt
Somebody help me
Tell me I’m right
Young girls find value in appearance
This diabolical and alluded kite
This will **** many like me,
who’ve suffered enough and cannot breathe
So please teach them to be smart
you can do more with a brain than you can a face
but in this age, it is a race
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 9:58 AM UTC
Two people lurk in everyone
the star and the scar
born from building high citadels of power
and cascading into smithereens
when the switch is tripped.
Maybe the voltage ran low
or the circuit breaker was poorly constructed?
I dont know.
I operate on a three phase armour
of emotional stabilisers
that spark and twitch when overheated
with too much energy. But I return
with black faced integrity
collars up and smoking
to fight on another electrifying moment.
'Thats life' I hear
the rollercoaster ride
built into the system
going around in circles
always facing the sunrise
and sunset. We scream and tumble
into the guts of the incline
the switch and roll of events
swerving around corners
holding on tight white knuckled
until it finishes its rumble
and we walk out wobbly and vomity
until the better side takes over.
The darker side recedes
into an unknown pocket.
Author Notes
Thanks to Cinderley13 who wrote about Catfish and Lydia and Lyda and made me wonder what the hell was being alluded to? It now makes a bit more sense.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 6:41 PM UTC
[These statues were exhibited at the Metropolitan Museum after the sculptor's death. The figures alluded to are the famous statue of Abraham Lincoln, and the monument in memory of Mrs. Henry Adams, the original of which is in the Rock Creek Cemetery at Washington. --Max Eastman]
POET, thy dreams are grateful to the air
And the light loves them. Tho' they murmur not,
Their carven stillness is a music rare,
And like the song of one whose tongue hath caught
The clear ethereal essence of his thought.
I hear the talkers come, the changing throngs
That with the fashions of a day surround
Thy visions, and I hear them quell their tongues,
And hush their querulous shoes upon the ground;
Thy dreams are with the crown of silence crowned--
Though they feel not the glowing diadem,
Who sleep for aye in their cool shapes of stone.
Nor ever will the sunlight waken them,
Nor ever will they turn their eyes and moan,
To think that their brief Poet's life is gone.
The tender and the lofty soul is gone,
Who eyed them forth from darkness, and confessed
His spirit's motion in unmoving stone.
His praise upon no mortal tongue doth rest;
By these unwhispering lips it is expressed.
Soon will the ample arms of night withdraw
Her shuffling children from the twilit hall--
From that heroic presence, in dim awe
Of whom the dark withholds a while her pall,
And leaves him luminous above them all.
Then are ye lost in darkness and alone,
Ye ghostly spirits! And the moment rare
Doth quicken that too sad and nameless stone,
To move her robe, and spill her sable hair,
And be in silence mingled with the air;
For she is one with the dim glimmering hour,
And the white spirits beautiful and still,
And the veiled memory of the vanished power
That moulded them, the high and infinite will
That earth begets and earth does not fulfil.
2.2k
The light quit working in the jukebox,
the melodies' surrender,
a commonplace extinction,
against the salt and the breeze
of your false Mediterranean.
The burden of your rational soul
in a world of extremes
has torn your spirit to tatters-
tatters littered across
your Toronto abode.
Divided amongst the heirlooms
and emptied bottles.
This desolation you
sought to translate
for the harmonious pulse
of the dial tone.
Hazy,
is this ancient mind,
a smoking fallout of
yesterday's parties
to be discussed over
lukewarm coffee
and cigarette butts,
while the shivering streams
and green plains become
commodified for a higher power.
Dan, my dearest friend,
I loved you
ferocious and freely,
fanged and supremely,
and as your mind coagulated
on a couch,
microphone in-hand,
I felt nostalgic for
your clumsy alcoholism,
and clumsier guitar strumming.
The white fog descends,
the city is hungry--
no longer can it expand.
Toronto eats itself
with you inside,
shall I write you a postcard?
Shall I kick down your door?
Shall I let you join the bones
you so beautifully alluded to?
Whisper, my friend,
amidst the soft croon of
the saxophone,
whisper, my friend,
of a Europe gone defective,
whisper, my friend,
for an apocalypse of sun
to release us all from
the white fog slowly burying
our Toronto.
Feb 9, 2011
Feb 9, 2011 at 7:18 PM UTC
My visual field flashes white in a moment of highest swelling heart
white light dissipates following blackness of my hearts lowest sundried hurt
my view of oppressively low hung clouds questions any earthly sensation, twerked torture
of a selfinflicted radiation of irredeemable gloom, hung by self
The acrid ebony of my soul dissipates to an antique comfort with love stretched infinity
I then breathed an atmosphere of sorrow; snapped, shattered infinity into a pile of broken windows
My call of a family of evil given in an intolerable agitation and searched remedy
led to be found abandoned within a continual struggle of grim phantasm
Necessity spake in me, called one milihelen enough to launch my remaining ship
a cadavorness of complexion, forced portside of me when crystal ships started to drip with lies
a guttural utterance whispered blankly, alluded keine endurance
as I could only wear certain textures, and not endure the physical elements of this sensory deprived flower
My conjured will, looks upon the morbid moral of an undiagnosed existence
if not unreservedly found in the recesses of self
rosie cheeks forced not by pleasure, but screamed excitement of eternal enjoyable nothing
as my visual field flashes white with a moment of highest swelling heart
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 9:30 PM UTC
I'm not sure you understand
Just exactly how I work
I'm not normal
But then, who is?
So let's put formality aside
Have at me, uncertified surgeon!
Let your knives peel back my skin!
Use your blades to cut the organs
So you'll see the stuff within
In my heart is the place where I keep the love
Protected from fiends who like vultures above
Wouldst dare to steal my sacred store
That will deplete forevermore
My liver is a strange one, and yet
You'd know what goes inside, I'd bet
Therein lies all the things I hate
Filtered from life and made to wait
Inside the liver, oh so dense
To keep the hate from the present tense
To keep it all just locked away
So I can try to be okay
Then in my lungs is icy air
That I breathed in, frozen, from your cold stare
I thought you were jesting your eyes must be wrong
But it turns out you meant it like that one Beatles' song
Because I truly did not realize
As I gazed deep into your eyes
Into the soul that just days before
You swore was mine, threw open doors
Your eyes this time would shut me out
What was this alienation about?
But I guess you just snapped and all loving stopped
You were still sane, but your toleration popped
Which is totally fine and I have no problem knowing
That these fractures and breaks had slowly been growing
But I thought if we tended the garden of love
And forgot all the issues I alluded above
That we'd be fine and could just carrry on
And though I still believed that you went and you're gone
So again, I say unto you, uncertified surgeon!
Cut deep into me and pull out my soul
My heart's been ripped out, why not seal the deal
*Tear out my soul with a smile and a flick
And stitch me back up with the thread of past wrongs
That each day I might look down and see
That what was done was done by me*
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 11:17 PM UTC
There in the air, it hung, muted yet palpable,
like the inebriating scent of new rain on earth
with this signal morning alluded something,
as if challenging anyone there to swiftly respond.
Gazing at the far away mountains, waking up,
pulling away slowly the blanket of darkness
a purple sun above making a symphony of colors
she is caught in the waves of the mood, it's cadence
captures the spirit in a poem; it blooms on it's own.
Zestfully she reads it in her resounding voice,as if
to the chickens clucking around in the cluttered barn
there wasn't any audience other than the birds and the cattle;
a sudden change the chickens,strange, till the moment before
they were looking for a worm or two in the black earth.
As if forgotten all other things the chicken stood
their head held high, beaks open as if to peck
in an attentive posture, they stood listening to her,
the moment they got the tune right,started reciting it.
The cows in the shed turned to the direction of her voice,
as if it's a song, and it's for them she was singing .
Dec 26, 2015
Dec 26, 2015 at 1:40 PM UTC
Say what I say and mean what I mean this stream of consciousness thing is quite a release and I know it's not a diary but it's fun to let others spy on me even if only one or two or three will ever see what I'm writing it's still exciting to be open and share because I was closed off from people for the majority of my life and it had to do with self-esteem but now that I don't care what others may think this whole experience is quite liberating so let me become even more openly free and dare to share something that has been bothering me and that is the fact that so many asshats have mocked and teased and called me gay or alluded to it by what they say and it's been happening my whole life and even in this rehab stay the homophobia is in play and yes I'm effeminate in so many ways but here's the real secret, oh my gosh, I'm not gay! but part of me wants to just pretend that I am to make it uncomfortable but it wouldn't be fair of me because I'm comfortable in my sexuality and that would be retaliatory and just as inflammatory but beyond all of that I really don't get it why people are so upset about how others do hit it can't we just live and let live why do we label each other by whatever preference that we discover to help us feel closer to love because isn't that what human beings are wired to do so come on I implore you all who are stuck in your hatred to tell a coworker about who you thought of the last time you masturbated and then I'll ask you again if it's any of your business
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 5:09 PM UTC
Hide and seek,
I take a peek,
you come so near
then disappear.
I see your smile
but in just a while
I'll hide away
for another day.
the game I play
is truth and dare,
I've worn it out
like an old worn rag.
I don't know you,
you don't know me,
I wont tell
but I actually care.
It's a shallow life
and a shallow dream,
alluded hope,
illusion love,
you're not actually there-
My million pretty faces on an empty fake pedestal.
You weave through my life
like a dream
turned nightmare
turned dream
turned nightmare.
Time is so ****** short to waste it on ********
Cant you see I'm trying to find you?
How high must I build my castle?
How is it that you're so illusive and far away-
but your scent fills the room
and chokes me with sweetness?
I hate this incessant soppiness!
Argh!
My crazy obsession I try to lie and hide so well-
But it's written on my face in flashing neon colours,
desperation is so ******* unattractive!
Where in heavens name can I find myself a cheap plastic heart?
That doesn't breathe
or feel the need to heal?
If you want money I'll buy you.
If you want freedom I'll lie to you.
If you want a bicycle-
well I'm not really into cycling but I'll see what i can do.
I see so much fear in your eyes-
relationships shipwrecked-
and now you've made your mind up about the facts of life.
You've become the rock of Gibraltar-
tough as nails.
You're scary-
ready to weather any storms-
lonely-
but I still know you're soft inside...
You're just choosing the lesser of two evils-
well for now at least.
I know you still cry for your dreams,
stories that make you long,
but then you remember.
Hey! I get just as **** scared.
I mean, who burns themselves time and time and time again
without changing their formulas on life?
I do.
Dec 10, 2009
Dec 10, 2009 at 6:38 AM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
Dispatches for the Colonial Office
Let’s Carapace Ourselves
For William Gipson
William alluded to the dry bones of grammar
And I wondered why no one ever alludes
To the dry exoskeleton of anything -
Equal justice for all carapaces!
Sep 19, 2025
Sep 19, 2025 at 8:21 PM UTC
i dream of you i dream with you,
following the musings of the aching poet
blathering hyperbolic verbiage
into subconsciousness
where we leave entwined mortal bodies
for the impalpable enclave
we have created.
i dream of you i dream with you,
in sleep our minds meld
over aching bodies
and lift our spirits
to the ethereal nether-realm,
where we roam
for eons
sauntering through the fields
of ecstasy.
i dream of you i dream with you,
where the groans of the spirit
and its insatiable yearnings
find solace in the vastness
of the tangent universe,
existing outside our mortal guise,
alluded in our mind’s eye—
it’s heaven
built by you and i.
i dream of you i dream with you,
in lucid dreams
where we know we are asleep,
but we just laugh whilst
walking through the gates of eternity
flourishing in the eternal splendor
we have created.
Jan 29, 2017
Jan 29, 2017 at 1:15 PM UTC
large beer, with time to
waste. gulping in hopes
at abating stagnant
feel of current existence.
cold and clear night with Spring
hiding 'round the corner
ready to stab out perpetual
cycle for existence. such a
shaming from titled time-
spanse of weather by its
coming and going without
even illusion of choice.
(suppose the Universe never
had a major role in Romanticism)
suppose space will never find
need for periods defined through
titles; suppose man finds
comfort in definitions and syllabic
expression. haikus are, after all,
a buffer between worlds.
digressing with another cigarette,
knowing shouldn't what with
breath being true connection of
worlds. quality of being alluded
to quality of connection and a
vessel's sense of existence.
then, taking time to inhale,
knowing breath given finds
caustic continued life. realizing,
a drowning man cares naught for
quality of final fighting gasp.
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 8:47 PM UTC
when the world,
was much younger
and i was a stupid-crazy
girl-ly-chick, enamoured
with her youth.
i drove, a sunshine,
lemon, yellow bottomed, white pith on top combi van. coyly, cloyingly named Mello Martha.
it was...surfboards and swimsuits,
egg and bacon sangers,
early morning breezes,
after a blitz at the breadbox.
before... changing into
the structured, tortured baby, bank teller blues,
in the back,doors left open.
it was... rockin, knockin,
*** on credit,
to a promised future,
alluded to, but postponed,
for the moment.
it was... bruised back and
grazed knees,
harder, deeper oh god!
oh god! please... faster, fucken frenzies,
on a saturday night.
it was....running away to nowhere,
to find myself,
then finding me,
running away from,
the self i didn't want to know.
noway, nowhere, nohow.
it was... a barrel of monkeys, a barrel of laughs,
a keg of beer,
a box of wine,
under the crowded stars.
it was.... a roadtrip,
up the coast,
midnight bonfire,
midnight munchies,
playing hunches,
exploring reefs and reefers and such.
it was...far from family
and church rules,
a friendly rebellion,
of loud, proud youth.
totally and brazenly,
uncouth
it was... wham! and m.j.
cindy and boy george's culture club ,paperlace,
billy idol and the beach boys.
sung with abandon,
at spinal tap level eleven.
it was... peaceful, quiet, sleeping grace.
insanely in love with...
i forgot his name.
it was.... the birth of bodaciously me.
all brass hair and bosoms,
wild and carefree.
it was ....so long ago,
it was... yesterday night,
when i saw... Mello Martha's identical twin,
stopped at a traffic light.
it was... sunshine and lemon, bitter and sweet,
as she sailed off, down the street.
i sat and watched,
wist, full of recollect,
far and away, from my presently minded place...
sitting in, the driver's seat,
of my mom-blue subaru.
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 6:16 PM UTC
leave me
to precious illusions
moments of bliss
love imaged
momentarily eases the thirst
the dreaded melancholy
until
i am awaken
re-remembering the gnawing thirst
even at busy intervals
never a stranger
how i wish providence to come
and quite me of melancholy
impatient i am
resentful, for unwanted experience
that lacerated deep
weak and regretful
but always interchangeable
never constant
she has alluded me in youth
i wonder
in age
have i
atoned enough
will she finally find me worthy
uncertain of my fate
i drift
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 8:29 AM UTC
What substance was it?
The culmination of diamond-like shards
crushed and, then, melted into a precarious liquid
a liquid that follows the sway of a glass sphere attached to a glass stem
the end of which is rested between my lips
the length of the stem, itself, is clutched and rested between my index finger and my thumb
large clouds of odorless smoke besets the circumference of my bust as I exhale
immediate!
This substance will soon serenade the totality of my biology’s neurology.
Break that pipe now!
Simple glass that can be stepped on
crushed beneath feet!
What substance was that?
A human is free now
emancipated
the new substance of their affection is sobriety!
Author’s note: please, abate or diminish your substance abuse, if you have one. And, despite what I have alluded to within this poem, “sobriety” is never easily obtained, yet, it is very much worth the effort to obtain it.
Dec 30, 2024
Dec 30, 2024 at 12:24 AM UTC
I saunter parallel to these pews,
dragging my fraying fingers along the tops.
Reaching for a wooden comfort, but
instead I’m pricked.
I shake the splinter and splutter the blood off.
Wearing my head high, I finish my descent
up the holy steps.
My mother stands,
stuck
looking past me and out the stained window,
letting it strike her into a silhouette.
The priest exclaims
New Beginnings!
My mother
matches his declaration two seconds too late.
My dad nods his head,
the final vote of the jury locked in.
With guilt and god on my side,
I take the holy plunge.
My head falls in,
harshly.
I’m aching for a numinous experience,
only to suffocate from the darkness
that comes with this reality
I will breathe into.
My head may be under the aquatic illusion of renewal
but my feet stay planted on the
fractured ground.
I am forced to look past the daze of illusion.
Because in the light
I can clearly see the greys left in our destruction.
I look back and my finger has bled
all over the back of this dress.
New Beginnings!
I exclaim,
with a red stain grained into my backside,
but an empty canvas in the front.
With my hair slicked back I hear a
mumble.
You look just like your mother,
And maybe I do
hold her eyes
but I can see
what she can not.
The graying dreams that my parents are dis alluded to.
Their skeletons in the attic or the
boxes of dresses in the basement,
even though today I wear one.
I will look at the destruction created behind us
and not walk with them.
Because in this holy light
her eyes bask and only look
chocolate at its best.
And in this dim shadow
mine shine like amber honey.
Mar 15, 2021
Mar 15, 2021 at 11:13 PM UTC
The darkest fields, an interlude
to parallel sparkling, suspended
watching eye upon vermilion sky --
like a harbored god pretended.
Killing trees, roots eating deep,
my father mercilessly alluded:
branches high and branches wide
found the sky and intruded.
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 5:01 PM UTC
Not too long ago but the wisdom still alluded me
And not be Frank, I was never one for the Ocean and sand.
So the salt in my lungs, your gaze into my eyes was new to me.
Scared but not enough to tell you, I took your hand.
(The waves felt good on my coarse skin.)
No TVs there, it was Remote.
The locals wagered on a pair of dice.
Coladas with two cubes a pair of ice.
I was living in, and you are my Paradise.
Everything I wanted and more, but still not willing to sacrifice
(I rebel, I rebel)
All that was asked was reciprocation.
She said” Boy just say my name, that’s all I want”
“ Show me joules. Life, Love, and Dedication.”
Told her “ stop trippin” She said ”why you front?”
(Time Passed)
All that was asked was reciprocation.
But society’s serpent wouldn’t let me. ( Boys aren’t supposed to feel)
Eve’s whisper led me to condemnation. ( No room for my pride)
Wiped the Salt water from my eyes “Just don’t forget me.” ( she apathetically pointed at the door)
The rain fell
… I’ll never forget raindrops I felt, that night I plead with you
Same raindrops I felt that first night that I kissed you.
And I cannot lie and say that I don’t miss you.
…That I don’t miss my paradise.
But – sometimes stories don’t end the way you want’m to right?
(Lost Happiness, Lingering Pain)
I miss you
Right hand to god, Left hand holding the remains of my heart.
Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 4:43 PM UTC
Words like water,
oh how the speech can delay.
Dripping eloquent but lost to rivers,
indulged in deluge,
overwhelmed in expression, comments and decree.
I want you here,
oceans away.
How can I touch the chatter,
be diluted in a voice.
Move me with your extract,
alluded, trembling from afar.
Waking up to different sides of the moon
I need you here,
sunshines away.
and the blades from petals still stabbed
like it was torture
though it crumbled in effect
why the trouble for pistol flowers
when aching is within a splinter.
Something so beautiful,
lost to an operating system.
Quiet rumbles, not big enough
to make a sound.
Even if I screamed,
my vocals typed to characters,
you would not,
could not hear my strain.
Efflorescence,
our love it blooms.
Flourished in email, video plays, stills.
Across the ocean I came,
to wake up in the sunshine,
with the moon at our side.
Sprouting up new love,
greater than we thought equip.
Even through storms, snow, rain,
I am ecstatic here,
your body I call my house,
your smile I call my home.
Mar 14, 2017
Mar 14, 2017 at 11:52 AM UTC
So sick of living like this.
Always in question of the truth in your eyes.
Blinded obsession.
I have become what I don't realize.
In your presence, I am now a ghost;
and alluded.
Facing this road to eternal damnation.
Still don't know which way I will go.
Memories,
Just a distant reminder.
Of a time when I did not remain so uncertain.
Oct 19, 2012
Oct 19, 2012 at 4:21 PM UTC
In my realm, any tale worth telling tells itself, backwards…
this is part three under reproof inspection,
we have tools some of us imagined,
perhaps with prodding from what prodded
Heinlein, his version of the Sixties, seen from his fifties;
differs in tech to stretch the realm of possible,
Artist's intuition that women's intuition was a thing
by 1961, the year of the twist,
if I recall Junior High, and who doesn't, eh, as seen on TV.
We were there.
There were those books, You were there at the battle for Bataan
We were there books, 36, a kind of boomer canon
in the southwest, some of us had grands who rode those trails.
But the one I imagine I remembered reading,
We were there at the battle for Bataan,
that can be imagined as a ghost from the cemetery
in Kingman, Arizona, on the actual road
alluded to in rites of passage,
all roads lead
from the middle of nowhere, there's no destination known.
Up on the point,
overlooking my green valley,
if I am an honest man, and I believe I am,
sharp as a tack,
tacky as a fly strip in a butcher shop,
sticky in that ai ai ai madja look gleam meme,
flash of white,
no light, brigh'ness reflected from raven's wings, sure
that is what Castaneda saw, no wu wu needed,
once the plant impresses your kindness,
adsorb absorb soak seep, sniff
wonder, if we may imagine
and we do not, we are as the being who may read and does not.
Or the reader who may write and wishes to be
known for the worth of the lines in threaded time through
changing times, drastic fantastic changes in time
thinking medium
thick syrupy, thicker, honey, honey, how could such excess be?
the proverb, pre installed, tic
Hast thou found honey?
Eat so much as is sufficient for thee.
see
prophecy saying the child shall shall, not will, shall
eat milk and honey until it can, not may, can
sense the fine-ness of the line
the veil, between useful for imaginary things,
how fine the film discerned, imagine that
scratched
with this
so fine a line, that nothing is a thought, with nullness
nought, not infinite, pre-
punctuality, never ceases to happen and now remains, ever.
Oct 9, 2021
Oct 9, 2021 at 3:30 PM UTC
I came down to the country
to commune with Nature for a while
to try to find myself again
hopefully find my lost smile
Got lost along the way somehow
suffering from so much pain
I hope on this hundred acres
I can find myself again
Dawn is just now breaking
the leaves rustling on the trees
a soft warm wind is blowing
I find myself start to ease
I 4 -wheel to the river
just to sit and watch it flow
letting it float my cares away
sending them off and away they go.
it's time to continue on my ride
trails are calling out "Come See"
while I ride i'm going to search
for the Peace that has alluded me.
I'll know the spot when I feel it
it will speak to my heart of Peace
and I'll reside there for a time
letting that Peace wash all over me!
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 10:49 AM UTC
Her, Rising
"But they that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint."
Isaiah 40:31
My feet still, held
gravity pulls, I'm
still on the ground
Your wings addorsed
I stand,
faithful to the
King of the Skies
You are the messenger
of Highest Gods
you represent all
I wish to be
*courage
power
strength*
My face torn, masks
unearthed
ripped & savaged
I'm The Scream
Munch painting
art
alluded expressionism
Oils, pastels, crayon
sink into my skin
as claws rip flesh
away from my bone
I am the Fallen
you are the Rising
I am your Canvas
you are my Artist.
© Sia Jane
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 8:44 PM UTC