"cyclones" poems
you and i met with too much in common
and last time i checked,
two sad people
will rarely be happy together
we are cyclones, filled with emotion
destructive, powerful
and somehow beautiful.
amid the wreckage of destroyed cities
we destroyed ourselves
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 2:29 PM UTC
a big fight up in saturn causes cyclone activity in queensland and northern territory
you see ronnie biggs and ted bunny were having a quiet methane smoothie, in saturn
club rings, when they suddenly broke out in a fight, and this wasn’t just any fight, no, it caused
big cyclone activity in quuensland and northern territory and gold coast where my brother lives
has a bif of rough seas, and my dad is making sure that the cyclone doesn’t affect gold coast
and my brothers family, but ronnie biggs and ted bundy had no compassion, and really started
fighting with methane, which is causing the rough seas, and dad, is trying to keep the cyclone away
but, it looks like ted bunny and ronnie biggs are going to get their way, as they, poured methane all over
the saturn club rings, you see, what us cosmic sleepers must do, is alert australians living in these areas
to listen to authorities, and go to a safe place, for barry allan’s ploy to save this world, hopefully there won’t
be any casualties, and hopefully my brothers family will be safe, hopefully dad can save the gold coast
and keep his old family safe, it’ll be a hard job, you see ted bundy and ronnie biggs are still fighting, saying
let’s destroy the earth, let’s destroy australia first, let’s use methane to ruin the whole entire earth, you see
me as cronus is getting dad to help me keep the methane from forcing the cyclones to really **** people, and hopefully
nothing will be lost, but it will be ****** hard, because ted bunny and ronnie biggs are really ****** well ****** off
with everyone, as well as cronus, and knows how crocus’s current earth body is when storms come to cities his
brother or family lives in, decided to hopefully wreck cronus’s life, and his dad barry allan, is making sure he helps
cronus keep his younger son safe from this really fierce cyclone, i know i am going on and on saying the same thing
over and over, but this is a way, to bring all cyclone activity not to take too much control on queensland and northern territory
you see, ted bundy likes the idea of using methane to destroy the earth, to get crocus’s earth body, to SHUT UP, cause
you should listen to your voices when they said methane is a gas, and you can’t drink it, but you can fight it, and the methane
stopped dad from being a boy, but he says girls and boys are equal, and barry allan is fighting ted bundy and ronnie biggs
from having this cyclone get close to my brothers family, but ted bundy liked the idea of hurting the gold coast, and cause
problems for my brother, and barry allan and cronus are protecting the gold coast from a very fierce cyclone activity
and cronus and buddha YELLED OUT
UMMMMMMMMMM STOP ted bundy and ronnie biggs from taking too much affect in cyclones in qld and northern territory
immmmmmmmmmm keep our family safe from this methane cyclone caused by ted bundy and ronnie biggs
ummmmmmmmmmm stop people swimming in dangerous waters, they will be doing what ted and ronnie want
you see, ronnie biggs and ted bundy are fighting each other, and dad and cronus who is me, are guarding anyone who is on the earth
making people too scared to not go in the water, ted bundy is enjoying people going in the water and so is ronnie biggs
because it makes what they are doing so very much right, and i tell ya i tell ya i tell ya, my father, is helping my previous life cronus
ME AND DAD MUST SAVE THE QUEENSLAND AND NORTHERN TERRITORY COASTLINE
ME AND DAD MUST SAVE THE QUEENSLAND AND NORTHERN TERRITORY COASTLINE
save it from the dreaded ronnie biggs and ted bundy, RIGHT NOW
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 8:08 PM UTC
I see a pattern Everywhere:
Circles and globes (three dimensional circles);
Shiny rings of fire.
Countless manifestations of this same shape.
Star-spangled galaxies wheeling through the sky:
That half-globe dome.
Earth, in circular orbit (more or less) around the Sun,
Escorted by the Moon.
Days give way to seasons,
Repeating every year.
Groundhog Days becoming
Groundhog Creations
Perhaps.
The list seems endless:
Hopkins’ dapples,
Planets, craters, cyclones, anti-cyclones, sea currents,
***** apples, oranges, nuts, potatoes,
Teardrops, heads, faces, eyes, mouths,
Holes!
Coins, bin lids, and plates;
Sunflowers, daisies, pansies,
Rings of mushrooms,
Circling birds of prey,
A cat curled in a circle,
Like a foetus.
Life as we know it
Is a circle
And a cycle too.
Birth, Death, Blossom, Wilt.
Reincarnation?
Renewal?
Clock-faced Time itself.
Eternity might be a circle,
Infinity the same.
Maybe even God,
Some way.
Perhaps we still are building God,
For Him or Her to travel back through time
Like Doctor Who
To Create The Big Bang,
And form this expanding Universe,
Thus taking us full circle.
Or maybe the Universe will fold back in upon itself,
Producing yet one more Big Bang,
In an endless cycle,
Of Big Bangs,
Amongst this ever circling
Multiverse.
Paul Butters
© PB, 14th February, 2011 at 14.00, in Humberside.
Mar 29, 2011
Mar 29, 2011 at 4:14 AM UTC
The oxygen that we breathe
in
and
out
every minute of every day
is not lost
but shared
re-used
recycled
recirculated.
If we are in the same room –
or sealed hermetically for hours
in the cabin of a plane –
we breathe continuously
the same air,
the oxygen goes from me to you
and back again.
But air currents,
prevailing winds,
the jet stream,
cyclones and anti-cyclones,
all move the atmosphere further
and further still,
so that even if we are
on opposite sides of the globe,
separated by oceans,
it is a statistical certainty
that I still breathe in
atoms of oxygen
that were once
inside
you.
Do they carry your thoughts,
your feelings,
your poetry to me,
or mine to you?
Who can say?
I can but hope it,
as I thank you
for keeping me alive.
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 3:09 PM UTC
you see cronus and barry allan and buddha, has been battling the terrible forces
of cyclone marcia, which is caused by the cosmic fight of ted bundy and ronnie biggs
you see, brian allan was very tired, because he had to fight the terrible winds caused
by ted and ronnie, you see what happening is, kids and surfers and rock fishermen
and all sorts of the yobbos culture, have let ted bundy and ronnie biggs take full control
and ned kelly and the crazy ed gein, you see i just wanted to do tapestries, but, my eyes
were too tired, and i had to put power into these stupid people, who are doing all this
ya know rock fishing, and surfing, it’s herd to understand why, you see, at present i am
treated like a hooligan, but i am battling to keep the cyclones from really damaging the
earth, and there is some people stuck in an elevator, and kids near a poo,l, with high seas,
i know, it is a bit of excitement, but reality why are people allowing themselves to go out
and battle these evil spirits that caused this cyclone marcia, and elvis tried to keep these
evil spirits from killing with the powers of music, here goes
i wanna be, your teddy bear, you see i take out of my bag and cuddle you some more
i don’t wanna be a tiger, tigers play to rough, i don’t want to be a lion
the lion ain’t the type ya ought to love enough
i know you can be found sitting all alone
if you can’t come around, at least please telephone
don’t be cruel, just stop these spirits
i know it can be hard, but baby it it’s just you i am thinking of
and then elvis sang to ed gein ted bundy ronnie biggs and ned kelly
you guys are nothing but evil hound dogs, to trap these australians like this
you trap these australians thinking it’s fun to break the rules
you will never **** these people, no matter how stupid they are
you see these criminals can cause more problems, now they’re dead
ted bunny said, we are wrecking houses heh heh heh
we are forcing people to battle winds while surfing heh heh heh heh
the children caught near the rock pool, heh heh heh heh
people stuck in hotel elevator heh heh heh heh
ted bundy said, i have everybody fooled,
then said he is glad he is dead, because nobody will believe in stories
ted bundy ronnie biggs ed gein and ned kelly making these cyclone victims
think it’s exciting to take the kids to look at the raging seas
yeah, ted bunny is loving every minute of this, every minute, every minute
and even the eye of ted bundy and ed gein looking at the queensland coast saying a loud
HEH HEH HEH HEH HEH HEH, foolish earthlings
cronus barry allan and buddha and athena, are pushing the cyclone away
but it’s hard to beat these evil spirits
I AM CRONUS
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 9:52 PM UTC
Disturbances, however hard they try,
Will always be horrifying.
Now alarming is just the thing,
To get me wondering if disturbances are atrocious.
The ramp is not nonthermal!
the ramp is exceptionally nonthermal.
A ramp is hot. a ramp is nonthermal,
a ramp is caloric, however.
hardships are not lean!
hardships are exceptionally zoftig.
Do hardships make you shiver?
do they?
Don't belive that gales are big?
gales are little beyond belief.
Now unimportant is just the thing,
To get me wondering if gales are shrimpy.
I cannot help but stop and look at depressing tornadoes.
Do tornadoes make you shiver?
do they?
Cyclones, however hard they try,
Will always be traumatic.
Never forget the harmful and painful cyclones
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 8:08 AM UTC
Again life cycles to a clutter, ideas thought through
don't anymore seem as though,
even when expressed aloud and not within.
Maybe they're right,
my ignorance is only withholding wonders
I struggle to actually see.
Hypocritically, I find importance in self enrichment
and observing from afar.
and yet even from a distance you feel so close.
Is this an evolution or is it just another mutation.
Obscure out of any cultural norm, I resonate
impairing those who hear my words.
This constant metamorphosis has left me staring in the mirror for
hours, searching for the presence of my subjected form.
Yet,
while I peer into the interworkings of my reflection
to observe what I actually see...
With all truth, it holds a boy,
an awkwardly timid boy.
Insecurely gazing back into the pupils
of his reality.
He's bellowing inside his
submerged mind.
Subconsciously Blurting:
"Do not turn back,
their are cyclones that await.
And all that is required
to overcome this task
is to go forth without
pondering times long gone...
So here I am, engaulphed
in tidal winds.
I must break loose;
grow, starting from
below.
Jul 18, 2011
Jul 18, 2011 at 10:55 PM UTC
.
Her fine hands gentle
With lithe and spiny fingers
Of bone and fin.
Her eyes are opal,
Essence of emerald and topaz,
A hoard of treasure.
Her hair is sea gathering
And dances in the blue currents
Deadly as the sea snake.
Her skin is coral,
Made of mineral and sorcery,
A fatal beacon.
Her lips are urchin,
Set in a whirlpool of face,
A spiral of doom.
Her voice is dream,
Rocking the lost wrecked ships,
Ground into sand.
Her long tail is fable
Of paradise, beyond faraway seas,
Cyclones and waves.
.
Apr 26, 2019
Apr 26, 2019 at 8:22 PM UTC
i fall and ascend in a sea vantablack
spiral light
fire ghosts and ice
that cut the soul to pieces
like scissors
that split rabbits
industry of a hissing creation
polluted altar of sleeping lakes
and scythe
bludgeon and howitzer
prods of push and pull
in a grindhouse
necropolis of craters
scattering satanic eggs and tumors
i am here born to you thin of bone
mother of catastrophes
on a colossal ball of scab and callous
that moves sonorous dazzling shapes
careening through
ephemera workhorse torches
of doom
you fill me with knots of terror
and desperate dreams of stairway wings
veils and glimmers
resolutions dissolving
petaled apertures of desire
and night whispers
in a spider web of sonic bulls
before undertows gravity
i was vibrant
but then i died into the rock ash of earth
they called it my birthday
my parents with party hats and balloons
blinked fetters
against nights of granite and stone
i got deader still
until i was nothing
but an imagineless gob of mud and breath
an eye looking out
behind red nerve forest fires
and tears shook tambourines
down heavy lashes
cascaded fluttering tassels
i am born to you mother of senile seas
citadel of shattered glass
in a slate cube of cyclones
mute and screaming
my fate deep shock
encased in mausoleums led nautilus
blatting hells jaundiced shriek
Pluto conjunct Saturn
Jun 11, 2019
Jun 11, 2019 at 1:05 PM UTC
You were the greatest neuronal reorganization to ever happen,
of course I don't know who I am anymore.
What was plastic seems changed to stone in a gargoyle brain and beneath a microscope the shimmering glia spell out your name over and over in little green lights, fossilizing the neurons that say:
Him.
The earth has an edge. Nobody wants to fall off.
So call me Homer, because the gods themselves could not convince me my situation's a sphere there's far too much fear in this flattened plane that understands only primitive desires and just wants you near.
Everyone knows the romanced brain could be mistaken for a ******* addict's.
But perhaps if you look more closely into my eyes you will see my irises have turned stormy, that cyclones of energy are becoming patterns that scribble and scribble arcane suggestions for a new cartography. A new story. A new being.
Supplies needed:
One strong pencil.
Enough oxytocin to unlearn an addiction.
Enough optimism to overcome an affliction, my diction is code for the way you kissed me and it underlines every sentence like the way a voice rises when asking a question.
I have so many questions.
And even though the notion of who I will be when I am not you terrifies me, like Cathy and Heathcliff I will not be doomed to roam the moors, already I know there's endlessly more, and with or without you the best is yet to come. Just as they say. No, I don't know what's in store. But I think that's okay.
Turn golden, Grey Matter, light up 'til you burn.
Reboot.
Restart.
Rewire.
Relearn.
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 1:06 PM UTC
Sun fingers her hidden hummingbird nest of skin,
Each twig, love's unfinished sonnet, found by dawn's light.
My lips echo night’s bare swim’s wild lake water,
Our steam now swirls skyward, sisters with the breeze.
Her breathless wink, a covert quest cloaked as touch,
Then silence—inhales between our lingering drip.
Her drop, carried by sunlight, feeds my waiting drip.
Wander the rainforest of our clammy, wet skin.
She slowly turns—I search her folds, lost in touch,
Her nest, crescent moon, orbits a split of light.
She shivers, wild hairs pirouette by a breeze,
My fingers press her steam and honey tea into water.
Her hips sing a ballad—our rhythm cyclones the water,
Our chorus swells red—cools—softly—a lush drip.
We bloom, finding sun’s rays—chased by a soft breeze,
Flesh cools where steam once warmly caressed skin.
Sun’s gaze lowers, tangles softened with light,
Her calf discovers mine, a fawn, frozen by touch.
Gaze locked—hummingbirds hover, skin craving touch.
We lean as one, gathering feral hair, drowned by water.
Glints of wet skin flicker through mother oak’s light.
From her thigh’s fold, a slow, golden honey drip
Marks time—stroked by a returning breeze,
Its chill paints a stream’s pebbles on cold skin.
Sun, a spider, crawls along her ******* secret skin,
Her woven silk—memories, a wisp of touch.
My lips chase her ******* last rivulets of water,
A sigh spills golden from her—deep, into light.
Between her thighs, one final honeyed drip—
Then stillness—skyward, the gasp of our breeze.
A drowned silence—death—our last honeyed drip.
Our shadows triumph where sun once ruled skin.
Skyward, the scent of our love—a nest in the breeze.
Sep 10, 2025
Sep 10, 2025 at 6:16 PM UTC
Mon aux deux tiers divine,
Toute laine et marjolaine
De douceur et délicatesse,
Courrais-tu, bufflesse, les steppes
Avec ton ombre d'argile
A la recherche du plant de jouvence
Semé aux Treize Cyclones
Qui hantent les îles-fleurs du bout du monde ?
A chaque cyclone aux ailes brisées
Qu'offrirais-tu, Gilgamesh, mon ombre immortelle
Dans le nigredo causal et a-causal où se fond l 'abîme ? ?
Au Cyclone-gel, la baguette et le cerceau ?
Au Cyclone-mauvais, le taureau céleste ?
Au Cyclone-tempête, la Forêt de Cèdres ?
Au Cyclone-rafales, le corps de la Joyeuse ?
Au Cyclone-tourbillons, les hommes-scorpions ?
Au Cyclone-du Nord, les cyprès ?
Au Cyclone-poussières, les gazelles ?
Au Cyclone-du Sud, les Enfers ?
Au Cyclone-de l'Est, le Déluge ?
Au Cyclone-de l 'Ouest, la nuit d'étoiles ?
Au Cyclone-tornade, le sourire des hyènes ?
Au Cyclone-mortifère, le feu éphémère ?
Au Cyclone-souffleur, le feu éternel ?
Aug 23, 2019
Aug 23, 2019 at 2:44 AM UTC
Call delicate sirens of the working class!
half-bum minimum wage poverty line
subsidy sages hollow of materialism devils,
devoid of darkness internal fire strike rage
and hellion god bowels light flickering shallow men.
The rich men.
The truly poor men living in clouded manors on
Ignorance Avenue.
Delicate sirens not so poor after all,
not so empty or so full.
God is the prayer call
and siren droll
and *** roll-in-sleep afternoon shore-breeze faint of hope
approaching winter-fall showering divinity flowers the same material as Peter's scraggly beard while he coughs his angelic bronchitis wheezes, purifying the western air.
Peter is apostle
his snores are their own gospel
the doves in his dreams
will always be there.
The battle goes on
the bottle goes up
the rattle hollers out
the chatter not without.
Sirens call! Call with short breaths as
the world cyclones through universal woe.
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 11:53 AM UTC
The
cyclones are cellophane
saran raptures, and
gale forced smiles in the rain
that comes after a dead-end starts
with a grave intuition.
Out of the blue,
a sky you knew would be safe
as sun-strokes-
of genius,
proof
that love had
a heart...
you found
mars
That's you
wishing where stars
don't fall
they just hang
in the black hole
dark...
Oct 21, 2011
Oct 21, 2011 at 10:00 AM UTC
Evolution complete:
I am faceless.
That, once recognizable,
Is disfigured and ugly;
And exudes the smell
Of gangrenous life.
Eyes of strangers, friends,
Horrified by my transformation,
Look beyond, toward safety.
My stare will consume them,
And labor them,
Into my hollow.
It is my soul,
Pure and discontent,
That cries for emancipation
And deliverance.
It is the cyclones
Of failures echoing,
Again and again,
Abrading my use,
Paring my value.
The dust in my palms,
Is the former me;
And even the breaths
Of God
Cannot reconstitute
This undead.
I resign,
To the solitary
Choice
That remains:
To free the soul
From its heinous captor;
To bait tranquility
With selfless mercy
Until the final drop
Dries unnoticed.
Nov 4, 2010
Nov 4, 2010 at 11:33 AM UTC
A quicksand cyclones downward at the center,
A spiraling hole spun around by the sands that enter,
They scratch at the innards of my heart,
Pulling everything down and ripping it apart,
I’ve tossed so many things at it,
But they just drop into this endless pit,
Nothing seems to fill it up,
Instead everything just gets ****** up,
It’s like having my flesh sliced by scattered grains,
Spun at high velocity as it sheers against my veins,
Carving out tiny wounds accumulate into scars,
Blood seeping, lost and disappearing with its cause,
Cries are ****** up and then dispersed,
Scattered into pieces until it’s no longer heard,
Screams are silenced by a ringing vacuum,
Run through bleeding veins buried in my womb,
It’s like something wants to come up,
Like a volcano that’s ready to erupt,
Everything that’s been sunk and saturated full,
It’s getting ready to finally burst my soul,
I didn’t want to shut it all up,
It wasn’t my choice to have it all ****** up,
I tried so hard to pull it out with my strength,
But I underestimated the length of my pain,
It’s been loaded and treated with all its vice,
So I don’t know how to clean it up nice,
I think my exterior is too thick for it to ever explode,
But I think that one day, I am going to implode.
Apr 24, 2021
Apr 24, 2021 at 12:56 AM UTC
“I’m unraveling,” she said.
“Where’s the thread?” he asked. “I’ll pull it.”
Pull a thread and this dense fear
spins out and away into gales
like bits of flying paper
like cyclones
like breathlessness.
Then my life floats down
in a clean white line:
a declaration
a direction.
Exhaled, unraveled.
Feb 15, 2010
Feb 15, 2010 at 2:23 PM UTC
Encase me in nature
smother me in leaves
let me flow with the river
hug me a tree
When mother comes calling
greet her embrace
immerse in her wisdom
universal grace
Yet, we exploit her
pillage her soils
feed from her *******
pollute her with spoils
Scarring her beauty
no thought for her care
t urning our backs
ignoring her tears
But a mother enraged
is a sight to behold
you should be afraid
if her love, she withholds
Her temper will fray
her might will unleash
call us to account
there will be no peace
Fire and brimstone
floods and high tides
eruptions and cyclones
oceans, acidified
The nature I love
the universe of dreams
who sung us a future
unravels before me
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 5:25 AM UTC
The madness of money,
exploiting the human mind.
Never enough money,
never enough time.
The disasters of our time,
the result of natures resistance.
Rebelling against mankind,
Mother Nature can be persistent.
And while we watch the tide,
slowly go and rise,
we must remember, it won't be long,
till we are all gone.
Tornados and hurricanes,
wind whipping cyclones.
Heat waves and solar storms,
disrupting cell phones.
Landslides and flooding,
from torrential downpours.
Forrest fires and blackouts,
from ruthless lightening storms.
Some may say the sky is broken,
some may say the sky is crying.
This is natures rebellion,
Mother Nature is dying.
But our motive right now is money,
and nothing will stop our addiction.
We will pollute this world till the skies are black,
and when we do, there's no turning back.
Let the gaping hole in the ozone layer,
grow until it's big enough,
to burn our Earth down to the core,
till we are ashes, nothing more.
Mother Nature has sent her warnings,
Mother Nature, wish us goodbye.
Mother Nature will slowly die,
and nothing she does can change our minds...
We will destroy ourselves for money,
we will commit,
without knowing,
our own suicide.
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 11:41 PM UTC
My breath beat shallow at a chest of stone as I looked out
At all of our houses that seemed so small from whence I stood
The sky’s true and radiant blue, I discovered at this altitude
Cloud rings spiraled down, the sun beams reflected off my goggles -
And my arms felt stiff, strapped into wings of enchanted brass
When all of a sudden a gust swept –
Me from the tip of my ride with such haste!
From a cloud boat I dropped and gasped for my life!
Cyclones of wind paddled my body and blew back my hair…
From a tumble, to falling with such grace,
I soared with a smile over my tiny little city -
And yearned at the horizon in its majesty -
This moment and its treasures I had stolen for me.
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 12:19 PM UTC
Her fine hands are gentle
With lithe and spiny fingers
Of bone and fin.
Her eyes are opal,
Essence of emerald and topaz,
A hoard of treasure.
Her hair is sea gathering
And dances in the blue currents
Deadly as the sea snake.
Her skin is coral,
Made of mineral and sorcery,
A fatal beacon.
Her lips are urchin,
Set in a whirlpool of face,
A spiral of doom.
Her voice is dream,
Rocking the lost wrecked ships,
Ground into sand.
Her long tail is fable
Of paradise, beyond faraway seas,
Cyclones and waves.
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 11:42 AM UTC
I thought I had been cast out of the mud castle kingdom. Then one day it dawned on me, 28 miles per second would be enough to break through my own roaring and escape back into
over developed proxy and reach a small awareness.
enough, i thought, to overwhelm a wall of demons.
Guarded are their black glassy gates.
Then one day it happened.
Pam, crying chemical rainbow tears while looking at all of the big red blimps.
"now clouds" she said, "clouds should all be plastic and red." And with that her ankles turned to dust and started a fury of little cyclones. Outwards , outwards.
now she cant spell forwards. she can't count backwards, and every other time she blinks her eyes the retina won't flip the image. The world goes upside down and insideout.
I can't handle it.
They all lied to her, told her the world was just level.
I am sleep now. I'm weak. Those big long brittle spider legs tapping at the pavement. Those big black belladonna eyes and wormwood spire. Godamned, he bent the buildings out of shape. He could sink all the gondolas in Venice.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 6:08 PM UTC
You found me
stuck staring
at rearview mirror reflections
of wintry, dusk intersections
of everything leaving me
all at once.
A forced exhale
of asphyxia caged
in collapsing lungs;
my mouth,
a fountain spring,
that coughed out
pools of blood.
I wish I saw myself
the way you saw me;
not a red traffic light
wounding speeding cars
on winding streets,
but an antique heirloom
priceless enough
you'd only wish
you could keep
in a heart-shaped box
you saw in dreams.
But, I'd cut my tongue,
paint my lips cherry shades
to blend with cells that'd stain
handkerchiefs you'd offer.
Make you believe
this isn't going to foster
because you are indecision,
unfinished watercolor landscapes
of summer forest fire skies,
a sun-kissed Pacific wanderer.
And I am true crime
untouched evidence of break-ins,
remains of faulty locks and lights.
I am mosaics misaligned;
static, seabed cracks
from forgotten fault lines.
Gaping fissures of sand,
and salt that won't let me stitch
frayed skin-deep fibres
barely holding me in.
Oceans would have to empty themselves
into whirring cyclones and high tides
for our selfish sense of touch to collide.
Ice caps would have to sink
deep enough to even bruise my skin.
And I wouldn't want to watch
more Shakespeare end
before it begins.
*See, I am the one
with sharp edges,
but why
did you have to be the one
to clip my wings?*
There is only an abyss
without a trampoline,
a safety net,
a bed of waterlilies,
I could fall in.
And I am so tired
of paradoxes
and ironies;
of always being wanted
by someone who doesn't even
want to be kept,
of always being mended
and then left
with more dislocations,
and fractures,
one after another
each taking longer to fix.
Now, in shapeless parcels,
without return addresses
sent out into the void
these words will echo
of love
I never intended to borrow,
and shadows
of false hope
you never thought yourself
capable of
giving away.
Jul 26, 2019
Jul 26, 2019 at 6:02 AM UTC
Births and deaths
Debts and success
Floods and droughts
Cyclones and hurricanes
Earthquakes and tsunamis
Misery
Chaos and serenity
All in flux
Milling about
Constant movement
Constant din
Silence within
Raging against
the dry dry winds.
Another restless moment
in the universe
Stars are born
go cold and die
Galaxies collide
Black holes
hold
no return
Super Novas
bring silence
to light years
eons wide
Another restless day
on the planet
in this our
moment of time
in this our place
in the universe.
Apr 1, 2016
Apr 1, 2016 at 10:34 AM UTC