"blenching" poems
I admit the briar
Entangled in my hair
Did not injure me;
My blenching and trembling,
Nothing but dissembling,
Nothing but coquetry.
I long for truth, and yet
I cannot stay from that
My better self disowns,
For a man's attention
Brings such satisfaction
To the craving in my bones.
Brightness that I pull back
From the Zodiac,
Why those questioning eyes
That are fixed upon me?
What can they do but shun me
If empty night replies?
8.1k
I would die to say here, truthfully,
splaying my arms round as the sky,
this, this! is how it is possible to live
and not sink under a faint surface,
and not run, windfaced, against a distance,
and not lay down, weary as nothing.
This is how it is possible for us
to look without shaking skin or heads
or blenching eyes, writhing like mangrove
limbs in this incomprehensible slough.
To live as discovery of life and still not know
if ever we were born, or when, if ever, we’ll have
died.
But to you, I cannot say this, truthfully.
My person is not truthful. It has a voice
you hear through air in the daytime, I am
not truthful to you. Else I would be
fringes of all time
stretched. You cannot see me, truthfully.
I am ground movement, just under, welling
untouchable imperative unattainable.
Are you bound by the point to create
your own destruction, as I? Then proclaim it
yourself, truthfully, waving your fresh
roots out to me, soil juiced and ripely plucked.
I will try to remember crossing the plains from
dawn till dusk, before I made the world fragile.
If I do, I will dissolve, and will come out your
breath, speaking truthfully. But will you remember
too? So that, disappeared, I may find you?
I would not have to die, then, truthfully.
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 6:37 PM UTC
For the greater good he cast himself
Like a book between books on the shelf
Not once a single page is shown
For the greater good kept it on his own
For the greater good he lived in lies
To imprison the truth haunting inside
Crippled by the paddles of cruel reality
For the greater good, blenching identity
Now at the tip of end, oh child of lost
Tired of living in a life that is close
For the greater good, stripped from the flesh
For the greater good, for the greater good
Mar 14, 2016
Mar 14, 2016 at 1:34 AM UTC
Once in a nightmare,
I admit the fear that entangled me.
Those apocalyptic eyes,
reciting commands in a not so accustomed husky croaks.
The mystifying boundless land,
niched with surreal inhabitants.
Perched nearby a bird of passage,
forlorn, dolefully singing an inexplicable melancholy.
The blustery sky was all there, bountifully bolstering up
An underlying enmity of the tempestuous outlast.
No clue that could dispel the gusty gloom utopianly.
Even the all-curing outpour grew only cypress around,
then what sustaining hope to lay trust on.
And all this has left me to the indifferent solitude ,
blenching for response to my unresolved perplexion.
I long for truth that brings such satisfaction,
to the craving in my bones.
What can i do but shun me!
Until i carve out these words.....
Jun 8, 2018
Jun 8, 2018 at 5:36 AM UTC