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Deneka Raquel Jul 2014
I miss the notes that,
Completed the symphonies that followed your love.
How the earth shifted beneath my feet,
As if the its plates,
Also felt the tremors of your kisses.

The orchestra of the universe,
Beckoned at the curl of your lips.
The stars motivated into melodic choreography,
To celebrate your happiness.

That was once upon a time.
That was when our love was alive.
When that love died,
Ominous echoes followed.
My heart bellowed.
Living became as labored as breathing.
Dissonance grew with thunder
Air gathering weight.
Every part of me felt absence,
As if your love suddenly became extinct,
And mines an endangered species,
On the brink of a similar faith.

I remember the glory days.
I remember how beautiful skies were
before you tainted them with,
Splinters of your shattered promises.
Promises to love me forever,
When you gave your love to someone else.

How the fallen petals once fresh,
Wilted, scowling,
They will know beauty no more.

How angry jagged peaks,
Loom over gentle rolling hills.
Can you feel it?
Because I can feel.
I can't feel every sensation,
Every impression,
Cutting amorphously into
Every dream I've ever dreamt
Erasing every inch of hope I've ever felt.
How cruel love dismembers its victims?

The damask surface of my heart,
flickers threats of gossamer hints,
as song birds chant their heavenly hims.
Memories of our sins.

I want to forget you.
But how can I forget you,
When you've left such an impression on me.
Euphonious melodies,
Imprinted into my my being.
Taking so much of me when you left,
You left me no choice but to move on,
To the sound of my doom.

What could I do?

There was a time when of our love,
I used to boast,
How can I now,
With these missing notes?
Yea, average emotional roller coaster poem.
A silver
oar in
her pant
that must
ignore her
very thought
of amphibian  
forecast in
amorphously quaint
****** yer
attire bare
crest this
ingénue while
robust if
enigmatic and
sinecure features
are superfluous
A man of economy
O silence, O darkness
Tuck me under your blanket
For light overwhelms this, inundates this with too much information
Which the longer it's exposed to the more it veers away from everything that was once simple,
Everything that was once inimitable
Has lost its essence in regurgitation—
In the cyclic chambers of the conscious.

Bring me back that child which operated with the unknowns of the unconscious
Needed no definitions, needed no shape to comprehend
For whom everything was continuous—viewing everything amorphously like the fluid which flows through her.

(All I ever do lately is hanker for the light
Thinking it'll be the saving grace
Thinking procuring more knowledge will get me closer to serenity
To build and build and feed the ever hungry conquered soul
All the time speculating, measuring, calculating...)

No, sap away the water from my roots
Shrivel away the veins of retention
O! embrace me that which lingers on endlessly in the background
Take this platform, take the mike, take this person
Cacoon her in nothingness
For she wishes not to see her imperfect reflection in the presets of man-made life anymore.
I am no more solid than a dense fog in a glass jar.
My borders and boundaries are defined by my container.
I occupy this space, bereft of internal orientation or direction, floating amorphously.
Without containment, I would all but disappear.
To free me is to destroy me; there can be no trial.
JaxSpade Apr 2019
I woke up in Generation X
In the flesh of a baby
And this is what they made
In the winter
Of Octobers labor
I traveled through the millennium
A poor figure
Forming saxicolously
On the earths behavior
I'm all ready in enough sin
That I voraciously devour
And my abstruse mind
Adroit yet intertwined
With why me? empowered?
Oxygen? blood of the lamb?
24 hours
Into generation Z
Amorphously they move forward
And I'm trying to survive
The atomic powers
With my nuclear family
While government downwards
I woke up
But now I'm tired
The people have lost their minds
And morals are a thing of the past
There is no more shame
In the way we act
I was born into the aftermath
Of a Gods punishment for a devils path
And in that path was a man and rib
And a proclaimation I was chosen
Not I that chose him
John 15:5 claims I am the limb
And from thy vine
fruit produces in men
I can do nothing
Will all my somethings I sin
I am a withered branch
without the Lord within
Here I am born again
Bearing the fruit
Of the husbandman

— The End —