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Eryri Apr 22
Red Kite hovers and spies,
A Raven studies a dying lamb,
Sheep graze the grass,
A pheasant enters left looking lost.

I gaze out at this scene
Through sheets of glass.
I am distinct from real nature,
Cocooned by architecture.
I.
And my hair became too much

It overtook the walls
made its way into the office on the sixth floor
and then hung
like a dripping willow’s branches
over the desks

By the time they thought to find me
I’d already been wrapped up in a cocoon of brown hair  
indistinguishable from the walls
that was now
also covered in the thick strands of undulated hair

II.
everything and everyone became consumed.


III.
In hairy chrysalis, the scissors uselessly
hung on some poor frantic pair of hands
forced into pupa

IV.
It was on the third day that the streets surrounding the corporate buildings were once again
populated with people, that a young woman in heels swore she heard a
faint choral singing coming from the 5th or 6th floor of a dreary grey building.


V.
everything cocooned
everyone consumed
all in pupa

VI.
During metamorphosis, a caterpillar digests itself leaving only behind imaginal discs
that shape it’s adult body.  

everything becomes consumed.
grumpy thumb Sep 2018
She sleeps
I'm outside under the eaves sheltering little from the rain
smoking late into the a.m. wide awake,
coffee for company and her scent
clinging to my skin.
There's isolated bouts of traffic  
late night revellers
returning
shadows
there to witness between
lamplight neons,
but I'm cocooned away
restless in the washes of rain
thinking of one in slumber within
the walls on which I lean
Gargee Pareek Sep 2018
Fall last year
I saw the warm glow
spread on your cheeks
like a shooting star
across a starless night
My fingers run through
the chestnut halo
splayed on my lap
Cocooned by serenity
under the veil of a pregnant hush
I close my eyes
consumed by fullness
and you.
patty m Nov 2015
A sheath of skin slips from the moon.
It falls gathering speed
through the houses of stars, hurtling toward earth.

In the eyes of a dream, I lie in my bed
fighting off birth pains.
Through an obscure misty cloudland
a feeling so deep, drags me down.

What scheme chooses me as its receptacle?

Suddenly a face congeals
surrounded by celestial bodies,
Stars shimmer from threads
across its microscopic skin.
Freezing, it tries transferring my heat,
but finds that we are two elements trapped in one body.
Dark matter, dark energy trapped in the prison
of my gravity; but you
imprison me as well,
stripping me of light.
I strain to get away, but my body is the host
you seek shelter in.

Cocooned I feel the world rush by.
over pylons in the river, holding
castles in the sky, and further still,
to dark tracks, and cold and distant stars
reminding me of treacherous winters.

Then the slow unwinding begins.
and I am brought to perdition,
a freezing hell where I can't restrain my desolation

Suddenly a far off clamor
opens night to mirrored light.
Pure ecstasy warms my skin
vibrating like strings of the cello.
In the shimmer of Luna all things
glow mercurially silver.
We climb outer space,
held in your orbit.

A face in a skylight cuts off my oxygen.
Now your sparkling essence becomes luminous and liquid
and I am one more disposable body..

All the doors are shut,
I open each in turn;
finding mornings years ago, climbing into my parent's bed,
snuggling up all warm and cuddly.

Weariness, drags me down,
I sense dislocation as time vanishes.
Pulling me through a wormhole
a star falls, taking me with it,

I touch Terre firma, emitting a sigh.
wan, dazed, and suddenly alone.

Depleted I look heavenward,
and see the Man In The Moon smiling down,
just before .
my feeble light dies.
Sitting here in class I am today, minding my business as they would say. I’m listening to the teacher teach but hearing only things left beyond my reach. Another whole day in this **** school so I can come out each night 'more-of-a-fool,' and would it behoove them all to know, I ain’t no dummy, no 'coffee-Joe'?

  …but then I’d have to get the chance, the opportunity provided to advance and the equal treatment they all receive that somehow has been lost on me. Why do I even come here? Why does my Mom insist on this? They don’t call on me, care about me, acknowledge me, it’s ridiculous. At lunch each day I gotta use my fists and even my own kind acts wicked, cause for the rest of them fighting is all that exists.

  Exists; having objective reality or being.

  I exist alright; exist if you call this a life, defined by ******, **** and monkey, or related to some stupid-actin’ ****** or some dumb brawler or that dude good at running but never ever seen as intelligent and cunning. The girls ignore me, teachers too, white guys hate me, what did I do? What did I ever do to them? I’m just like you, I just want some friends, want the chance in life to succeed, man shut up about being freed that **** happened a hundred and fifty ******* years ago, I’m just as sick of hearing about it as you are 'Bro.'

  They say I have rights, they say that it’s fair, they say there’s a chance for me everywhere, but everywhere I look that’s not what I see, I’m put-down and degraded cons-tant-ly, told that I should join the team, or passed over in conversations about some thing. Forced to be friends with thugs that hate but to them at least I can relate, for just like me they was excluded or marginalized when told that they are deluded; they’ll never make it anyway, never achieve their dreams, never have their say so why even bother when no one cares how you feel, when your dreams in life won’t ever be real, when you end up in the streets and all you got left is to steal, when its still,

“Go back to Africa ******!”

...they say with zeal and the vitriol an violence comport surreal, Helen didn’t hold this secret to reveal nor does rap, truthfully, with these problems deal? Cocooned by stares and ****-sure glares, because your own sports brothers hate your *** and make you just wanna ditch that class, so here I ended up on the streets, hangin' round on my crew’s beats, acting tough, street-cred and clout and there your 'momma-an-sister' out n’ about, while here I am a fresh drop-out and can you guess what?

Here we come to take her purse, I clock your mom’s mouth and shove down your sister but ***** you boy I could’ve done much worse, she could’ve lost her life and come home in a hearse!

  Is this the ****** ya’ll wanted to see? All filled up inside with hatred, cause I was told that I would never make it, from day one got no attention, spent half of high school in afternoon detention, training me for my future as a prison convict yet another sign our society is depraved and sick. Given no chance or help or just some praise, no moments to shine and no Happy Days, he’s just a gang-banger, a **** they say? My actions may be worse than your words assail, and well, that may be me and I may be in jail but here’s something from my Grand Momma, a little encouragement goes a long way to change this drama...

You see me on the street you better ******* run cause you already know what’s in my jacket son and my hoodie will be up so you can’t see my face since I already know what you think of my race.
I guess these are rhyming stories really. I grew up poor in rough neighborhoods and majority-minority schools. This piece is a tribute to tribulations of poor African Americans which I know all too well having grown up in their neighborhoods.
You and I...
or am I just dreamin'-
I'm not sure-
This...
is far too good,
too real,
to ever
end!
Oh no...
don't wake me
if I'm dreamin'-
Come back here with me...
Come back to bed...
Lay right here beside me...
Come Back Into My
Dreams!

You and I...
we're outdoors in the country-
surrounded by trees-
green grass all around us-
star-filled sky-
night sounds
fill the quietness;
frogs croakin',
crickets chirpin',
babblin' brook
cascadin' into a waterfall
splashin' into a pond-
Come back here with me...
Come back to bed...
Lay right here beside me...
Come Back Into My
Dreams!

You and I...
makin' plans
for our tomorrow's
together-
talkin' of our
dreams-
holdin' hands-
sharin' passionate
kisses-
Lovin' this night...
this moment-
right here-
right now-
locked forever
in my heart-
Come back here with me...
Come back to bed...
Lay right here beside me...
Come Back Into My
Dreams!

You and I...
cuddlin'-
cocooned in a blanket
after our love makin'-
a fire blazin' in the pit-
illuminatin' us with it's
glow-
each of us
as satisfied
as the other,
feelin' fully spent-
snugglin' together,
as we close
our eyes-
the dawn just peakin'-
greetin' us
with a new day-
Come back here with me...
Come back to bed...
Lay right here beside me...
Come Back Into My
Dreams!

You and I...
or am I just dreamin'?
Wait...
I'm alone-
you've already
left-
had an earlier start
to the day-
sun is shinin' through
our open window-
illuminatin' me with it's
rays-
night sounds?
Oh no...
it's my alarm clock-
I'm runnin' late again!
Come back here with me...
Come back to bed...
Lay right here beside me...
Come Back Into My
Dreams!

You and I...
or am I just dreamin'-
Come Back Into My
Dreams!

2008

COPYRIGHT; Sabrina Denise Healey,
~Angelmom~
nivek Nov 2018
Cocooned in silence
to hear-

other voices
other worlds.

The windless day
a burning star.

Children playing.
whispers of war.
Joe Workman Aug 2014
The radio alarm is a bit too strong
for his afternoon hangover taste.
He goes downstairs, sets the coffee to brewing,
rubs his hands through the hair on his face.
As he sits and he smokes, he can't quite think of the joke
she once told him about wooden eyes.

The coffee is ready, his hands are unsteady
as he pours his first cup of cure.
He tries to be happy he woke up today,
but whether being awake's good, he's not sure.
Outside it's raining, but he's gallantly straining
to keep his head and his spirits held high.

As soft as the flower bending out in its shower,
fiercer than hornets defending their hives,
the memories of sharing her secrets and sheets
run him through like sharp rusty knives.
He decides that his cup isn't quite strong enough,
takes the ***** from the shelf, gives a sigh.

He goes to the porch to put words to the torch
he still carries and knows whiskey just fuels.
Thunder puts a voice to his hammering heart.
Through ink, his knotted mind unspools,
writing of butterflies and of how his love lies
cocooned under unreachable skies.

From teardrops to streams to winter moonbeams
to a peach, firm and sweet, in the spring,
he writes of pilgrims and language and soft dew-damp grass
and how he sees her in everything.
He rambles and grieves, and he just can't believe
how much he has bottled inside.

He writes how the leaves, when they whisper in the breeze,
bring to mind her warm breath in his mouth,
how when walking through woods he loves the birdsong
when they fly back in the summer from the south
because she would sing too and he always knew
he wanted that sound in his ears when he died.

He writes even the streetlights, fluorescent and bright,
make him miss the diamond chips in her eyes,
how the fountain in the park plays watersongs in the dark
when he goes to make wishes on pennies
and while he's there he gets hoping
there will be some spare wishes
but so far there haven't been any.

He writes that the cold makes him think of the old
hotel where they spent most of a week,
lazing and gazing quite lovingly,
and how he brushed an eyelash off her cheek.
The crickets and frogs and all of the dogs
sound as mournful as he feels each night.

He writes about chocolate and fun in arcades,
he writes about stairwells and butchers' blades,
and closed-casket funerals, and Christmas parades,
then sad flightless birds and tiny brigades
of ants taking crumbs from the toast he had made,
and political goons with their soulless tirades,
old-timey duels and terrible grades,
strangers on  buses, harp music, maids,
the weird afterimages when all the light fades,
the pleasure of dinnertime serenades,
sidewalk chalk, wine, and hand grenades.

He writes of how much fun it would be to fly,
and saltwater taffy and ferryboat rides,

sitting on couches, scratched CD's
pets gone too soon and overdraft fees,

the beach, the lake, the mountains, the fog,
David Bowie's funny, ill-smelling bog,

jewelry, perfume, sushi, and swans,
the smell of the pavement when the rain's come and gone,

and shots and opera, and Oprah and ***,
and tiny bikinis with yellow dots,

stained glass lamps, and gum and stamps,
her dancing shoes on wheelchair ramps,
that overstrange feeling of déjà vu,
filet mignon and cordon bleu,

bad haircuts at county fairs,
honey and clover, stockmarket shares,
the comfort of nestling in overstuffed chairs,
and her poking fun at the clothes that he wears,
and giraffes and hippos and polar bears,
cumbersome car consoles, monsters' lairs,
singing in public and ignoring the stares,
botching it badly while making éclairs,
misspelled tattoos, socks not in pairs,
people who take something that isn't theirs,
the future of man, and man's future cares,

why people so frequently lie
and bury themselves so deep in the mire
of monetary profits when money won't buy
a single next second because time's not for hire,
and that he sees her in everything.

Then unexpectedly, unbidden from where it was hidden
comes the punchline to the joke she had told him.
He laughs -- it's too much and his heart finally tears
as a blackness rolls in to enfold him.
The last thing he hears is birdsong in his ears --
the sound brings hope and is sweet as he dies.
Nadia Apr 22
I love you, my sweet, little bug
We lazed this morning, cuddly snug
Hiding from a drizzly day
Warm and giggling as we lay
Hearting art, space and cats
Asking questions, having chats
Watching mag lev trains on screen
Learning magnetism for the keen
A picture couldn’t hold this bliss
Nor any words fully reminisce
The two of us, affectionately enspooned
Love, peace, curiousity, cocooned

NCL April 2019
SMS Jul 19
And in your shirt
I’ve cocooned myself
Built a catacomb to suffocate in
Drawing in your scent
Feeling it penetrate my lungs
Hoping it’ll convince my heart
To not burst out of my chest
So desperate to find you again.
Everything I once knew has been stilled:

I fathomed my mother’s voice whispering
In my juvenescence,
She weaved a tapestry of tales
Whilst her pearlescent eyes
They glistened,
Enveloped by downy lashes
Ebony and yet unassuming
For
The night domineered.
Unblemished enough to
Garner the praise
In the clarity of
My reverential heart,
As I lay there
Tucked in,
Once peacefully,
Yet now shaken
By
The disquietude
Of the restless twilight,
Upon an azure king-sized mattress
Primped in creaseless Space Jam sheets.


They were set by
The grace of her manicured hands
However slightly,
Chestnut and replete
That longed to,
By the Blessed Oracle
Speaking with a God,
Summon the Salvation
Of my long lost rest
That Raged Leviathan
Where,
To be cocooned in The Sea of Shadows
The thew of dreams would be born.

She sanctified my fears
Like coal oppressed for aeons
By
That Treasured Sphere
(Terraqueous Gaia)
Until by
The Womb of the Mountainous Mother,
Were reborn
As the Children of Diamonds.

Or perhaps
Like a baptismal kiss
That floweth from an ivory chalice
By which
The soil of my life flowered,
For a quaked youth was
Bestowed
With a fading taste
Of the transcendence at dawn
Poured upon my palate
Until
The Garden of the Valiant
Bursted into bloom.
(Tis where the Behemoth lay nestled
Under the Age Old Tree of Life
And Sylphs soar beneath iridescent twilit skies
Illuminated by Providence
Of the Half-Faced Crimson Moon).


If I so chose
I could
Be anything
That
I imagined, even
Today.

Ephemeral though
Those moments were
My reminiscence
Doth memorialize in crystal stasis
My infantile longing,
Tis ceaseless in its yearning
To be comforted
When
Pangs overtake me:

But what fable is my weapon
Now?
The Hallowed Excalibur,
Or perhaps even The Ultima Weapon
With the Impenetrable Aegis
Imparted by
The Mighty Crystal
Bestowing might to its Anointed
The ones who war with their own iniquity,
Until their paths align
Like celestial bodies
And they’ve arisen triumphant,
Eclipsed the fictitious light
Of a false deity
Who besmirched the truths
That upheld The Cosmos
Since its genesis?

There is one tale,
(Lean in, listen closely,
This is my Susurrus in the Night)
Tis no figment
And one I found most favorable,
One of a man
Simple,
Strong,
Stunning,
Sound,
Sapient,
And high over all but
The Desideratum of the Holy,
The one to whom
Even the angels, seraphs, and cherubs bow.

He was scourged
In flesh and spirit
Till his pulse was silenced,
His inestimable blood
Prophesied to vanquish
Chaos and
The Futile Wind
Of life
That by
By the disobedience of
Our
Tarnished Father,
Is now
An accursed child

She
Is effaced by
Time
(For Sorrow has no end)
And
Tormented by Space.
(Height,
Breadth,
And depth,
O that Existential Fabric)
His caverns
Condemned Her
Without
Compassion.

The thought of solitude
Looming in mortality
Were the dreadful horns
Of an Auroch that
Pierced
Her consciousness
Until by
Proud Oppression
Hope
In its frailty
Was a dandelion
Strewn by skinless hands
Against the immaterial
Brush of the breeze.

To flourish then
Wither,
Wax and
Wane;
Never
Was a fate
That our God intended.
For eternity shines and
Is a supernova
In the galaxy of our hearts
And though undiscerned
By many
Has always been
And
Will always be
The Cherished Wish of the Stars,
For though we are an exhalation
By contradistinction,
Even they become nebulous
Fading into dust.

We shall
Become
Exalted and ennobled
Even to these who are
Of the luminaries,
Lowly
Brothers and sisters
Without Ears,
Eyes,
Hearts,
Or minds.

Yes,
(These vibrations resonate from the Cosmo-Plexus of Love)
Soon enough they say,
Soon enough.
Hey guys, this poem is written as a thematic embodiment of a religious-based autobiographical piece I am in the process of assembling (It will be a metaphorical interlude if you will in between two segments of the piece and thus act as a segue). It was written as a free-verse piece. I have not written in about a month which has given me time to reflect and introspectively examine the Universe around me; consequently, I hope that you guys can perceive my metamorphosis in my month long cocooning as a writer. I wanted to encapsulate the whimsicality, fancifulness, and innocence of youth by incorporating myth, imagery, and imagination (almost reminiscent of a fairy-tale whispered to a child before bed, hence the title "A Susurrus in the Night"). I kind of rushed putting this out because I was so eager to share with you guys, so forgive me if it's not as refined as my usual writings. *Since posting I have edited it on this website* I this does not convolute and thus make it less understandable! I have so much to say through this piece! Thank you so much for your support and God bless!
My love was like a caterpillar,
Cocooned in the chrysallis of my
heart.
But, when I met your glance,
Felt the tender touch of your fingers,
Saw your eyes dilate shyly,
with sparkles in them,
The cheeky curve of your smile.
My love shed and grew into a beautiful butterfly,
Thirsty for your nectar,
My exotic flower.
14/3/2019
Zac Walter Sep 2018
Laid on a starbound white vessel of profound sspirit.
Dont pay attention to the horrors in the shadow, they can eat you alive if you let them.
They aren't folk heroes, They're faux heroes

Alien tremors like indigo ephemerals
The vibrations are not elastic but
Real creatures in the night
The sun isn't shining light, its sharing a shadow
Believe what you want, spiritual by passing at best
The skull eclipses have gone and went
The moon lets the blood, the dark
Has sent its blessings
Time to move on, shedding skin
Like cocooned butterflys or snakes at age
A new age of reality has begun on the 4th page
4 dimensions
Burn some sage, prepare for the transcendence
Amaris Sep 2018
i'm back here again, **** it
incarcerated by silk and steel
i've made it livable to an extent
and the exterior is covered still
i have my own space, just mine
decorated with black and grays
sometimes i can see the light
and i try to hide away for days
cocooned inside here i cower
can't go out, i'm too terrified
i ignore the knocks on the door
there's persistent voices outside
"the key is in there with you
move around and explore
you alone can set yourself free
use your matches to find the door"
strike, watch a blossoming flame
it flickers, shadows shift around
the glow encourages another call
now extinguished, i don't make a sound
loneliness and fear is all I know
heavy chains hold me from the lock
those voices again, encouraging me
we're here for you always, let's talk
Nigdaw Jun 29
Headlights, LED's, burning bright
Into my retinas, reflected in rear view
And side mirrors, a radiator grill just
Visible, almost the outline of a person
Behind the wheel, androgynous ghost,
Mad Max or just mad, determined
To drive to wherever, faster than
Anyone else, cocooned in black leather
Heads up display laid out across sweeping
Digital dashboard, vying to pass me;
But what of the queue plainly ahead
Stretching to far horizon, vanishing point,

Perhaps it is supernatural, absorbing traffic
Clearing the way by passing through it,
An alien craft with technology far
Advanced from our slow turning wheels
Selfishly driving alone in our home from
Home interiors, gathering subjects
For an out of this world experience
Or maybe a time machine
Like Back to the Future powered by flux
Capacitor, it will disappear and turn up
Ahead of all of us, or maybe my imagination
Has run riot and it's just another impatient
Idiot.
Your voice sounds like future music,
something that has not been thought up yet.
I can only imagine dreamlike tones,
it's true entertainment for the mind,

and I dreamt up your voice walking slowly for miles in my thoughts.
I picture your voice to be a symphony
of morning glory vines and violins

stinging me along, and this private
a concert is for my ears only, and I am playing
musical chairs on a runaway train of thoughts.
I tell you how words don't always need sound.

They find ways to cut corners and
I found a way to find you and you
stay uncut, well kept in a well Lit
corner of my thoughts.

Your voice is a lighthouse it is
luminescent when I am cocooned
in a dark corner standing on a
colorless ground fearing the butterflies

that cloud my Judgment, and make me
lose my train of thought.
Your strength teach me to sleep
peacefully with fire in my heart,

and smoke in my eyes, you feel to me like
Tuesday in an Indian summer, and warm
healing thoughts. In you, I found a safe house,
sweet nothings, and holiness in your blood.

When we speak in person
we will only speak in smiles,
and yours always reminds
me of an angel protecting my thoughts.
C F Mar 30
I take a deep breath in,
and let it out.

I'm safe here.
The blankets are warm,
I'm cocooned in the crook of your arm.

I worry I'm happy enough to disappear.
That I might somehow transform,
and lose this thing that I absolutely adore.

I let a slow breath out,
and took a deep one in.

All is well once more.
Yenson Dec 2018
These little things with their little things
( aptly, like pigs in blankets )
sit in their little worlds with little minds
With little senses and little knowledge
they look at all things with little perceptions
and little understanding
cocooned in their little lives with little desired
and little expected

which means

A lot of time for self loathing, a lot of time frustrated
A lot of time depressed, a lot of time unfulfilled,
a lot of time for mischief, a lot of time for hating
a lot of time deluded. a lot of time wasted nursing delusions
a lot of time fantasizing writing deluded *******,
a lot of time projecting their ignorance and in pain
a lot of time for anger, a lot of time for mediocrity
a lot of time for distraction, a lot of time to be nothing
but totally and completely foolish and repulsive

but

Spare a thought for ignorance is bliss
and misery needs company
how can the unloved want others to love
why would a little one wish to know a magnum is in action
why would the frustrated ******* want others to scream in
******* throes
why would little damaged things want happiness for others
why would restless frenzied things want peace and goodwill
when they are just little things with Ninety nine problems
and ******* helps hide their twitching

These little things, with their little minds
and their little lives
         poor pathetic little things .........
“With ignorance comes fear – from fear comes bigotry
“People who love themselves, don’t hurt other people. The more we hate ourselves, the more we want others to suffer.”
“You have enemies? Good. That means you’ve stood up for something sometime in your life.”
Viridian Dec 2018
She sat in the cold, wondering just what she should do with her life. As it unravels bit by bit, exposing her naked self to the truth of the world after spending her hours and lives wrapped in a symphony of cocooned pale white, she finds herself unable to think. To feel. What has she become, and how did it happen, when did it start, what did she do to warrant these events? The room is in a spin as it closes down upon her, urging her not to speak but instead scream her sorrows and heartbreak. As the world begins to renew in time for another day, she sits in the cold, numb. What now?
Amanda Aug 2018
Laying on a bed of sand
Soft as feather downing
You take hold of my hand
I am floating, drowning
Feeling the blue salt fill me
Your breath kisses my eye
Taking me down to see
Where the turtles fly
Amongst rainbow coral
And fish, timid and shy
Hide amongst a skeletons hull

Gossamer clouds waft over
Driven by a sun tanned breeze
As we lay, cocooned in our ardour
Surrounded by quiet seas
I can feel the blue salt fill me
As your breath kisses my eye
And it’s taking me down to see
Where the turtles fly
Amongst the rainbow coral
And see the fish so shy
Hiding in a shipwrecked hull
F Jul 2018
rattling thunder
pummels the tinny tin can roof
under which you drive
through the swelling swamp-roads.

you say this is england.
i say this is climate change.
snakes emerge from murky water,
the same green as your eyes.

a hiss wobbles through your tar-bones
and your flesh boils to scales.
a fat, emerald python.
eating me whole and clean.

your bleach-bowels sear me.
a hapless, cocooned boy for a devil.
the teenage smile is what beguiled me,
tricked me into your drunken youth.
hiss hiss hiss, miss miss miss
Gavin Oliver Jun 1
Within a dream, cocooned in the arms of Morpheus I travelled to an enchanted forest. As I touched the fabric of the scene, cool and green, soft lights flickered through the trees.

Fairies and nymphs at play! Laughing chattering, flitting above and around the ancient wood . I wished to join the magical fun.....if only I could...if only I could.

Sudden and swift I transformed! My body discarded replaced by purest light I entered apon the glorious flight. Welcome! We hear your plea and grant a wish to thee.

I darted hither. I hovered there . Time became irrelevant in this spellbound place. I played all night only too aware of the coming dawns fiery glare.

I must away! My body stirs from it's slumber, reclaiming my mind to bring it back to my earthly existence. All too soon the vision faded. Thank you gentle spirits for a joyful time....I will return.
Kimberly Jan 23
“Come closer,” you beckoned
Your fingers like strings
Pulling me out
Where I lay cocooned
Inside the smell of rain
I stood my ground
Fought as you
Sought me out
I have grown roots
In the confines
In the comforts
In the eye of the storm
Two seconds more
Let me sleep
One second more
Until my very hands
Will pull myself out
Starlight Feb 23
I began with a boy,
his traits were his sparkling eyes,
any who would behold would be bewitched,

mesmerised.

Once there, it was not enough,
I knew the fallacy of his face,
had traced his dimples,
but appearances can only stretch so far.

I told the boy, my hand upon his cheek,
"my child, it is time to feel and think"
of course the boy knew neither,
he was but a doll of my making,
a sculpture,
an empty hanging object to twist to precision.

I whispered to him, when the sky rose empty,
I held him just as the night held me,
I cocooned his ear in hot marbelling breath
I spoke of dreams,
fargone galaxies,
wonders of the world.

I told him to search, to find, to discover.

The boy never moved from his pristine shelf,
each day,
as doors rang open,
and bells clanged closed,
his eyes never flickered,
from their emerald prose.

Courage spiked my veins,
the boy transformed once again,
he metamorphed, bones twisting obscenely in the night,
I heard his silent screams,
his eyes begged for mercy,

boy became a bat,
he became a smashed supplication of glass,
he was shards on my mantle,
he was memories and ghouls awakened.

I held him as the sun ached in my eyes,
I cried into his chest but his heart gave no pleasure,
nor mercy,
he stared so empty and open,

I tried to clasp the word sorry.

We did not speak for weeks,
boy became guilt,
he left his title of creation,
he had arisen as my master,
limbs sharpened to tools of movement,
his eyes would catch me
the green deafened my sight,

the world muted.
Enchanted.

Dust settled on my frosted bones,
I was whittled thin,
hollowed out,
I held no more soul,
only yearning for boy to smile.

But his eyes did close.

one day meaning will surrender,
just like him,
and my empty shelf.
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