"engraver" poems
I overstretched my arms into September,
you watched my limbs break off on the first day of November.
I counted the days until everything would come back together,
I ran out of fingers to count with.
I coughed up enough gun powder to finally go back,
knocked on your door,
dropped myself straight on the porch in front of me.
I rang the doorbell until my fingertip started to bleed.
Your neighbors are telling me to stop grieving over someone
who still has a pulse, but I can't stop looking at our pictures
like a finalized headstone after the engraver asks,
"Is everything spelled correctly?"
I'd tell him he carved in the wrong date of death,
that's not the day you left, you never left.
You're going to answer the door,
everything can come back together again.
I won't have to count the days anymore.
I'm still right here.
I know I'm here because the storm drain hasn't moved me yet.
It hasn't taken my head and shoved me under your debris,
because I haven't let it.
I spent so long trying to figure out where it hurts,
and wound up right here.
This is where it hurts,
I'm not on your porch, my fingertip breaking,
I'm laying right next to you,
your arm draped over my shoulder,
your groggy voice in my ear.
This is where it hurts,
This is where everything fell apart.
This is where everything will come back together.
Everything will come back together again.
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 10:39 AM UTC
Once I was a preserver
a wayfarer
a maker
but later
you turned me into a useless stargazer
by losing the will of being your tracer
I ceded my kismet on becoming an engraver
I grew to be nothing but a moveless eraser
Jun 6, 2018
Jun 6, 2018 at 3:40 PM UTC
One glowing time at winter night
while the stars wait in silence
the poet thinks of wrong and right
craving for unknown guidance.
Standing on the edge of univesre
where is the place of existance
quiet drops of thought disperse
in the emptiness of persistance.
What one desires the uttermost
is different from a single favor
the vast boarder of the life's coast
surrounds the desparate engraver.
The poet is the masterpiece of art
the creator of emotion and beauty
the drop of saddness in the heart
the poet engraves the life in melody.
Oct 2, 2018
Oct 2, 2018 at 12:12 PM UTC
Colour me blind
Rip my heart
The devil in my ear,
"boy, what have you done?"
a broken bottle
Peering through it's bottom
The taste of wine on her lips
If the mind could reminisce
and find satisfaction,
in the seconds of yesterday
But not borrow from tomorrow
The rush in the veins
To bury me alive
With an end into a lapse
torment and regret,
Love the way it hurts
This inferno
With hands glued to the bottle
A centuries whisky
A mind eraser
And a pain engraver
She lied to me
"Forever an eternity," she said
But just a flare in the sky
And myself in the sea
With my head barely above,
My feet and hands,
Numb in the cold waters
Am a slave to the glass
It's crystal walls,
And the scarlet liquid,
Contained inside
"Pour me some more,"
Need to breath
With a poison, in my mind
Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 5:35 AM UTC