"liliac" poems
Writing a poem
under the moon
Contemplating
on a wooden chair
The silky curtains
spread their wings.
I hear a voice
your call at night
echoing on walls
I leave the ink
and run down
over the meadows
over the fields
and the moon
lightens my path.
The woods is dark
but does not halt
my rush toward you
I run for a while
I run for years.
In your room
is a coffin inside
on top of it are flowers
a bouquet of liliac lilies
I don't hear your voice
anymore. It is dark.
I sit by there for years.
It took centuries
to reach you
and seconds
to love you.
The moon on the hill
is standing still.
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 4:03 PM UTC
Some days wake to the rising of sun over the horizon,
The taste of new sliding off my tongue,
The view of new chances, new adventures laying in my reach.
Other days I barely wake to the bed where crows come to weep their sorrowful songs of lives before,
Where tears fall from a blackened sky to flood and fog my vision from what I should have seen.
Some days I walk through fields of wild flowers,
Smell of lavender and liliac consuming my senses,
Paths leading to serenity's threshold, and I move ever closer to its door.
Other days my legs hardly move and I sit frozen taking in the poison as I slink in fields of poppies,
Nodding in and out of reality,
Scent of stale whisky mixes in sickening concoction with the smell of copper to send me throwing to my knees,
Fiery pain quenching knots amid my pits.
Darkness my old sidekick,
An old hiding place,
A place where I once came to lay my head,
A place, a thing of silence, now loud, deafening to the ear,
Darkness the sound that comes to clench me in its grasp, holding me half in its hands.
Some days I wake to the sounds of two lovers meeting in ravenous passion, the feeling I could never quench the thirst, the feel of fingertips tracing me into light.
Other days my ears hear only nightmares, the horrors that haunt my troubled mind.
Shrill screams of loves death,
The sound of my hearts puncture and the feel of its decapitation from my chest.
The sound of souls flowing in rivers lost from earthly robes,
And the sad,sad song of a million crows.
Some days the curtains open to the sun shining upon glistening skin, two lovers captured in never lifting kiss, two bodies linking and two bodies intertwined.
Other days I wake in hell, a fiery, unforgiving pit of my own creation,
Loneliness a deathly horizon,
And my soul wades in the rivers edge contemplating being one among the lost,
One among the dead....
Nov 13, 2016
Nov 13, 2016 at 4:21 AM UTC