But the arsonist in a world of carpenters.
I’ve got matches at the salute,
wired blazoned between my every ashened knuckle,
heart beat furious
I’ll be this worlds iron furnace.
Their flames dance and sprawl
through flaunted finger
and slide of hand,
I’m the psychopath
and these flames children to command.
I dwindle fractured beaten to broken
hardly live to bless lips with breath.
I’ve but one choice,
to torch this world to a forever neverness
or stumble shadeless,
a shadow to brush past life to exist to view.
Always wishing to make a difference, to move, to make new.

variegated dreams
overturning the ashened night
wake, wake
branch and twist
to the music
of the tide
escapism of this world engulfed
with itineraries and haste
leaving fragments of vivacity in its wake
like riding a comet through life
stop, stop
smell the roses
make shapes out of clouds
within the starry night
rest, rest
blooming minds
drudging through the snow
whilst in drought
turning page after page
within this infancy
of human kind
sleep
and read but a line

Molten stories smelted
and poured like ashened gold.

We turn to paper
as coffers for lesser ingots - old.

In hopes to lessen;
nay, diminish thy gaping hole.

In hopes to relinquish
and set free caged memories stole.

So much is wrong with me,
I see no end in sight.
Though I walk in the path of freedom,
I stumble and lose my light.
The fire I seemingly showed to put out,
Now is nothing more than ashened snow.
I feel only the empty cold,
Long before the fire grows old.

Blargh, (repulsed)
Blue moon, blue moon? (playful calling)
Where are you?
Where have you been?(tender)

Blue moon, blue moon? (loneliness setting in as you gaze out awaiting the train that never arrives)
What have you seen?

Blue moon, blue moon? (heavy hearted)
I've had a dream, (sigh) I've had a dream. (side gaze with a sigh)
A slot of open and a bash of delight. (guileless)

(Sigh)
Oh, blue moon, blue moon? (glum)
Where are you tonight?

I need to leave this area! (fiery rage)
I want to leave this area? (curious)
yes?! (erratic)
To leave this area? (humble bewilderment)
To leave behind the crazed and the immature, the delinquants and the tyranny (assertive)

Such dispair lies within their minds, lost like the foggy winters depth. (anguish)

To wonder, if there will ever be a smile lay upon their ashened faces. (heartened)

The once rosy and pleasant of all chosen places. (sweet blossom enriched with the crisp warmth of mulled wine)

They went and they came, but never accepted, so left behind they became dilapidated. (nonchalant)

Taken by their own obsessions! (dejected)

Like the creaks of the night, they became the howls of the moon. (like cool chills upon the face, the bitter kiss of Jack frost scratching at your door(dead as the night, even the beat of your heart echoes))

Oh, blue moon, Blue moon!? (weep)
Where are you? (nonchalent)

A ponder here sat patiently waiting. (self pity)
Blue moon, Blue moon? (inquisitive)
Why have you left me? (sorrow)
We've been here soo long, so patiently waiting. (tearful)
So far no good, the cries not answered, will there ever be a moment of joy or will they ever be belated. (faded like the mist of the seas, leaving the bitter taste of salt upon the lips)

The adelite dust settling
     Smothering--
Coppertinted foot prints
Where we once played Graces
Sullen with Pride...

The Sun splayed&shimmering abaft
Our collectif
Charnel houses...  
     Bronze hued&
Yonder the fields of Spelt:
     Putrid plumage,
     Melancholy of Season--
Ashened from Time
Immemorial--

Her lips are so ashened that I feel the urge to lick them without seduction,
yet I kiss them and don't complain.
Her soul so dry that the rains fear her continues grounds of dramatic dryness.
Yet I continue to water her petals.
Her body so undesired that she barely looks at it. She carries each pound, from her unsatisfied lips and her ample breast to her thickened hips and woodened- brown toes, with a shrug of unacceptance.
Yet I still explore her with the interest of the lustful.
I kissed the lips of this wretched devil and grabbed Her by the backside as the knife in her tongue pierced my neck...
But I let it happen. So maybe I truly am to blame.
After all, to save a snake is a deed or valor indeed, but at the end of the day, the snake is the same animal it had always been.

Ancient wisdom



                            lies in

                            Bones



The StoneAge



                             didn't end



                             for lack

                             of stones







monster ~



                 monsters . .





                                    everywhere





                                                  whisper

    ­                                              in a many ear



                                     loud enough

                                     to stoke our fears



                                     playing games

                                     of truth or dare





monsters

                                 and

                                              their

       ­                           concubines





corrupt . .





                                   before

                                   we realize





monster ~

                                 monsters . . .





                                  telling truth





the many

                                 branches

                                 are the root





the leaves  . .





                                   that fall

                                   aren’t

                                   leaves

                                   at all



but ~



                                   the devil’s call

                                   to sacred fruit







monster ~

                                    monsters . . .





                                     play

                                              and

        ­                                                hide





                                     at . . .





                                    sleight





and





                                     hopscotched

                                                    ­truth



                                     in



                                     dead of night





monster ~

                                    monsters . . .




                                    held ~



                                                    my breath



                                                               ­ so I



                                                can't breathe





                                     and





                                    blind ~





                                                     my eyes



                                                          that I



                                                      don't see





they

               come

                                  for

                    ­                          me



                                 ­             I'm alone . . !





    all ~


                                  the monsters


                            are at home







when:



every

                 blessing

                                       is

                                                   a curse




                                                    every

     ­                                                                 ­   word

                                                    becomes­

                                                               ­           a

                                                   ­  verse





souls ~





                  have

                                   fallen

                                                 where

                                                          ­     they

                                                           ­               stand





                          in . .        





                                                               ­     ashened

                                                   ­   grey

                                                        ­            of

                                                 ­     no

                                                        ­           man's

                                                      land­



all my colours . .







                                          deeper shades ~





                                          of

                 ­                         sombre thought



                                          and



                                          darkened

           ­                               days





intent . .





                                          designed ~



                                                               ­ just



                                            to



                                                               ­  survive





lies . .



                  contrived ~

                                   to

                                           multiply





atomized~



                                           in



                                           the atmosphere

                                           as dust





oxidised~

                                            in



                                             the minds

                                                          ­        of men

                                              like rust







monster ~

                             monsters . .







                                                    promises . . . .






camouflaged truths ~





                                                    that’s

   ­                                                               al­l

                                                              ­               it



                                                     is . . .





The American Dream



                                                               ­            ain’t

                                                          ­    what

                                       it seems





it's just . . . .







                                         another






****** up ~







                                                 monster scheme . .



© mingoáo - 明 -

the Writings of Mingoáo Inc. is the exclusive agent, publisher-distributor of the Writings of Mingoáo. No part of the Writings exhibited herein may be copied, transcribed, reproduced nor transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, not by carrier pigeon, pony express, smoke signal, slingshot, sled dog, not even by alien spacecraft, nor stored by any information storage and/or retrieval system, past, present or future, nor translated, without the expressed written consent of the Author and Publisher. ~ Not to be Copied, Forwarded, Distributed, Shared Nor Transferred.

The moon at the window
tonight, was like a dreamcatcher.
I am going to sleep in your charm.

Image builders were
becoming scarce. In your tempest
I will find my dustbath.

Amidst the sailing
swans, becoming a semi-recluse,
you wanted to write poetry.

Why don't you go back
to your home, O fairy?
Did I clip your wings?

Not for sale.How
far it was? My liberation
from the shadow of the lips?

Ashened, a fakir wanted
to give away his precious jewel
to an unknown star.

It’s a night of warm summer
beams, a time of change
is in the air, past seasons
greets us with their kisses.

The heat stirs,curling,
foggy wisps of rain.
Shrouds of wild flowers
cover the ground.

A midnight dream of ashened
trees, and realities part
slightly, to weaken the
other seasons making way
for summers beating heart.

Now a day of brooding sun,
I go down to the river
where it’s warm and green
for there is where spring
lays down for a nap,
I promised her a farewell.

© 2019 By Amanda Shelton

I leapt as the krackle
of fire
Popped and spit spark
Ashened the hand held hopes of the poker that punctured the flesh with heat of desired lushly hips
dripping moist in lust

There's sadness in my bones
Rotting away at my soul
Tears fall like acid rain
Burning my face 
with ashened skin frail and flaky
The idea crosses my mind
a thin line won't make that much of a deal
I don't typically cross lines 
Especially those I set myself
I miss the feeling of the cold blade
The sharpness of the edge
Rest against my damp skin
The urge to feel gripes at my weaknesses
I have desires unmet with guilt
Drink after drink 
Lie after lie