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MS Lynch Jun 2013
Sweetheart silent killer manifests all inside my mind,
The moon’s a magnifying glass as it rises in the sky.
At 2 a.m. it giggles, a thick knife in its teeth,
And drops it down into my head as I lie underneath.
The glass I keep so carefully to remain ***** in the day,
Shatters and releases a burning, breathing self-assay.
A kaleidoscope catoptric, all frets out in the free,
A band of thought-filled thieves invade to steal my sleep from me.
Tossing and turning beneath the stars, I’ll wait til I burn out,
At night my brain is flooding and in daylight there’s a drought.
Lullaby myself with tears, wake up way too late,
Stuck as an insomniac, suicide’s sweet bait.
I wish I was an autumn leaf, I’d float into the sky,
And every fall I’d have the opportunity to die.
I don’t want to die, I just want to dream,
Instead of replaying my sick realities that make me want to scream.
But this will still all stay the same as my brain and blood run white,
I’ll feed myself with Satan’s sugar, the depressed primrose of the night.
R Ryumka Oct 2013
Bring me silky stars,
and their ****** shine;
Bring me that cruel moon,
so far from being mine.

Bring me those bright clouds,
conforming to no law;
Bring me velvet sky,
lay it on the floor.

Bring me burning suns,
too bright for me to bear;
Bring me the north wind,
and her tangled silver hair.

Bring me the harsh sea,
her waves and curves alike;
Bring me the horizon,
and with her the soft night.
R Ryumka Oct 2013
I am a tumbleweed blown
across terracotta plains:

You are a supernova
brightly bursting into flame.

You burn for a lifetime,
For all to see,

While I drift along,
Just the wind and me.
brandon nagley Jun 2015
Her megacosm luminaries
Streaketh the Spanish fairy
A kismet of no forget's
All clean
Sanitary
No caution here
Take off thy wordly shoes
Cashin's shalt not be rationed
Jazz and rock and roll blues
Instant sanity
Ground to kava beans
Queens and kings
Hopes and dreams
Splendered
******* Dusk's
To smell her musk
To break her unease
To dry her tears
To wipe her feet
To crown her empress
To shine her in
To get a glimpse of heaven
To forget all mine sins
To create a totality
Made of ourn own cerebration
Catoptric intellectual gifts
A boom of sonic
Mass concentration!!!!
Arthur Habsburg Apr 2020
There is infinity in our words
In our minds
And in our numbers
There is infinity in this sentence
In more ways than one
How do I know?
I know because I know that you know that I know that you know that I know that you know that I know etc
There’s comparatively little paper & ink
So I’ll keep this short:
It creates the problems that it solves, in infinite ways
It giveth & it taketh away
Yet somehow we are still left with it
Or in it , I should say
For who are we without it?
It sanctions the question
Sponsors the answers
It seems to enjoy speculation
It doesn’t stop
Yet it never starts
It is the original contradiction
Which bears our calendars
Winds out clocks
Confounds us with death
It is too big to be invisible
And too small to be palpable
And it holds whole worlds in between
All sorts of worlds, all of them,
Yet it is nothing more than nothing
Turned inside out,
An impostor,
An enchanter desperate for subjects,
A master of mirrors with light & shadow that seizes us in catoptric curls,
An impostor wanted
For questioning:
We have scoured snowy horizons amid snow storms,
Amid sand storm we have ploughed sandy horizons,
We found footsteps in sand,
Shadows on snow
Which we failed to recognize as our own,
We followed imprints left by windy stars
We thought we were perennial nomads just like them,
We called out behind closed eyes into glow-wormed horizons
And with abdication, fear & envy we took the echoes for something else:
An impostor
Yet between the calls
Within resonance
There was silence
Impossible silence
Suspended silence
Differentiating silence
Connecting silence
Silence that does not change yet accommodates out whims
Silence that cannot be spoken yet remains a word
Silence that promotes the hunger of hope,
That drives anticipation,
Silence that is so vast it is impersonal
Yet so finely tuned it apprehends the one
Silence that is something more than everything turned inside out:
A nothing that confound
A grounding nothing
An unnerving nothing
A nothing that is vital,
And the more we hear this nothing the less nothing we hear:
- Patterns of eternity
- Internal symbolism
- Longing
Yet if we were to linger forever
How things would lose their power to move us.

— The End —