"ceasing" poems
A clock ticks time by tirelessly
Gears winding like twines of string
With quaint clicking quickly quieting
Until finally time stands still
Broken glass of a smooth clock face
Gears halting in deformity
Glistening shards like the sands of time
Ceasing in their downward flight
A once beating ticking heart of life
Now is lost within a sleepless night
Once a momentum to continued light
Now falls to the ringing silence's might
Time broken into shattered deaths
Until there is simply nothing left
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 8:44 PM UTC
1
It was one of those clear,sharp.mustless days
That summer and man delight in.
Never had Heaven seemed quite so high,
Never had earth seemed quite so green,
Never had the world seemed quite so clean
Or sky so nigh.
And I heard the Deity’s voice in
The sun’s warm rays,
And the white cloud’s intricate maze,
And the blue sky’s beautiful sheen.
2
I looked to the heavens and saw him there,—
A black speck downward drifting,
Nearer and nearer he steadily sailed,
Nearer and nearer he slid through space,
In an unending aerial race,
This sailor who hailed
From the Clime of the Clouds.—Ever shifting,
On billows of air
And the blue sky seemed never so fair,
And the rest of the world kept pace.
3
On the white of his head the sun flashed bright;
And he battled the wind with wide pinions,
Clearer and clearer the gale whistled loud,
Clearer and clearer he came into view,—
Bigger and blacker against the blue.
Then a dragon of cloud
Gathering all its minions
Rushed to the fight,
And swallowed him up in a bite;
And the sky lay empty clear through.
4
Long I watched. And at last afar
Caught sight of a speck in the vastness;
Ever smaller,ever decreasing,
Ever drifting,drifting awayInto the endless realms of day;
Finally ceasing.
So into Heaven’s vast fastness
Vanished that bar
Of black,as a fluttering star
Goes out while still on its way.
5
So I lost him. But I shall always see
In my mind
The warm,yellow sun,and the ether free;
The vista’s sky,and the white cloud trailing,
Trailing behind,—
And below the young earth’s summer-green arbors,
And on high the eagle,—sailing,sailing
Into far skies and unknown harbors
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Vaginas are all shapes & sizes
Not many vary from the fold
there are very few surprises
Seems nature's gone & set it's mould
But the ****** has such allure
A pull on man to lesbian alike
A calling so strong and pure
Enough to turn a straight girl ****
Is it the promise of warmth & touch
A memory of a time inside
The scent of our matriarch's crotch
Draws us to those legs held wide?
It was nature's way of ensuring
The human race continues on
So that our presence here's enduring
Never ceasing. On & on
Instinct has been subject to a ploy
To harbour this hypnotic power
Sell it back, a high class toy
Put to work this delicate flower
Control the basic urge of man
The essential need to drink & eat
Once you create the ultimate fan
Then the surplus you do deplete
Until it feels that a simple look
Purchased, from a few feet away
Is as good as one hard ****
Copulation they do delay
And so vaginas became a mystery
Sold back to all who do desire
Remember to look back in history
The vaginas are for more than hire
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 3:14 PM UTC
A steady cadence
pulsing in a heart beat
like rhythm, voices
and strummed instruments
all in harmonized concert,
An orchestral multitude,
of frogs and crickets,
never tiring or ceasing,
How many must there be,
to render such a cacophony?
Sustained and loud enough
to keep city folk wide awake.
Nature's Music of the night,
should you but choose to listen.
How do they do that, all night
with absolutely no intermission?
A crescendo finale triggered
only by the coming dawn's
first light, and the boastful
crowing calls of our cocky
persistent red rooster chicken.
Where these musicians go in
daylight is anybody's guess.
To sleep I suspect, deserved
resting up for yet another
night of endless music.
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 4:45 AM UTC
I remember
when you were young and wide eyed
excited at the possibility of the world
and afraid because it was all so big and you,
you were the smallest creature in a forest full of monsters
still, you had big dreams and wanted
so badly to write something
so unique and profound
something to make people understand you
understand themselves
see that we are all one
know that we all bleed the same
slippery shades of water color
even if the canvas is is different
Fear is an ugly thing and overshadows
and overwhelms, *******
the life out of life
and the colors out of the rainbow that
is supposed to shine overhead and keep
the bad the things at bay
it crawls into bed with you at night and
keeps you awake, drilling
everything that is wrong
straight through your skull and
into your soul like a
woodpecker, never ceasing
never letting you rest
there is so much that is so hard
to comprehend and make sense of
and it is so much easier to let the fear
take hold of you, wrap it's fingers
tightly around your neck
a noose growing ever tighter, strangling
while you struggle until
you have no voice left to speak
It left you choking
out fragments
and run-on sentences into a journal
that no one would ever see
that still makes me burn when
I flip through those pages reliving
the story of my life that you wrote
all those years ago
I remember
when you thought that no one could see you,
so you lived your life like a child
jumping up to see over the counter,
making make-shift ladders out of whatever
you could find so that you could grasp
everything that always seemed so far above your reach,
losing yourself so easily
in a sea of people
because they were so big
and you were
nothing
You words are a time capsule
that bring me back to a place when
when we stared at each other in the mirror
and curled our tiny fingers into a fist
wanting to smash the glass
because
we were ugly
But my words are a time machine,
my gift to you from the future
You are small still,
but the world is not as big as it used to be
and nothing ever comes easy
but your dreams are coming true,
you did not give up despite
believing so often that you would fail and
you are making a difference
I am afraid
because
everyone is afraid, but
I stand in front of the mirror
young and wide-eyed,
excited about the possibility of the world
and when I look at you now, I know
that we are learning to love each other
finally.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 10:03 PM UTC
You're my storm cloud disguised as sunshine
but your masquerade never stops the rain.
Laughs like lightning flashing across your face
sharp and dangerous, followed by the thunder of
my ignorance, cluing you in on how far your lies
stretch into my desperation to be wanted.
Lightning.
Thunder.
Oh I never thought
I was that funny
Your electric strings
Pull the punch lines out of my mouth.
Thunder.
The lightning's best friend.
Thunder.
You must really like me
You must have told your friends about me too.
Because that cackles coming out of their
throats when I tell a joke sound just like
the storm, the zigzags of fire that tear through the clouds.
telling me how funny I am, how much they love having me around.
How you need me.
Time for my response… its my job right?
Thunder.
Thunder.
Why is it now that the way you curl your lips
when I make my jokes
looking
less
and less
like a smile?
Your friends know that shape
and they know how to make their lips look the same way.
Is it some contagious thing that they all have, and disease
passed around the room every time that lightning escapes.
But they all think I am funny
It must just be a friend thing…
I should learn how to do it too.
Thunder.
Thunder.
Streaming pixels
Blurry faces of “friends”
it must have been a mistake
The love me
next time,
I’ll make sure to clear it up with them
why wouldn't they want me to attend?
Thunder.
Thunder.
Glances like knives
Darting through the air like flies
and infestation of insects that
carry messages that
I don’t understand.
But they do.
Like a major league team
catch after catch
never missing those eyes that
seem a little bit darker
and a little bit colder.
Passing the ball around the bases
returning the favor.
Why can’t I grip ball that seems to bind
them all together
leaving trails of
text messages
and parties
that I was not invited to
this ball that seems to always
keep me on the outfield.
And how come everytime that ball goes
around
and
around….
its feels like
a punch to the stomach
never ceasing to knock me
down
and
leave me
breathless.
This must be what friendship feels like…
Thunder.
Is it?
because I look around
these hallways
where I always walk to fast
trying to keep up
yet I am always
one
step
behind.
I see that
these other girls
walk in straight lines
arms joined so that no one
falls
too
far behind
yet I’m always walking in
dizzy circles
wondering when they will
turn around to see if I am
still following,
still standing,
still funny.
Thunder, the lightning's best friend…
but that is never who I was to you.
Jun 12, 2015
Jun 12, 2015 at 2:49 PM UTC
on tuesday,
dylann roof was sentenced to his death.
on tuesday we tried
to make one body feel like nine.
to make one body feel like justice.
on tuesday we said
there has got to be some price to pay
for entering the house of god
with a sinful tongue
and a handgun.
today,
six days later,
we remembered the rev. dr. martin luther king, jr.
we looked at the world,
called it a place with potential for change,
called it that because there has to be some softer way
to look at bloodshed,
for sanity’s sake.
if not then
all that remains is a solitary image of dr. king rolling in his grave because he knows,
knows that breathless black bodies
are a constant,
are transcenders of time,
whether sunken in rivers,
hung from taut ropes,
or bathing in blood on historic church floors,
singing, singing, screaming, shrill
for some messiah bringing mercy, mercy, mercy.
felicia sanders wants mercy:
prays for it, wills it down from up above,
unfolded from the hands of god
so that it might fall upon the head and in the eyes
and within the very being
of the man who killed her son.
it takes a certain grace —
one so foreign to me i can hardly write of it —
to see god in such men who deliberately defy Him,
to ask that heaven’s gates
be so indiscriminate and overt.
i would want him to burn for this.
but it is not my say,
not my life,
not my long, resounding, unflinching “hallelujah!”
not my certain type of grace.
breathless black bodies
are a constant,
are transcenders of time, a recurring motif.
but so too, then, is the black body full
of breath,
that inhales and exhales faith
without ceasing.
such is the black body
that sees a little bit of god in dylann roof,
that prays that he prays for forgiveness,
that thinks there to be but one kingdom,
and he, too,
a worthy subject.
the solitary image of dr. king rolling in his grave
is not a surprise.
the black body has always known
so well
how to die.
but felicia sanders hopes her son’s killer finds mercy.
perhaps the one thing the black body has always known better
is how to love.
(a.m.)
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 8:07 PM UTC
in a taut black dress
you brush by me
you are
dark summer fruit simmering hot
a sopping estuary
i gather you into me
you cascade like an undulating cat
giggles like trembling gelatin
cherry kiss lips
agile muscle shifting
pleating like soft furs
against my thunderous chest
your tremulous tongue rupturing
like spiced chrysanthemums from heaven
i inhale your lavender breath
your saliva melts stormy mouth up-leaping
i eat your soul
and paradise ********
licking honey rainbows
filling my mouth a thousand times
and a thousand more
its never enough when some one has your heart
suffocate me in your drooling mouth
your body is my aviary
and hot house of man eating plants
i run to your teeth
beautiful cleavers gleaming
shivering with excitement
from your dragging bites
my blood languishing at your feet
have no regard for me
eat my love
i live to be swallowed by you
i hold you through the night
all dire raptures
dark in mystic paradise
tangled in your hair
may mourning never find us
torrid scorched from flames infernal
black candles uncrossing pasts
devils **** your adoring toy
kisses never ceasing
hot weather nostrils steaming
your flexed body writhes
a royal contortion
your heart cleaving
so that i may like a sun
consume your darkest edges
bitter chocolate so sweet
to fill griefs mouth with ecstasy
my heart aches like a siren of echoes
calling to you
shaking your gates down
you are a titanic gravity
and i'm forever tumbling
like eternal burning ashes through cobalt night
it is a steep decent into heavens arms
as i crumble
all smashing diamonds
and hissing flames
into open wounds weeping glitter
your chin jutting
throat stretched
while pulling the roots of your hair
exposing arteries pulsing
stuffing myself on your marrow
you plume like a volcanic moon
showering me with spooling stars
and butter **** kisses
ill turn you into my glistening little *****
all swollen tears for more
rituals of adoration
kisses like monsoon rains
i look up at your supple form
your haunches my temple
worshiping you
smothered in heavens jaws
you cascading pantie-less
in a taut black dress
Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 1:36 PM UTC
Still running, never ceasing, she screams silently.
the breath escapes as a wisp.
Remembering the past command:
Take the demon carefully,
his sting is heavily laden with sweet
addiction.
*** soaks through the front of her gown
and the bloodied fabrics drain rusty shades
into the tepid moon water
she spilled before.
Break her chains
she will not thank you
she will despise her freedom and lay waste to paradise
with her filthy torn wings.
Let her know of her once-natural beauty
she will hiss in derision
that she is not still stunning as the rose.
BLEED, child.
You of all creatures were fantastic in visage
You have put to waste the precious fragility of your frame
Your yellowing teeth speak volumes
your mouth should stay sealed.
We have no use for ingrate angels
that roll in the muck
cheaply selling ******* and chemical highs.
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 1:58 PM UTC
be direct
direct me
*have I not,
but cannot more
be been strong for you,
so I teach you to teach the power
of strength by daring to ask*
ask me
i will create anything it is
in my power
to create for you
i will break anything for you
that needs to be broken
*old poet old brok-en asking that you keep on
asking, I need nothing broke, busted but still needing you,
needing you whole for me to be whole,
from that hole of dark, we share different sides,
I need you creating
you anew*
al green said
no one told us about the sorrow
no one told me about today
no one told me about tomorrow
if asking were my strength
this deadly blind balance
would not be my act
*but it is that you arrived here to survive here,
the balance is blind, but you are not,
you knew sorrow was a possible.
you want easy, I'll give you easy,
ask yourself above all,
what's next that
I want*
answering
l o v e...
i can answer
i can answer
***the old poet asks,
why is it this poem world always comes around to that
old tirade, that four letter word...the one you ask,
when is it
my turn, and I answer you twice,
for you asked and answered twice,
I do love you,
I do love you,
exactly as you are,
invisible but oh so visible to us all,
and that is why you must ask for
more, evermore,
never ceasing, believing this more
is due, due to you***
Feb 12, 2014
Feb 12, 2014 at 10:15 PM UTC
Christine is like a cool breeze on a hot summer day,
warm hot cocoa on a blizzardly winter day,
peace on earth,
a first kiss,
a magic moment,
a mother's love for her baby,
a tight hug in times of desperation,
a get together with old friends,
a memory of an unforgettable, life-changing event that was a blessing,
a melody so precious it makes you glad to be alive,
a best friend,
singing with those you love,
a coming together of friends and family during the holiday season,
when enemies turn to love and forgive each other becoming close friends,
birds chirping on a sunny spring morning,
someone saving another life,
and dying in the arms of your lover but the love never ceasing
and always remaining like an eternal flame
I love you, Christine.
Words can never describe you well enough
Jul 22, 2011
Jul 22, 2011 at 5:10 PM UTC
Tall
breeze bending tops
rooted deep
faceted to growth
tips seeking light
scented sounds in needles
beautiful feminine formed spiral cones masculine inconspicuous pollinating
pistils
overlapping in season never ceasing a
productive moment
never fallen, always green
Reminds me of eternal life
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 9:12 PM UTC
~the heart of (the) matter~
~~~~~~
an essential phrase,
that concentrates the
instincts not to sway
away,
be focused
on, by the always present
algorithm of the
essences
but my version preferred
is that
"the heart of matter"
with skill and effort,
one can learn, to shoot
arrows honed to be near
an-almost-bullseye every time
but to understand that
the heart
is matter,
the mother
of our body parts,
the little engine that could,
can and does,
and asks only
refresh it with
fresh blue blood,
every second
(not to much to ask for)
what are/is the sinews of the heart?
what are its secreted corpuscular (1)
composed of?
why words, you silly!
each beat, a letter,
the heart doth register
its creativity incessant,
never ceasing to rest
for composition is its goal,
to sing to write, to weep
from pleasured thoughts
and deepest fright,
and you say you need inspiration?
then listen to your writing vibrations that from thy center
emanate, you who toil laboriously
when all that matters is the matter,
the wonderful matter of
who when where and why
that chatterbox in your body
never ever pauses
***and that is why in the matter of god,
have no doubts
only a god could have conceived
of a world of billions of composers
where each one of us
matters***…
5:19am Wed Sep 10
Sep 12, 2025
Sep 12, 2025 at 5:59 AM UTC
The same song looping over and over…
The same suicidal thoughts torturing my sanity…
Repeats accruing on infinite piles of ruble,
Vigorously fighting these thoughts,
These demons of mentality,
A constant cartwheel of emotion…
Always racing…
Not ceasing for a mere second…
Forcing the pill in my mouth,
And then another,
And another…
The only mental painkiller is death…
I feel numb,
Darkness seeps into my vision…
Blurring reality…
The Pain is going away…
I feel alive as I feel myself die…
Emergency Medical Squads break the door down…
I sit there,
Watching them cycle electricity into my body as I blindly stare,
Eyes not moving,
Weak,
You never came.
I want to tell you I love you until it becomes white noise…
Always knowing I love you,
Never doubting yourself again…
I want to make love until we are one…
My body and yours…
Sharing the night, and day…
Filling senses with pleasure and love…
I want to hold you until you are weightless…
A feather in my arms…
Carry you up to a safe place on a dark night…
I want to love you forever…
I want to love you till stone itself evaporates into the air as it boils underneath the red giant sun…
I want to love you when the Universe rebirths or collapses…
I want to love you when the bell tolls,
The bell does not mark the end,
It will never end,
I will love you always,
Forever,
Not stopping even for a supernova…
No matter how lovely, how vivid, how colorful the painting…
Toxic fumes are given off,
The closer you look the more cracks and flaws you’ll find…
No matter how soft the wood, how elaborate the carving,
You can’t even begin to feel all the splinters…
All the cuts,
The closer you get the deeper the grooves…
This rusty drain has grown clogged of emotion and dust…
Wonderful you say…
But that is just for now,
Today.
My past is dark, dead, rotten,
Who knows if the future will be any different.
Today I have a moment of peace,
You,
A bright blue gem shining in the darkness,
So pure it becomes it’s own light-source,
Echoing beauty throughout the blackness,
Illuminating me,
True Commitment,
Warm and sweet Love,
Unquestionable Trust,
Seraphic Beauty,
Everything I need…
I sit here questioning these words…
Thinking of the purest way to put them,
But emotion is not pure,
It’s ***** rough, and raged,
But when I talk to you that emotion turns into something different,
It turns into satisfying warmth that runs through my body…
The past evaporates into the air,
Dispersing and losing its importance,
You are my future,
Not the past.
Dec 29, 2011
Dec 29, 2011 at 2:03 PM UTC
Two crowned Kings, and One that stood alone
With no green weight of laurels round his head,
But with sad eyes as one uncomforted,
And wearied with man’s never-ceasing moan
For sins no bleating victim can atone,
And sweet long lips with tears and kisses fed.
Girt was he in a garment black and red,
And at his feet I marked a broken stone
Which sent up lilies, dove-like, to his knees.
Now at their sight, my heart being lit with flame,
I cried to Beatrice, ‘Who are these?’
And she made answer, knowing well each name,
‘AEschylos first, the second Sophokles,
And last (wide stream of tears!) Euripides.’
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The veins in my heart,
rooted down to my stomach,
and from these roots began to grow a tree,
and on its branches caterpillars did roam
right there in my stomach,
they made their home.
yet I was alone.
Enter the lumberjack.
The caterpillars cocooned,
ready to begin the transformation
from girl to woman, oh, the sensation!
Time ticked on,
the lumberjack and I,
with that little spark in our eye,
from the tree, grew a garden, into woods
our love resounding above the forest canopy
the feral instincts, the cinders, the shade
until finally the Sun no longer shone
so the wall of qualms had to go,
in the form of trees,
one by one.
chopped.
Yet.
the wildfires had sparked
and the cocoons were now butterflies
and the forest we grew together was ablaze
what he didn't chop, my cinders singed,
ash by ash life was ceasing to be,
and then from the woods,
were we forced to flee.
and the butterflies flew free
the blossoms,
the trees,
burned
but the butterflies flew free,
in my stomach,
they are free
so now a bit of our dead forest lives in me.
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 8:58 PM UTC
The poetry of earth is never dead:
When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead;
That is the Grasshopper's—he takes the lead
In summer luxury,—he has never done
With his delights; for when tired out with fun
He rests at ease beneath some pleasant ****
The poetry of earth is ceasing never:
On a lone winter evening, when the frost
Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills
The Cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever,
And seems to one in drowsiness half lost,
The Grasshopper's among some grassy hills.
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Constantly craving a crazed
Escape
Fleeing reality, piece by piece
Aware the immortality
Isn't an option
Never ceasing to seek
Release
Questioning other's
Translucent translation
Of a world that centers
All of us each
Construals clashing, creating division
Misunderstandings at war
No point in speech
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 9:25 AM UTC
Happy anniversary.
Can you believe
That it’s been a year?
I can still feel the first time,
Your hands danced on mine,
A soft presence, almost shy.
I could barely pay attention
To the film playing on television
Because there, right beside me,
A story was already unfolding,
One that was far more fascinating
Than any other mystery.
And it was.
Here we are, a year later,
The story continues to be
The most gruelling mystery
Of two people ceasing to be,
Of you & I never becoming we,
Instead, a strange, foreign word
To each other’s vocabulary.
I thought we both saw ourselves
In this picture perfect future:
Lying together on crumpled sheets,
Watching Sherlock on repeat,
Reading poetry and drinking coffee,
A state of being indescribably
Happy.
We were never meant to be that.
Only a manuscript tossed in the trash.
We loved too little, and bled too much,
Too proud to break the silence.
Too scared to end the sentence.
So let’s scrap the ending,
And go back to the beginning:
Happy anniversary.
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 12:18 PM UTC
Hello Darkness, my old friend,
The self-doubt that comes creeping in.
Hello Darkness, fickle and fiendish,
It is nice to see you again.
Hello Ambition, my old mentor,
The hunger that has me ceasing never.
Hello Ambition, controlling and unending,
It is good to see you again.
Hello Fear, my old companion,
The sickness that feeds my abandon.
Hello Fear, raw and uncut,
It is nice to see you again.
Hello Anger, my old lover,
The fire that never sated hunger.
Hello Anger, lean and strong,
It is nice to see you again.
Hello Lust, my old partner,
The taste that pushed me harder.
Hello Lust, empty and rich,
It is nice to see you again.
Hello Love, my old *****
The red and gold double edged sword.
Hello Love, lying and cheating,
It is nice to see you again.
Hello Night, my old mother,
The love for which I killed another.
Hello Night, deceitful and peaceful,
It is good to see you again.
Hello Envy, my old rival,
The burning need for my survival.
Hello Envy, cold and hard,
It is good to see you again.
Hello Curse, my old bride,
The one who eats away my pride.
Hello Curse, persistent and pursuant,
It is good to see you again.
Hello Gluttony, my old coach,
The pain that ate away my hope.
Hello Gluttony, empty and barren,
It is good to see you again.
Hello Pride, my old brother,
I love you more than the others.
Hello Pride, full and robust,
It is good to see you again.
Hello Darkness, my oldest of friends.
It was from you that I was born.
Hello Darkness, come to swallow me again,
From the light I am torn.
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 3:56 PM UTC
Waves crash on the pier,
Pure force, a violent bludgeon,
An entity of rage; never ceasing,
The earth in a hopeless war with the sea,
Sediment crumbling; drifting into the expanse,
It is over; it always was, the land in inevitable doom,
The sea has victory, basking in the ruins of ravaged land,
But there emanates a sliver of hope, of rebirth, of prosper,
Ample time has passed; the time has come for a new beginning,
A rumble, a blast, liquid earth explodes out,
Out of the cone, the cone created and of the land,
New earth is born, standing proud, a symbol of persistence,
But the once victorious sea, it is maddened, frustrated, upset,
It is preparing, formulating a new attack,
Thus, tis a cycle, a cycle of create and destroy.
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 10:07 AM UTC
Where to begin
I think to myself as I submerge
my thoughts
In you and what it is that
Gives the tick to your tock.
I think of your eyes
And the depth
That lies
Folded within
Green and brown
Layered
Life
Disguised
And smiling.
Lost glasses
And lager
That comes in pints
Accompanied by
Epic
And
Blatant
Action and statement
Your energy blasts
Fast and furious
Frenzy
I sense more to you
Than what meets my eye.
And in that thought
I lie
Here now
Creased brow
In anticipation of knowing you more.
I think of your nails
And the way they touch
Me deeper than
The welts
That are kissed
Crimson stain
Onto my skin.
Your essence
Seeps inside
Within
And bleeds out of my body
Through my lips
As I savour
The flavour
That makes
You taste
So simply
Divine.
You have this way
Of ceasing time
And pausing
The beat of my heart.
Just a smile
Is all it takes
And your laugh,
The way your eyes
Drop low,
The dip of your neck and
The way you glance up
And out from
Under your
Fringe.
You unhinge
The door
That stands
Shut and heavy
Before
My eyes
Wide open
Surprise
As you storm
Into my soul
And take whole
My delight
And spin its
Weave
Into gold.
I am sold
On you
And your cold hands
Warm heart.
Feb 9, 2010
Feb 9, 2010 at 3:01 AM UTC
writing over and over again
like a naughty schoolboy, repeating
i will not disrespect the teacher
i will not disrespect the teacher
until the lesson is scarred into his mind and the paper
except i'm not a naughty schoolboy
i'm a brokenhearted, ignorant girl
trying to get it through my head you don't like me back.
i have no feelings for you
i have no feelings for you
i have no feelings for you
i have no feelings for you
i write.
and write.
because that's what you told me.
not ceasing until i will learn the lesson myself,
but now it's my heart being scarred
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 2:33 AM UTC
She fabricates variance in the same picturesque sky
Mauling two birds with one stone-cold, self-sustaining lie
If happiness blots itself upon perspective,
then I was merely one musing of a momentarily hung canvas
dangling dull under the noose of your
cautiously composed independence
-
"Independence"
she doth protest
While in dependence,
she doth ingest
She flees towards East evermore, infatuated under the intoxication of dissimilar skies, ceasing to remember that all worlds eventually become spherical.
We, abreast, left the nest;
I, digress, detest the West.
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 2:52 AM UTC
In Heaven a spirit doth dwell
“Whose heart-strings are a lute;”
None sing so wildly well
As the angel Israfel,
And the giddy Stars (so legends tell),
Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell
Of his voice, all mute.
Tottering above
In her highest noon,
The enamoured Moon
Blushes with love,
While, to listen, the red levin
(With the rapid Pleiads, even,
Which were seven),
Pauses in Heaven.
And they say (the starry choir
And the other listening things)
That Israfeli’s fire
Is owing to that lyre
By which he sits and sings—
The trembling living wire
Of those unusual strings.
But the skies that angel trod,
Where deep thoughts are a duty—
Where Love’s a grow-up God—
Where the Houri glances are
Imbued with all the beauty
Which we worship in a star.
Therefore, thou art not wrong,
Israfeli, who despisest
An unimpassioned song;
To thee the laurels belong,
Best bard, because the wisest!
Merrily live and long!
The ecstasies above
With thy burning measures suit—
Thy grief, thy joy, thy hate, thy love,
With the fervor of thy lute—
Well may the stars be mute!
Yes, Heaven is thine; but this
Is a world of sweets and sours;
Our flowers are merely—flowers,
And the shadow of thy perfect bliss
Is the sunshine of ours.
If I could dwell
Where Israfel
Hath dwelt, and he where I,
He might not sing so wildly well
A mortal melody,
While a bolder note than this might swell
From my lyre within the sky.
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