"bulwark" poems
stranded in
the beauty of her throat shunted
her preference
a short drop
in a bulwark twisting knot
a hanged ghastly pendent
her feet arching desperately in search of a floor
they will never find
obedient!
yet
her face
a hideous insubordination
she dissolves like tropical butter
a screaming silence
a falling prayer
shuddering
with downward sloping limbs
she
blue
hemorrhaging
eyes wobbled
bulging to break into paradise
tumbling
like a dizzied cyclops
as numb lipped jutting howls
turn cement
always willing to help
he scums
for her
in pulsing heaves
of beatific gush
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 10:46 AM UTC
I keep my answers small and keep them near;
Big questions bruised my mind but still I let
Small answers be a bulwark to my fear.
The huge abstractions I keep from the light;
Small things I handled and caressed and loved.
I let the stars assume the whole of night.
But the big answers clamoured to be moved
Into my life. Their great audacity
Shouted to be acknowledged and believed.
Even when all small answers build up to
Protection of my spirit, I still hear
Big answers striving for their overthrow
And all the great conclusions coming near.
4.9k
MESSENGER
Now at the Seventh Gate the seventh chief,
Thy proper mother's son, I will announce,
What fortune for this city, for himself,
With curses he invoketh:--on the walls
Ascending, heralded as king, to stand,
With paeans for their capture; then with thee
To fight, and either slaying near thee die,
Or thee, who wronged him, chasing forth alive,
Requite in kind his proper banishment.
Such words he shouts, and calls upon the gods
Who o'er his race preside and Fatherland,
With gracious eye to look upon his prayers.
A well-wrought buckler, newly forged, he bears,
With twofold blazon riveted thereon,
For there a woman leads, with sober mien,
A mailed warrior, enchased in gold;
Justice her style, and thus the legend speaks:--
'This man I will restore, and he shall hold
The city and his father's palace homes.'
Such the devices of the hostile chiefs.
'Tis for thyself to choose whom thou wilt send;
But never shalt thou blame my herald-words.
To guide the rudder of the State be thine!
ETEOCLES
O heaven-demented race of Oedipus,
My race, tear-fraught, detested of the gods!
Alas, our father's curses now bear fruit.
But it beseems not to lament or weep,
Lest lamentations sadder still be born.
For him, too truly Polyneikes named,--
What his device will work we soon shall know;
Whether his braggart words, with madness fraught,
Gold-blazoned on his shield, shall lead him back.
Hath Justice communed with, or claimed him hers,
Guided his deeds and thoughts, this might have been;
But neither when he fled the darksome womb,
Or in his childhood, or in youth's fair prime,
Or when the hair thick gathered on his chin,
Hath Justice communed with, or claimed him hers,
Nor in this outrage on his Fatherland
Deem I she now beside him deigns to stand.
For Justice would in sooth belie her name,
Did she with this all-daring man consort.
In these regards confiding will I go,
Myself will meet him. Who with better right?
Brother to brother, chieftain against chief,
Foeman to foe, I'll stand. Quick, bring my spear,
My greaves, and armor, bulwark against stones.
4.8k
the child's house
domicile of estrangements
his parents dressed him like a little girl
against his will
a pox of gender confusion
glum aura
he ascended by violence
and lived through the logic of a mirage
except for copulating with demons
which of course
was ruined by
the good Christians
they who always hate ***
not wanting to be reminded
they are animals too
their heaven withheld
their halo's sullied
the vulnerability of desire their crime
Eros a disgrace
still beating their genitals until a wicked thunder
the pro-creative
an affirmation of paradox
between the continuity of life
and the dread of death
***** resurrections
a second *******
**** flood
without redemption
Satan standing on their necks
while God pulls them up by their hair
rebels to reason
bewitchers of wit
deranged by the myth
of dolls
wood and plastic painted corpses staring
and a blossom throated Goddess
ham handed monkey fist
jerking off in search of a bulls eye anyway
eyes bleeding on bare legs; lifting a white cotton dress
a bulwark of erections
like canons blasting puce spats
under his frilly skirt; a red rain
haunted by dead girls dancing
like homeless hip bones sway
a bewildered phantasm
in a doll house dream
Jul 23, 2017
Jul 23, 2017 at 2:32 PM UTC
Hear ye my statute, men of Attica--
Ye who of bloodshed judge this primal cause;
Yea, and in future age shall Aegeus's host
Revere this court of jurors. This the hill
Of Ares, seat of Amazons, their tent,
What time 'gainst Theseus, breathing hate, they came,
Waging fierce battle, and their towers upreared,
A counter-fortress to Acropolis;--
To Ares they did sacrifice, and hence
This rock is titled Areopagus.
Here then shall sacred Awe, to Fear allied,
By day and night my lieges hold from wrong,
Save if themselves do innovate my laws,
If thou with mud, or influx base, bedim
The sparkling water, nought thou'lt find to drink.
Nor Anarchy, nor Tyrant's lawless rule
Commend I to my people's reverence;--
Nor let them banish from their city Fear;
For who 'mong men, uncurbed by fear, is just?
Thus holding Awe in seemly reverence,
A bulwark for your State shall ye possess,
A safeguard to protect your city walls,
Such as no mortals otherwhere can boast,
Neither in Scythia, nor in Pelops's realm.
Behold! This Court august, untouched by bribes,
Sharp to avenge, wakeful for those who sleep,
Establish I, a bulwark to this land.
This charge, extending to all future time,
I give my lieges. Meet it as ye rise,
Assume the pebbles, and decide the cause,
Your oath revering. All hath now been said.
3.6k
Laboriously beleaguering hypercritically meticulous hypotaxis apomixis strive
Rainbow mare aura roan exude emote derive
Syntactical propinquity habitation harbinger harangue stoic hive
Colloquialism vernaculars prurient adage jargon idiom clichés jive
Mirador bartizan panorama stalwart bastion bulwark tableau live
Canny cleaver crafty cunning furtive sneaky stealthy connive
Poignant cogent piquant ephemeral effulgence temporal refraction arrive
Paradoxical dichotomy greaves gauntlets gamut catalyst abstracts survive
Hectic mayhem , proximity parameter perimeter peripherals , annihilate rive
Zingy zesty zany zenithal azimuth entity zeal alive
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 9:11 PM UTC
treacherously torrid and torrential torrents of totally tangential tumultuous tortuous ; tyrannically torturous adjunct viably salient seethe.
procrastinating pandemic plenipotentiary prosthesis ; prosaically pragmatic parenthetical predication predilection premise prognostication
panoramic tableau preternatural propensity proclivity prestidigitation gesticulation :
gyration guidon ; ghastly gruesome grotesque hideously horrible horrendous heinous
grotty gnarly
diabolically maniacal dementia brusque macabre abrupt
awful
amalgamated anathema analysis agnate aggregate aberrance
somatalogy virtuoso cognate obduracy
worse
rudiment ebullience , confluence effluent effusion affluent , prolific profusity opulence , cogent fecund secular secund , recondite redolence abstrusely obstreperous mesomerism resonance resilience
protractive perpetude futurity
blither blandishing blabber burnishing boresome blahs
lithe blithe jabber prattle chatter tithe
morose morsel moribundness
stolid stoic
stalwart bastion bulwark
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 5:45 PM UTC
(Tune: “Londonderry Air")
Here in the vista of three hundred years we stand,
Our torches kindled by thy guiding light.
A Pilgrim host, we come to thee from every land,
With joyful hopes, well girded by thy might.
Connecticut, beloved State, all hail to thee;
Tower of might against a flaming sky,
The heav’ns resound with praise, ring out with victory.
God speed you on and all your glories sanctify.
Through summer heat and winter cold thy honor stands,
A bulwark gainst the mighty hosts of sin,
Till love shall spread to earth’s most distant island strands,
And Heaven’s righteous ways o’er evil win.
Connecticut, advancing through the changing years,
May knowledge guide thy sons and daughters fair,
And honor, truth and wisdom banish all our fears,
Connecticut, while we thy many glories share!
The years shall pass across thy mighty mountain walls,
Against the gold of every setting sun,
A newer host, well-born within thy ancient halls,
Shall bear thy standards of new glories won.
Connecticut, our fathers kept thy honor fair,
Thy reach of love they widened to the sea.
We shall keep faith, where they fought; we, too, shall dare,
Connecticut, for aye we pledge our hearts to thee.
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 9:00 AM UTC
When i tried to cut for the first time,
it wasn't because i wanted to feel alive.
I cut because i wanted someone to notice and ask if i was okay.
i wanted them to be worried,
i wanted them to see i wasn't as happy or strong as they thought i was.
I wanted love.
The second time was a fail.
I was angry and sad.
i wanted to break through the bulwark that kept my veins safe…
But my skin isn't like paper,it's not easy to cut...so i stopped.
Im a week clean…and im pretty sure im never going to try to cut again…
But that doesn't mean im better…it just means i need to find another way to…give myself pleasure.
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 3:48 AM UTC
Drawing upon the core of my being, I muster up the strength to survive.
Stepping into another plane of existence; one in which I have no capacity to resist toxicity; I am vulnerable.
A juggernaut lies at the end of the daylight hours; soft in temper and yet scourging in it’s pronouncements.
This is a being with no malicious intent; a sentinel guarding the sacred caliber of a spirit under divine instruction.
Darkness pervades in the form of light; I can sense a façade of purity within the confines of my bones.
This fortress that I have traversed into is infected with a murky haze looming just above the skies.
Escape is my only option; if I remain here it will be my demise.
When the juggernaut arrives, trepidation will electrify my soul; it will animate me.
Fear consumes me with every waking second I’m in it’s midst.
-This gargantuan being understands-
Empathy cannot save me however, once the utterances of ancient spirit inflict scathing wounds upon me in the name of humanity.
Attempting to rescue me from the tumult of the planet does not obscure the pain and heartache of compassionate words.
Wisdom lies within this walking tome; statue-esque maiden.
I have used my discernment as a bulwark; protection from wounds of sensitivity lies in detachment from myself.
I have come to realize that supplication does have a purpose.
-To plea with the remnants of a long forgotten world-
I am overwhelmed with euphoria when I realize that my fears have been nothing but stymie.
Fleeting in nature; they whispered to me of my incapacity to reach the heart of a relic growing wiser by the minute.
There is no judgment to be passed and I have been emancipated from the shackles of a foreshadowing past.
It leads to my genesis; the day when I shall be lifted up past all my iniquity.
Until that day, I await the metamorphosis of an ailing planet.
The Juggernaut does have a purpose.
This maiden shall be a beacon amongst the tumult of the seasons.
I shall look to her as a guide and honesty is what shall pervade from her lips.
In trueness she shall bestow her utterances upon me.
Like the sweetest honey, her words will befall my eardrums.
Internalization spurs a chemical reaction within me.
I am changing.
I have been enveloped by blinding rays of light.
The darkness is no match for the spiritual sinew that I possess.
I am growing by the second… I am growing prayer by prayer.
-Amen-
By Iridescently Efflorescent
Jul 29, 2012
Jul 29, 2012 at 12:30 AM UTC
( Sonnet )
Poppies, wild in a quarry,
Orange, brighter than sun,
Thrusting thoroughly gravel,
Bold as soul crossing sticks
Into ****** pagan heydays,
A crop of colours branding
The loose stipend of stones,
One windy trail-flare shock,
A bulwark of stars, so laden
On landed, maiden shores,
The first batillion breaking,
By mighty petal, prim hands
Fiercly alive atop the lifeless,
Gravely low, defeated soot.
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 5:16 PM UTC
Drawing upon the core of my being, I muster up the strength to survive.
Stepping into another plane of existence; one in which I have no capacity to resist toxicity; I am vulnerable.
A juggernaut lies at the end of the daylight hours; soft in temper and yet scourging in it’s pronouncements.
This is a being with no malicious intent; a sentinel guarding the sacred caliber of a spirit under divine instruction.
Darkness pervades in the form of light; I can sense a façade of purity within the confines of my bones.
This fortress that I have traversed into is infected with a murky haze looming just above the skies.
Escape is my only option; if I remain here it will be my demise.
When the juggernaut arrives, trepidation will electrify my soul; it will animate me.
Fear consumes me with every waking second I’m in it’s midst.
-This gargantuan being understands-
Empathy cannot save me however, once the utterances of ancient spirit inflict scathing wounds upon me in the name of humanity.
Attempting to rescue me from the tumult of the planet does not obscure the pain and heartache of compassionate words.
Wisdom lies within this walking tome; statue-esque maiden.
I have used my discernment as a bulwark; protection from wounds of sensitivity lies in detachment from myself.
I have come to realize that supplication does have a purpose.
-To plea with the remnants of a long forgotten world-
I am overwhelmed with euphoria when I realize that my fears have been nothing but stymie.
Fleeting in nature; they whispered to me of my incapacity to reach the heart of a relic growing wiser by the minute.
There is no judgment to be passed and I have been emancipated from the shackles of a foreshadowing past.
It leads to my genesis; the day when I shall be lifted up past all my iniquity.
Until that day, I await the metamorphosis of an ailing planet.
The Juggernaut does have a purpose.
This maiden shall be a beacon amongst the tumult of the seasons.
I shall look to her as a guide and honesty is what shall pervade from her lips.
In trueness she shall bestow her utterances upon me.
Like the sweetest honey, her words will befall my eardrums.
Internalization spurs a chemical reaction within me.
I am changing.
I have been enveloped by blinding rays of light.
The darkness is no match for the spiritual sinew that I possess.
I am growing by the second… I am growing prayer by prayer.
-Amen-
By Iridescently Efflorescent
Jul 29, 2012
Jul 29, 2012 at 12:30 AM UTC
A friend of mine asks,
“Why do you only ever write about romance lately?”
Well, the answer is quite simple, really. It is because I have tasted it.
I tasted it when my eyes first drank the light from his grace when he stood tall above me
His saturnine windows called out to me behind flesh curtains whenever he spoke, ever asking me to join him in his ecstasy
He, from a distance, darted towards me and pressed our sides together—letting myself melt in the velveteen touch of fabric skin
There was a shower of momentary light that night but only his radiance did I bask in.
I tasted it in the heart of the stone city where usurpers of old stood on polished stone
The Bulwark’s adobe reach embraced our reverie as memories from sleep stories become reality
He, in the confines of that venerable fortress, made me vulnerable for I was secure in his arms
His fingers are in between my own like woven mithril unbreakable lest he broke its bond himself
It is in this kingdom of carven stone and handmade walls that he sang of ardor with a dragon’s petrifying gaze.
I tasted it in yuletide storms where men and women waged war with happiness and grief
When the armies of pain and suffering fell at our clasped hands and cheeks red from amorous verve you said you were to journey home
But you did not let go of my grasp
With me you remained and in your arms I stayed
As the bitter winds of bigoted mouths blew, as the fire from damnation is declared by self-righteous souls, we stood fast in the storm.
I tasted it when he said our love he could no longer endure
There we sat, on a tarnished vehicle, as the last of our love gave into rust
What is frightening to me peeked from his saturnine eyes and he closed his curtains shut for the downpour of despondency was to come
We flooded our façades and the rivers quaked our emotional integrity
He held my hand for one final chance before we ripped our wrappings forever apart and he kissed me tender
Our lips made love—like the first they ever met in weathered heat—for the last time.
I tasted it when I told him “Just do so, when your appetite roars to love me again,” and until now I am waiting.
So, why do I ever only write about romance lately?
Well, the reason is quite complicated, really. But–but it is because I’ve tasted it.
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 2:00 PM UTC
i have no words for emptiness
i'm a bulwark of clots and knots
death is a *****
in a party mask
her seduction a cruel bite
we have always lived for
nakedness on a pyre
makes the man
the bodyless are toasting at a college breakfast party
in the netherworld
of new birthed astral lights
the dead living
somersaulting like fantasmal flux
while we the living dead
gimp through labyrinths time-space
marking spired hands of a clock
that *****
like a black glove
towards endless white-knuckle struggles
no matter our destiny
in a dream of forms
like run on *****
a truth only the dead know
Jul 2, 2018
Jul 2, 2018 at 4:40 PM UTC
For Roberta and her son
You were like the sunshine limited you were silver gleaming the favorite of all the nights dreaming but at
The crossing of now and forever you ceased traveling this dark world it was the most spectacular light
Show the combination of a star burst and the dazzle of the most shinning moonlight that explodes over
Head and wonderful bright pieces shine and fall all about and then the darkness closes all the light out
We are spectators that stand on a hill as we observe a great dark ominous cloud fills the low land icy
Texture is thick this foe carries the facts that sorrow can’t be averted touch is the first harrowing alarm
By her voice that filled you with natural wonder it was embracing it had the telling way of
Settling like a gentle breeze after a storm assuring that all is well to hold each other was the
Making of a bulwark that had its origin in the most gentle and soft moods that refreshed from
The inside out no comfort is found in the empty wind nothing of sight or sound just the affixed
Preeminent knowing that all contact is lost love lays on the shore a pile of boards and a broken
Mast nothing but ship wrecked love and hope for the future with you the picture was complete
You were the bestowing flowing one my heart was turned to stone my mouth lost it desire to
Speak with deadened eyes I look upon this world then when only her face was barely visible
And mostly just ghostly white except for the dark outlines of her eyes nose and mouth and a
Few deep dark strands of hair that gave her an artful beautiful presence then from somewhere
Where only love knows a voice said she will be waiting my heart that was jarred from its natural
Place it was foreign to my body a strange thing now since losing the tender recompense that
You had so generously instilled in the whole of my life I knew the path ahead meant
Reconciliation time was not any longer a cruel abridgement but a course of one being hallowed
By one above beyond my reach are such wonders for now with exception she breaths in me
Truth reality that holds no comparison in this life she is my guide without equal before we knew
Common trials now we behold the future that outshines all of the hopes we had in this life
Crisscrossing the universe being in a state of pure love enriches and surpasses all prior
Existence
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 12:03 PM UTC
For Roberta and her son
You were like the sunshine limited you were silver gleaming the favorite of all the nights dreaming but at
The crossing of now and forever you ceased traveling this dark world it was the most spectacular light
Show the combination of a star burst and the dazzle of the most shinning moonlight that explodes over
Head and wonderful bright pieces shine and fall all about and then the darkness closes all the light out
We are spectators that stand on a hill as we observe a great dark ominous cloud fills the low land icy
Texture is thick this foe carries the facts that sorrow can’t be averted touch is the first harrowing alarm
By her voice that filled you with natural wonder it was embracing it had the telling way of
Settling like a gentle breeze after a storm assuring that all is well to hold each other was the
Making of a bulwark that had its origin in the most gentle and soft moods that refreshed from
The inside out no comfort is found in the empty wind nothing of sight or sound just the affixed
Preeminent knowing that all contact is lost love lays on the shore a pile of boards and a broken
Mast nothing but ship wrecked love and hope for the future with you the picture was complete
You were the bestowing flowing one my heart was turned to stone my mouth lost it desire to
Speak with deadened eyes I look upon this world then when only her face was barely visible
And mostly just ghostly white except for the dark outlines of her eyes nose and mouth and a
Few deep dark strands of hair that gave her an artful beautiful presence then from somewhere
Where only love knows a voice said she will be waiting my heart that was jarred from its natural
Place it was foreign to my body a strange thing now since losing the tender recompense that
You had so generously instilled in the whole of my life I knew the path ahead meant
Reconciliation time was not any longer a cruel abridgement but a course of one being hallowed
By one above beyond my reach are such wonders for now with exception she breaths in me
Truth reality that holds no comparison in this life she is my guide without equal before we knew
Common trials now we behold the future that outshines all of the hopes we had in this life
Crisscrossing the universe being in a state of pure love enriches and surpasses all prior
Existence
Jan 8, 2013
Jan 8, 2013 at 5:30 PM UTC
I know of no man, throughout the history of mankind capable of escaping the duality of existence. That of Spirit and Flesh; Ether and Clay. Except maybe those of fictional characters imagined from the minds of drunkards and wretched souls . I myself have sought out ways to escape this madness only to find myself behind the bulwark of my inevitable being, but I now urge myself to delve deeper, deeper into the hole of darkness away from the gleaming ideals of perfection.
I too am wretched, drunken, and my lips, darkened.
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 8:30 AM UTC
I find myself stuck.
Unsure if what I told you
Was a mistake.
Unsure if you really don't
Think less of me.
If you're just saying that so as not to upset me.
Oh well.
I can't change what I've done.
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 4:10 AM UTC
“Suppliants of the Hearth”
~AESCHYLUS
With suppliant olive branch, to what kinder land could Man return?
Whose cities and earth of brightened water
Olympian lords, ye ancient gods below
Whose end possessed the tomb, though Savior Zeus
Keeps pious souls and yet receives
(respectful in the airy lands of men)
Those suppliants of the Hearth, rehearsed!
Though for the smarmy scorn of ****** men
Before the draught tastes the dregs of waste
Return their ships upon the brothing seas
And wintry stings of hurricanes the braved
Pressed on by lightnings, thunders, cast upon
More wild of winds, by facing life to death
Undo what wrong the law forbids
Cousins of pain who lie in strain upon unwilling beds!
Who shows the faithful witness
Still unknown by natives here
As unexpected to the false
Unknown upon who know and last at length!
Meloncoly more of song than Ionian strings
My heart unused to tears on Nile’s cheek
We gather bloom of sorrow
Anxious friends
Someone in search of strength
As exiles, far away on an empty mist!
Hear then, ancestral gods
And kindly look upon the tears of justice lost
With hating people, nothing left to lawlessness undecreed-
Our union justly met!
Behold the Heavens
Invincible in bulwark
Touring always the lasting weary
Among men, respect of gods!
Now will be done
Traced easy in the Earth
Uncompromised of fortune
And blackness through the hearts of men!
Dec 10, 2011
Dec 10, 2011 at 10:47 AM UTC
For Roberta and her son
You were like the sunshine limited you were silver gleaming the favorite of all the nights dreaming but at
The crossing of now and forever you ceased traveling this dark world it was the most spectacular light
Show the combination of a star burst and the dazzle of the most shinning moonlight that explodes over
Head and wonderful bright pieces shine and fall all about and then the darkness closes all the light out
We are spectators that stand on a hill as we observe a great dark ominous cloud fills the low land icy
Texture is thick this foe carries the facts that sorrow can’t be averted touch is the first harrowing alarm
By her voice that filled you with natural wonder it was embracing it had the telling way of
Settling like a gentle breeze after a storm assuring that all is well to hold each other was the
Making of a bulwark that had its origin in the most gentle and soft moods that refreshed from
The inside out no comfort is found in the empty wind nothing of sight or sound just the affixed
Preeminent knowing that all contact is lost love lays on the shore a pile of boards and a broken
Mast nothing but ship wrecked love and hope for the future with you the picture was complete
You were the bestowing flowing one my heart was turned to stone my mouth lost it desire to
Speak with deadened eyes I look upon this world then when only her face was barely visible
And mostly just ghostly white except for the dark outlines of her eyes nose and mouth and a
Few deep dark strands of hair that gave her an artful beautiful presence then from somewhere
Where only love knows a voice said she will be waiting my heart that was jarred from its natural
Place it was foreign to my body a strange thing now since losing the tender recompense that
You had so generously instilled in the whole of my life I knew the path ahead meant
Reconciliation time was not any longer a cruel abridgement but a course of one being hallowed
By one above beyond my reach are such wonders for now with exception she breaths in me
Truth reality that holds no comparison in this life she is my guide without equal before we knew
Common trials now we behold the future that outshines all of the hopes we had in this life
Crisscrossing the universe being in a state of pure love enriches and surpasses all prior
Existence
Jan 8, 2013
Jan 8, 2013 at 5:30 PM UTC
When I have borne in memory what has tamed
Great Nations, how ennobling thoughts depart
When men change swords for ledgers, and desert
The student’s bower for gold, some fears unnamed
I had, my Country!—am I to be blamed?
Now, when I think of thee, and what thou art,
Verily, in the bottom of my heart,
Of those unfilial fears I am ashamed.
For dearly must we prize thee; we who find
In thee a bulwark for the cause of men;
And I by my affection was beguiled:
What wonder if a Poet now and then,
Among the many movements of his mind,
Felt for thee as a lover or a child!
1.2k
Take my love as a shield:
To protect you in times of strife
From the rages of war,
From the sands of time.
Take my love as a shield:
Bulwark of the ages,
Stalwart of the weak,
Aegis of support.
This shield does not break:
Unyielding fortification,
Knight of the rose,
Knight against night.
This shield does not shatter:
Impenetrable fortress,
Sight of safety,
Home of hearth and heart.
Take my love as a shield:
For you I live,
For you I protect,
For you I adore.
Take my love as a shield
For it’s all I can give.
It’s worth fighting for;
It’s worth dying for.
Even if I break and shatter,
My fortifications crumble
And my fortress is overcome
Take my love as a shield
To protect you from my night
For I am a weak knight;
I am at war with myself-
Take my love as a shield.
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 5:40 AM UTC
I’m tired of watching.
Gaping at this cinematic reality as it slowly sinks into my sensitive skin like hot rocks on a not-so-relaxing Sunday morning.
Disappointment after disappointment, I tap my foot with impatience, awaiting a ship that never docks, yet instead, tantalizes me as it nears the harbor but changes its course midway.
I’m limp, dangling over the wishing well in my bathroom that swallows as I heave; attempting to rid my body of all my pathetic hopes and expectations and watch as they are flushed down the toilet.
You are a dagger and I have closed my eyes, preparing myself to die; allowing my flesh to surround your malicious blade as you pierce agonizingly through my shattering heart.
I am (or was) a majestic sailboat and you are a bulwark placed dangerously in my path, resulting in a complete wreckage causing my sail to sink miserably to the bottom of the ocean.
Tired of seeing.
Watching each face blossom with happiness as my stems overflow with jealousy; I stare at the reflection of my forlorn face, painfully plucking each of my withering petals and allowing them to fall to the ground in defeat.
Feeling my chakras disintegrate as my large intestine absorbs my heart that melted at the sight of your hands entwined with ones that aren’t mine.
I’m suffocating, gasping for air as I hug myself until I am strangling my waist, searching for that comforting lungful of compassion.
Tired of noticing.
Releasing my last breath, I let go. Allowing my body to be consumed by the numbness that started at my heart as it froze.
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 7:10 AM UTC
There’s a funny taste in my mouth.
My eyelids are glued shut. This can’t be right,
It’s not like I had much to drink last night.
Just a glass or two of much needed blood,
A sip to stop the ever-growing flood
Of bills and work and more bills and more work.
Five times seven.
Thirty-five.
Five time seven feels better.
The soft bed digs gravestones into my back;
A dull fire, a gentle kick, a boneless crack.
An itch starts on my side and crawls down low.
My fingers claw where my shoulder can’t go.
Left and right and left.
Stop.
The pain again.
There’s a funny taste in my mouth.
There’s a monster in the mirror.
Canyons of worry crease a trapped youth
Too tired to care
About the red-eyed, bearded, fat demon
Caught in the glaring stare.
There’s a funny taste in my mouth.
Spits of blood and white ocean spray
Strike the porcelain, scrubbed away
By the force of released denial;
A genie leaving a white plastic bottle.
There’s a funny taste in my mouth.
Tingly.
There’s a lie in my mouth.
A denial of advancing age,
A bulwark to encroaching disease
Set against rotten cores.
There’s a lie in my mouth.
I try not to care.
The waterfall washes away the ache
In a cascade of warmth. The lake
At my feet fills with white foamy hills
Surrounding a naked giant’s ankles.
For a brief time I forget about
The bills and work and work and bills.
My clothes are tinged with sadness,
Their misbegotten brothers don’t dress
With them anymore; so set in their way
They can’t see their youthful crimes today.
I try not to care.
My chain smiles at my dress,
Approval sits smug on her face
As I pass the test.
I try not to care.
Boxes tied in bandages for a wounded ego
Are passed piecemeal for a so-so
Attempt at gratitude.
I don’t care.
Where’s the gun?
I retreat to work, laden with gifts unwanted
That make more bills more work
And drift through the day.
There’s a funny taste in my mouth.
Five times seven.
Thirty-five.
Five time seven feels better.
Thirty-five.
Happy birthday, you’re alive.
A filled cake I don’t like.
Presents for my dad.
My son bought me my dad’s socks.
There’s a funny taste in my mouth.
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 1:03 PM UTC