"surrogated" poems
My shadow inanimate object that since
Birth an un-attractable Siamese twin.
Some times smaller, longer, fatter, thinner
Than what I was but always a part of me.
Then the light came, like ball lightning.
Never harmed a hair on corporal flesh.
But shades that had been surrogated
Since a time of birth now dwindling fast.
With each one that evaporated from a
Puddle of mimicking thought a sleep
Did educe on each that lost that partner
Of onyx depth that never left a side.
It wasn't as others thought a light of
questionable guidance It feed on our
Opposite and in subtle collapse feed
On our weakened state now slumbering.
We were sleeping giants that wilted
Like a flower our petals ever dwindling
Till the only shadow that graced us was
That of a silent dormant corpse.
Graves were dark and now was our moment
Even though we were covered in blissful
Light, we were still. Our other half's harvested
Our companion from birth now faded apart.
Oct 24, 2015
Oct 24, 2015 at 6:56 PM UTC
In the beginning there is burning desire,
Pleasurable pain and incessant thudding against omniscient walls
Love burns bright with the glow of ethereal passion
As lovers trade scents and nail marks and scars
The days go quickly with patience and calm
And the nights go slow with ignited libido
As sweet and sticky honey flows expeditiously from a jar
Suddenly the serene beginning ends
The prominent, shrill cry of an egotistical infant sounds
Through a night that once was home to passion
Resentment lodges a spot in the marrows of tired bones
The nights are quick and well awaited
And the days are spent nursing and feeding and preparing for a paramount life
As sweet and sticky honey slows its thriving speed
All of the sudden, it is nor the beginning or the end
The age of sticky hands and Crayola and Goodnight moon
Little feet make floorboards creak at the end of the day with excitement
And the lack of lust is surrogated by the richness of love
Day jobs are dreary but devotion is not
The days go on and on and on
And the nights go quietly with small joys
As honey settles in its jar for what feels perpetual
Rapidly, it is the beginning of the end
Slammed doors and Aerosmith records blaring with bitterness
The egotistical child that once screeched for affection now rejects it
But love remains and despite dark rooms and harsh words traded with reckless abandon,
It overcomes
The days are lonely
And the nights are too
As the honey rapidly slips away
So it is the end
As trivial collections are arranged in boxes
To be shipped to a new home far away from this one
Old videos make for heartsickness and phone calls make for bittersweet joy
And elders reflect on a life that was not in vain
The floorboards still creak at the end of the day
Not with excitement, but rather with age
The days are quiet and
The nights are too but that is okay
The jar may be empty but the residue is sweeter still
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 12:05 AM UTC