"stirrings" poems
Terrifying are the attent sleek thrushes on the lawn,
More coiled steel than living - a poised
Dark deadly eye, those delicate legs
Triggered to stirrings beyond sense - with a start, a bounce,
a stab
Overtake the instant and drag out some writhing thing.
No indolent procrastinations and no yawning states,
No sighs or head-scratchings. Nothing but bounce and stab
And a ravening second.
Is it their single-mind-sized skulls, or a trained
Body, or genius, or a nestful of brats
Gives their days this bullet and automatic
Purpose? Mozart's brain had it, and the shark's mouth
That hungers down the blood-smell even to a leak of its own
Side and devouring of itself: efficiency which
Strikes too streamlined for any doubt to pluck at it
Or obstruction deflect.
With a man it is otherwise. Heroisms on horseback,
Outstripping his desk-diary at a broad desk,
Carving at a tiny ivory ornament
For years: his act worships itself - while for him,
Though he bends to be blent in the prayer, how loud and
above what
Furious spaces of fire do the distracting devils
**** and hosannah, under what wilderness
Of black silent waters weep.
41.2k
Eyes are at rest, the stars are setting.
Hushed are the stirrings of birds in their nests,
Of monsters in the ocean.
You are the Just who knows no change,
The Balance that can never swerve,
The Eternal which never passes away.
The doors of Kings are bolted now and guarded by soldiers.
Your Door is open to all who call upon You.
My Lord,
Each love is now alone with his beloved.
And I am alone with You.
________
- Rabia al Basri
From Perfume of the Desert – Inspirations from Sufi Wisdom
Edited: A. Harvey and E. Hanut
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Under this canopy
of dark
gleaming stars
I now sit
allow my body
to take residence
in the aura
of my own
glowing
let thoughts
of reason
slowly unravel
until they
become
one
long
thread
connecting my
mind but
releasing it
to the air
Molecules, like
the tiniest of crystals,
gently whir
energetically
about me
in almost
invisible stirrings
letting the power
of energy centers
take over:
Red,
for my root
for I am
tethered
to this earth
Orange, for
the passion
so strong
and truly knowing
my own worth
Yellow, for
my gut,
instincts open
and a-light
expanding into
universes, broadening
my sight
Then my heart
washed through and through
in shades of green
its own incandescence
filled with verdant,
fiery sheens
It beats a lantern
of vitality
in this ocean of pain
sending a beacon in
the darkness
helping to break old,
patterns
prompt them to
snap like rusty chains
Here it pumps in growth of
leafy, budding light
Guiding my spirit
in ripeness full and bright
I rise up
into the
indigo-turquoise
of my throat
as words burst forth
in surges,
in the salty froth
of ocean spirals
they float,
get pulled by
mysterious urges
Like waterfall mist
just kissing
the tips of eyelash
flickers
these words that
have the power
to calm
or make my blood
run quicker
And then:
the deep purple
of my crown
that tapers into
a shimmering white
and I know
I can now
receive myself,
calm, in queenly
presence of mind
of spirit
in my highest
form of
light
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 3:39 AM UTC
The aqua water reflects
white sunlight
immersed within
and throughout
the lake
A wooden pier
leans toward
the other
side of the water
An empty wooden
chair sits at the edge
of the pier
a canoe is quietly
drifting amidst
next to it
Across the lake
the dark green
shapes of mountains
appear.
Beyond them, purple
mountains in misty
focus
The soft blue sky
is powder blue
with fluffs of
white clouds drifting
The flickering light
sparkles
The scene ignites
The day is serene
and still
I look at the empty
chair at the end
of the pier and
I see Mother Nature
sitting in it -
overlooking the
beauty she's created
The stirrings of
water are splashing.
The harmony of
birds singing echo
in the background.
The sky becomes a
more and more
brilliant blue
As each second
passes my heart
excitedly beats
in sync with
the experience
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 8:45 AM UTC
Somewhere in great nature, Panama resides.
Many different colored roaming birds;
Dozen cows and wild horses gazing together in herds.
Far beyond the city, cows chewed grass
and pigs sat in warm ponds at noon,
and stray dogs barked after moving vehicles on a hill
As the sun began to die and the moon began
breaking the clouds, i'd lay awake, silently listening to distant animals and insects running off into the warm night
while tree branches tore through the wind miracously
And suddenly the utmost sound found its way into my mind. That of the little motions of night creatures
and stirrings and the thought of waking up in the pink light of early morning and beginning another adventure with my sister.
Panama is a place where people ****** an utter stranger with love and suffocate you with warm embraces
Oregon is becoming more and more a distant memory filled with fading faces.
With every breath, my body is filling itself with the beautiful essence and details of this country
All the blissful regions, rocky and slender
Out and about
Discovering the fresh and the bright.
In the ministry our words poured out like fragrance
Wisdom and peace was brought to those who inhaled every word
This trip has fulfilled its purpose
Teaching me to forget the things behind and stretch forward to the things ahead (Philippians 3:13)
~ M Mondragon
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 10:22 PM UTC
I found you half-dead.
In your eyes,
pupils were still giving away the scent of love
Breaking the harsh silence and the dark shapes of ****** footprints
Painted on your face.
The line of your body, turned into a mosaic bloomed scars,
Awakened a yearning inside of me, chopped my heart
In the timid kisses and gave away the color of your veins
Scattered on the fabric of our first awakenings.
In the depths of your flesh I'm trying to find the deafened sobs
I've listened to the dreamy nights
Under the veil of your skin,
Hidden from all sadness hungry of my tears.
I'm leaning your bloodless fingers on my lips
Listening to your presence.
By kissing your ******* I'm diving my touch in your naked
Lungs, spread out like a butterfly
Imprisoned inside your glass body.
With my tongue I'm discovering the taste of your neck,
Decorated with a red line
Of my love.
I'm biting your vocals,
Remembering of your laughter that still echoes
In the spaces of my thoughts.
You're still beautiful, safe in my arms.
You give away your happiness with a smile on your torn face.
Your love reaches me through a mild rushes of wind.
I'm leaning my cheek on your ankles,
The softness of your flesh overtakes me by passion.
And you are giving me your last stirrings of life
That you don't need with the tenderness that my breath is giving you.
I lie down next to you on the bed soaked in red,
I'm overtaken by the smell of rotting roses and smooth juices
In which we sink together.
I'm putting the remains of your waxy face on my shoulder,
I'm choked by soft closeness of your tangled hair
Packed on the pillow.
And I feel your gratitude,
While the sweet sounds of loving
Float through our world,
Safe and bloomed.
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 6:47 AM UTC
A hazy sun low in a cloudless sky
Of the most wonderful shade of blue
The only evidence of a cool night gone by
Lies in a blanket of sparkling dew.
Cobwebs glisten in the morning suns rays
Like diamonds in delicate lace
Silky trails sparkle where snails made their way
Sunlight capturing each delicate trace.
A stillness apparent in unmoving trees
Casting long shadows everywhere
Undisturbed by even the softest breeze
As a crisp coolness pervades the air.
Magpies, pigeons, and crows take flight
the first slow stirrings of the morning
Each one welcoming the morning light,
The sunshine bright and warming.
Leaves of yellow, red, brown and gold
Reflect gloriously the morning sun
Creatures stirring, growing ever more bold
As another Autumn day has begun.
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 5:02 AM UTC
A sliding current
lukewarm stirrings
taking me with it
Downstream, I float
taking myself away
from me
And campfire
smoking away day
into dusk
Staring into me
as I, it
separates me
Damp dirt tastes
in my stew
The fire, barely tended
life from leaves
Quick to burn
as easy to end
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 3:41 PM UTC
"Ah, young Sir,
indeed it is in your lines on your smooth palm
as I indeed felt the moment
when I saw your noble face
and your inimitable manner…"
"What is it? What is it?
O speak your mind, young gypsy;
speak the truth, speak with no fear"
"Ah, young Sir
this curved line that runs
across your gentle palm tells
you must certainly have
some of the blood of the Caesars
running through those bold veins of yours"
"Ah, true, true indeed
sometimes I have felt it too"
"And, young Sir
this straight line that cuts that curve
on your most delicate palm
ah – it indicates even some lineage of prophets
and a history of past holy men
which line now culminates in you"
"Oh, indeed, indeed
I have had such intimations indeed
at the House of God when I kneel
in holy prayer;
and I have had such whispers
and stirrings within my *****
indeed…indeed…"
And when the gypsy is gone
it is then that the young man
of such esteemed rank and high nobility
and of such holiness
he feels his gold ring also gone…
Aug 1, 2011
Aug 1, 2011 at 7:44 PM UTC
she lay wreathed only in sunlights warm glow
loose strands of her long red straight hair flowed
like bountiful silken ribbons
of silent beauty's fire
i brushed one strand from the
velvety skin of her shoulder
and there softly laid a single lingering kiss
tasting her elegant beauty with my lips
ever so quiet ever so soft
she murmured a lustful smile
she is that faster than light butterfly
spinning in the hot winds of timeless dreams
a dutchess of the grand
a pauper of the sublime
regal in her reflections
their sweeter wines succumbing to the autumn celebrations
the girls in silken white dress
the boys in trimmed black cuffs
they all stand back bowing heads in humble submission
when on the cusp of a light whim she wanders through
the gathered and waiting apostles of beauties delight
dutchess of the grand
pauper of the sublime
regal in all her reflections like a warm jewel
at the center of all things pretty
at the epicenter of all things envied
the precise defining of the better universe at her fingertips
the dream murmured was just the soft stirrings
of her restless soul as she dreamt that all could be hers
if she would only reach for my hand
take the chance
dutchess of grand
pauper of the sublime
she murmured a lustful smile
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 8:32 PM UTC
My son, to us, you’re so very special
For reasons not just one or two!
But when you announced your arrival first
At an unexpected time and age-
Was it with joy or fear, still not so sure
That I first felt the faint stirrings of life inside
Sure, when you barged in more like a late night guest
You gifted us with a mixed pack
After eight months of anxious wait
When you showed up a little earlier than due
With a clear shriek and a piercing cry
All our fears vanished, all anxiety fled
Like a cute little kitten with eyes shut
You slept peacefully day and night
Refusing to **** your mother’s breast
That again put your mom in severe stress
You never threw any tantrums wild
As all other babies usually do
Pleasantly gentle with a chuckling smile
You were a spring flower, come alive
You readily accepted the cast away stuff;
Broken toys and milk stained bib,
Faded clothes and the little crib,
Used recklessly by your naughty brother
You never gave us any stress or pain
Even in days of adolescent strain
You were ever gentle and ready to mingle
With eyes lit up with a delectable twinkle
You are endowed with a loving heart
When we are glum, you are by our side
Your compassion, care and abiding love
Are truly gifts, God has blessed you with
You know every nook and corner of the house
Where each little thing placed and kept
If something is amiss inside the house
You run with a click and get it by trick or fluke
As you left for studies, miles away
The house looks empty like an abandoned nest
With no more songs in early dawn
Until once you return to give it a tilt
Time will fly and you’ll be grown
An adult, ready to soar into the world
But you are the reason that keeps us young
And give our tired legs an unusual spring
You lit our yesterdays with hopes for tomorrow
And even after your hairline recedes
Even after you become man and Dad
You remain once and ever our *‘Vava’ dear!
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 6:43 AM UTC
i don't know you,
you slip down a street,
peruse a café window
looking for something
to eat, the inner
stirrings of your soul
a mystery to me & it's
funny because with time
I could love you, but as
of now you are like
any other undiscovered
book sat on a shelf
collecting dust, i blink
& you're gone, my
favourite read lost in a
sea of bodies; millions
of stories bleeding down
streets that i will never
meet.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 8:24 AM UTC
Strange creatures stirring
Hiding them inside our skin
Bone and flesh prison
Aug 4, 2021
Aug 4, 2021 at 5:15 AM UTC
It's raining outside
and
These beautiful things
shining through my tears
will feel the drops
but never know my fears
how could they if I don't?
Rain drops
Falling from the trees
into the sky
and you never ask why
ignore the dots in the sky
they're not there
Rain falls
on tattooed tough guys
littering sidewalks with spit
say they're trying to quit
cigs for the sixth time
and he's tired of lie
tied together to hide
his head when he cries
from better eyes
It's raining outside
Slight stirrings before sunrise
split seconds of conscientiousness
before slipping into a sea of dreams
I always have the most vivid dreams
while the sun is rising
It's raining outside
but not in here
not in my head
not in my bed
Sep 15, 2010
Sep 15, 2010 at 7:09 PM UTC
In the midwinter of the soul,
all is cold and fruit is
nowhere to be found.
Leaves and blossoms that once
sat spinning light and health
have fallen off and lie there,
broken down below.
The forest floor beneath me,
one time,
was carpeted with remnants
of my last sweet spring
of growth.
Abandoned, all but lost,
and listening,
to a moaning in the wind.
But trees don't die in winter;
nor did I.
Spring crept in slowly, bit by bit,
an undiscovered quickness in the
heart, and hints of breath
so far away, so deep within, that
stirrings heard were no more spent
than darkness closed back in.
But still that gentle pressing in the
heartwood of my soul,
kept on, and stronger day by day
until, with terrifying clarity
the parts of me that died
were seeking fully to control
each waking thought.
In the midwinter of the soul,
the heart is cold, and fruits
that once were juicy lie there
rotting on the ground.
And all seems lost within.
But 'tis not so for me, I know,
for Spring has come again
once more, the sap runs true,
runs through each drooping limb.
Lift up your heads, you forests of
the Lord, bowed down,
surrounded,
cold within.
Let light shine forth within you,
let the woodland fairies swim
through waterfalls of blossoms as they
slip from limb to limb,
delighting in the tearing of the
chaining wounds within.
"Bleed once more," He told me,
"let the terror of your sin,
destroy the cold unfeeling
that has wormed at you - and then
at last,
the living, green delight
will sparkle like the stars of
every clear and silent night."
Bear fruit in keeping with the
cleansing of your soul, for
every tree drinks deeply
of the river's rushing flow;
take confidence, a promised voice to hear:
"Well grown, my tree. My good and
faithful bough."
+
And in the brightness of His
majesty, I will forever
bow.
Apr 2, 2019
Apr 2, 2019 at 6:54 PM UTC
Nature’s ebb and flow
There is something about a country road time slows the soothed mind intensifies. Then border it with a line of trees in this wooded strength picturesque purity flows through the eye gate. This flood of soft
emotional stirrings cast the hustle bustle of the modern life across the air like a fly fishermen easy floating fishing line follow it float along on this suspended timelessness you will find yourself
unconsciously holding your breath in anticipation of the cast as it lays down on the water. A fish strike would be icing on the cake almost anti climatic not quiet though when the trout jerks his head back and
forth putting his whole electrified cold stream lived life into the fight.
In this wooded chill a campfire ignites the smoke rises the kindling releases energy its inner life warmth
pushes back the cold. You set look into the leaping flames transfixed deep moody thoughts begin to enter your thoughts the most extravagant furnished palace does not compare the tame and wild intermingle
you truly at that moment are the true lord of the wood not only brawn but the mind comes to full
potential. You’re not trying to solve problems you’re a great spool the soft darkness does the pulling
knots kinks disappear you wonder about all the apprehensions you thought you brought it must have
been foolishness parading as actual problems.
When you thought it couldn’t be any more perfect there they were the night sky with silver points
overload begins when they stretch so far you feel the very weight of heaven as it asserts its supremacy the
night air filled with a tangible burden of weight this is only the blanket that was stored during the day now angels imperceptibly have rolled it across the four corners of heaven. The night wind speaks
mysteries at their center a stoking fire of its own not a fire of heat and flame but one banked just the
same. The drifting sifting sand that mortals find impossible to resist soon in deepest wool like
sheepclothed you sleep while the Sheppard stands beyond the fire light keeping watch sleep my child no harm
will disturb He rules the mighty sea and harder the egos of angry men to you he will be your peace is he not the prince of peace.
Nov 17, 2011
Nov 17, 2011 at 4:35 AM UTC
all life rolled by
all that has gone past
I saw you sit on the stone wall by the lake
and I knew – is there any other way? - what you thought about
the betrayal, the snatches of life and luminescence
from the days when you were a girl
the first day you could feel the stirrings;
all passages of life, all conversations and the promise
the pretty things, the art and the ecstasy -
but mainly the betrayal, I know, I could see it in your expression
and the pain of your children,
beings you brought forth into the world
your pain, each one
your joy, each one
and all of the darkness
the rich trees behind you, the rolling hills farther behind
and the lightness, the union of water and blue sky, by your side
but you looking farther, farther than the sky, farther than the clouds
far away, far away into your thoughts, beyond the sun,
beyond where sun can reach
all things rolled by, all life rolled by
all events, every thought -
O all that has gone past
I saw you sit on the stones by the lake
and I knew what you thought about –
how can I not? -
the betrayal, mainly the betrayal, the betrayal…
I saw you, I saw that…
I know, I know…
There can be no forgetting;
There can be no forgiving
I saw you, I saw that…
But all I could do was to walk, to walk away
carry away my false words, carry away my deeds with me…
and leave you to the distance, to the distance
To the darkness, the luminescence, the betrayals…
Jul 20, 2012
Jul 20, 2012 at 7:30 AM UTC
These many secret stirrings
Band together
To form a tapestry of verse,
Of sound,
Of color.
Scattered fragments
Puzzle into place,
United after a lifetime
Of drifting in air
Like so many specks of dust.
And these little suspended things,
These pieces so useless alone,
Meet and find meaning.
And I,
The product of puzzles,
Of tapestries,
Of so many meanings;
I,
The artist,
The poet,
The singer;
I
Give shape to these accumulations
Of nothings which together form somethings,
Turn these somethings from thought to form
And set them sailing into the world
So that one day,
Perhaps,
You will find them
And know me.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 1:12 PM UTC
Jaded cyan
were the shadows that sat and shriveled
(as hollowing rings)
under those downward eyes
like mildly pressed flowers
in dusty old books
Radiant hues
captured blushing in mental photographs
of crossing fingers by a tender flowing stream
(from an untroubled spring)
where they harvested budding gemstones of light
from dancing fields of lavender beneath the mountain
Lavished mulberry
were the plum tree branches that crept
(as throbbing veins)
around those half-moon eyes
like hot blood trickling
under sun dazed skin
Emerald spirits
intertwined in a physical vineyard
of limbs they recklessly tangled
(from an unseasoned summer)
where they felt the stirrings of revolutionary ardor
from expanding train tracks behind the mountain
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 6:21 AM UTC
The window is open and the wind is cold,
As I lay in my bed feigning sleep, I feel old
The hollowness in my bones speak of stories untold
There will be few memories that my ***** today will hold
I perceive this from the lack of enthusiasm with which I greet the day.
All the actions and reactions that will, with it, fall into decay.
I harbour no remorse for the want of warmth in my stare
And I feel that those who ask it of me shouldn't really dare.
It is not for me to judge the tides of such stirrings
I fear I am not experienced in these whirrings.
I fall short when it comes to simple joys, but to the brim in human ploys.
I am like the moon when she is round and full,
Making you rise up like the waves, gasping at the pull.
I don my hat of deadened emotions,
Human suffering I wear like a fur coat, thick and long
The plight of mankind I observe like ten thousand devotions,
Until the distorted essence of us stops seeming so...wrong.
Because I am more attuned to the dark,
To the quiet whimpers of children taken from the park.
The individual's darkness tears at my conscience
His malignant blackness a disease in his heart
Tell me where do the soft go?
Whose untainted innocence is not abused roughly so?
Whose kindness is not swallowed up by an unwholesome whole?
And the taste of life is not more bitter than sweet?
For I would wish for an otherness escape if it were not so.
The eternity of time when it was still young, and the solitude of the dark when it was empty.
The hardness of diamonds before the fire, and the fluidity of water before the frost.
The immeasurable pillars holding up the sky, and the animation of the body before its death,
And the soul that is tasked to carry all these along and hold up its head.
May 30, 2018
May 30, 2018 at 9:12 AM UTC
"I easily forget names" his confession rings loud.
She smiles as if she knew this all the while,
She is a woman who forgives, like nature.
She loves his big hands and the promise
Of caresses to sow goosebumps all over
The infertile earth.Suddenly fecundity arrives.
Then, the scents, pheromones wafts to his mind
Speak the same language in different accents
At times it is read as the whispers of winged desire.
The purple hues of arousal, and if read from an angle
Different,it spells sin in black, in calligraphic letters
The flow he is, that dances through hills and dales
Wind and water romancing red earth and ocean.
Where once blood spilled in fierce battle with foes,
A tree full of flowers now smile,a magical moment of life!
She is the drop that oozes under the moss, gathering speed
The fog that spreads and embraces the extended woods.
She defies the limits of mind and touch ebullient galaxies.
She is the field of ripe corn, mellow yellow, gently swaying.
The seeds she collects and keeps safely in her living repository.
Whatever she spills becomes her on which tomorrow smiles.
At the window wind knocks,breaks the egg shell of a dream.
She emerges, opens the door, finds him gets charged once more.
It was raining outside, an auspicious hour, like blooming lotus,
Time to conduct fertility rights,for seeds to come alive.
He feels the stirrings nature creates, arranges all
Necessary things, he towers above all
He is the sun that spreads his warm rays around.
She is the fecund red earth to be sowed at nature's behest.
The horns blow aloud, she heard, and closed her eyes.
Felt like a flower, ready to open her petals for a bee folding wings.
Oct 11, 2016
Oct 11, 2016 at 4:30 PM UTC
And she loved him more than petrichor
and over-priced parfume. An over-
whelming wave of amatory prevailed
atop
the animosity. Loathing took a one-
eighty into lust. And all at once, feelings
that were entirely too familiar arose.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 6:52 PM UTC
There is something about a country road time slows the soothed mind intensifies. Then border it with a line of trees in this wooded strength picturesque purity flows through the eye gate. This flood of soft emotional stirrings cast the hustle bustle of the modern life across the air like a fly fishermen easy floating fishing line follow it float along on this suspended timelessness you will find yourself unconsciously holding your breath in anticipation of the cast as it lays down on the water. A fish strike would be icing on the cake almost anti climatic not quiet though when the trout jerks his head back and forth putting his whole electrified cold stream lived life into the fight.
In this wooded chill a campfire ignites the smoke rises the kindling releases energy its inner life warmth pushes back the cold. You set look into the leaping flames transfixed deep moody thoughts begin to enter your thoughts the most extravagant furnished palace does not compare the tame and wild intermingle you truly at that moment are the true lord of the wood not only brawn but the mind comes to full potential. You’re not trying to solve problems you’re a great spool the soft darkness does the pulling knots kinks disappear you wonder about all the apprehensions you thought you brought it must have been foolishness parading as actual problems.
When you thought it couldn’t be any more perfect there they were the night sky with silver points overload begins when they stretch so far you feel the very weight of heaven as it asserts its supremacy the night air filled with a tangible burden of weight this is only the blanket that was stored during the day now angels imperceptibly have rolled it across the four corners of heaven. The night wind speaks mysteries at their center a stoking fire of its own not a fire of heat and flame but one banked just the same. The drifting sifting sand that mortals find impossible to resist soon in deepest wool like sheep clothed you sleep while the Sheppard stands beyond the fire light keeping watch sleep my child no harm will disturb He rules the mighty sea and harder the egos of angry men to you he will be your peace is he not the prince of peace.
Sep 30, 2012
Sep 30, 2012 at 10:36 PM UTC
Dancing before my eyes, is the mirage of perfection.
I reach for it and it slips through my fingers.
My therapist says I am grieving – and how can I stop?
Change tears me from my foundations, again and again.
And each time is like sandpaper on my skin;
new faces mix with old fears in a nauseating pattern.
They say home is not a place, but a feeling of security,
and so, I cannot go home.
Once I had a home in a bitterness of a girl, with eyes like autumn leaves.
That home kept me sharp and angry, as I had always been. But it is not such a torment, when one is not angry alone.
/Here there lies a girl, auburn hair and eyes of molten autumn.
She wanted to burn the world.
Moth to her flame, I followed her to the end of the earth.
And watched as she burnt herself to cinders./
Long after that home deserted me, I found another. This time I fostered myself among a merry band of misfits. At the zenith of this period of home, I found myself entirely humanized, with unfamiliar stirrings of contentment. But, as that home drew to a close – in both place and security, again rose the familiar stirrings of dread.
My trepidation was not misplaced.
Like a reluctant Dorothy, I was plucked from my home by the unforgiving storm of time. My newfangled humanity proved an acute vulnerability. No good deed goes unpunished, as they say. And so, the old bitterness and broken humanity mixed like acid in my blood, leaving a feeble and faithless girl.
It is enough to make one wonder if it’s worth it – to have loved and lost.
I feel as if something has been stolen from me, fate some cruel and callous thief to let me believe in any of it,
to give the pretence of meaning to my meandering life and tear me to pieces with the temptation.
I understand why we become destroyers –
is that a line I too, will cross?
We so wish and dream to be heroes and precious friends, only to be cast out into the wasting and hungry world – full of monsters.
I see, I see how easy it would be, to MAKE it stop.
I swore I would not be a monster – if only so as not to validate the harms monsters have done me.
But if I am to be devoured either way,
have I enough soul left to believe
that
promise
mattered?
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 9:02 AM UTC
In the Shadows of a pale moonlight,
I envisioned making love beneath the starlight.
Being deeply tangled up,
with such mangled feelings
gave up and walked into your body
feeling the stirrings of being naughty.
Gently, you touch me,
and my body erupts with shivers.
Slowly and softly, you caress me,
and I can't help but quiver.
Whispering sweet nothings
that slowly turned into all things.
Coming together in such hunger,
grew my feelings to be stronger.
The moment we kissed,
there was such bliss.
Lost to lust,
our body combust.
Holding me in your arms,
makes me feel protected and warm.
You nibbled and trace my lips,
causing my heart beats to skip.
I reach out to touch you,
while you groped and clutch me.
Pressing me to your body,
my moans reflect your groans
sweet music to my sensitive ears
that leave happy tears.
I take great leisure
in having pleasure,
in kissing you
cause I've been missing you.
Beneath the pale moonlight,
in my heart, was delight.
Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 12:25 PM UTC