"linework" poems
Sweet subtle serendipity
Following the scattered lines
That make-up the maps,
And the roads, and the veins
In our softly melting
Hearts- slowly dripping
Like suede candle wax
Peeling from skin,
Smooth- with the scent
Of a million rose petals
Floating in the scattered lines
Which make-up the rivers
And the roads, on the maps
Of our world, peeling back
To spill the inner core
Out into the speckled cosmos-
Like freckles on your back,
Soaking in the spring light.
A lone daisy on a windowsill
Wrapped in a burlap bow,
Bowing to the sun.
Life- evading through its
Glossy white petals, glowing.
Glowing like the moon
That rises in the east.
And as we watch
From our scattered lines
From our rivers and our roads
From our map of the cosmos-
It stops in the middle of our sky,
And rests for a little while,
Wrapped in a burlap bow.
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 8:37 PM UTC
Fingertips and everlasting
Gaze
Following the scattered lines
Which make up the maps
And the roads
And the veins in our melting
Hearts.
Slowly dripping-
Like candle wax
Peeling from skin,
Smooth and lovely
With the scent of
A million rose petals
Floating in the lines
Which make up the
Rivers
On the maps
Of our world.
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 11:55 AM UTC
A priceless piece of art in her precious gallery.
Punctured with a nail, she hangs for all to see.
Her creator, unknown.
A man masked in grey-
Took his artwork by the hand,
And traded her for pay.
Time spent perfecting; now long gone.
The Act or Art itself had gone all wrong.
The linework snakes through unknown feelings.
Canvas skin, your paint is peeling.
And here you sit, sealing
Your patches with rancid untruths.
These abused blue hues
He uses so aloof.
As your are hanging, with no tongue left for maiming,
He finds a new soul he believes needs framing.
You and she shall be the same-
Abuse and misuse are
Engrained in the brains
Of the women he has tried to tame…
But he is no artist.
Dec 11, 2018
Dec 11, 2018 at 12:39 PM UTC