[POEM] Hands

So long I have been kept away from your touch.
Eyes glazing over as you drifted further from me.
I couldn’t even yearn for it, though I wanted so much
To understand that need again, and how I could be
Myself once more.

Light came back to me, like a thousand falling stars
Slowly, maybe one or two at first. Until the sky
Is littered with drops of light, between Venus, Mars
Pluto, love and war and death run away, shy
Of us once more.

Each brilliant collision against the earth of my bones
Woke me, and fed our longing. Your hands come
Near my lost soul, darkened eyes filled with cyclones
Of furgid need. Dripping ink, cleaning off the humdrum
World once more.

Purple tears rest upon your hand, drying into blots
Heart shaped and wonderful. I could not think
Of love without you. As your hands swipe away clots
From my stained cheeks, and we bleed and drink
Sky hues once more.

My fervent need. My forever sky. My dreaming
Wakefulness. Passing by the mundane soil below,
We adventure upon the starlight tails of streaming
Cosmos. Now will my strained heart bellow
Your name. Once more.

And forever more.

 

 

[POEM] Living in other worlds (inspired by “Other Worlds” by Trivium

We’re dreaming in color
But we’re living in other worlds
Breathing in other worlds

“She’s drowning”

His eyes light upon his found prize.

He has searched through heaven, with hope in his heart.

And there he found her, next to his body, far gone from his spirit.

Her eyes were vacant as they stared through him,
Gold leaf painting the sky as it bled for her, for them.
Every cloud was finished with a murder red trim
As if someone had sliced off each one’s hem.

Blind, and breathless, a cage for a bird was her body,
No longer a vessel for life, as she found herself lost.
Living in another world. Breathing in the other worlds.

She choked on this grey sin, though he was holy.
Her form, cut with hues, was crippled from heavy cost.
Dying here, while her soul reached out to other worlds.

You’re like a song within a nightmare
A thought within a scream

Lances burst through with colour on solid flesh,
Desperate tears run ink black down pale skin,
Living within her own mind, she finds the colours
Of her torment painted on the sky, in its spears
And dripping languorously. So beautiful. So Fresh.
Eyes wide, she had seen her fate before, akin
To a dream, unlike a nightmare, fleshed behind doors.
Her fingers tremble against her death. It burns. It sears.

His knees grit beside her broken body, fingers seeking her relief.
His hands coat in her purple and red ink, her black tears of paint.
His eyes watch, as the dark figure of death swirls like a thief.
His soul prays, hoping this world lost traveler finds a saint.

To rid her of her colorful sin.

To mend the broken bird of her suicide.

To heal his knowledge of her, and forget what he knew… That he knew she would choke and die in this world, when she was connected to so many.

We’re dreaming in color
But we’re living in other worlds
Breathing in other worlds

Her, broken. He, welled with grey tears.
Fingers forever stained with her years
Of blooming, hue filled pain.
A rainbow of sorrow.

 

[Poem] Blessed

Finding the right words to express joy
When it has been a longtime stranger…
Learning to feel its elation through my bones
Is hard enough, but to entrap it with words?

It’s as if I have found an old childhood toy,
And am struggling to make it work. Danger
Is in the back of my mind. Chance blown
As my fingers clumsily untangle it in thirds.

The tip between happiness and pitfalls
Is far too near to rest easy within glee.
But I still clutch onto it, not too hard,
In hopes I can keep it near.

 

[Inspired by Yaskhan] A Poet’s World

A poet was born under the same moon as any,
Languishing in the pain felt by just as many.

She felt her teardrops fall past her lashes,
Cracking down her face in rivulets and slashes.

She was not born, she was forged, within her own furnace,
Hoping that one day she could express herself in earnest.

Lament surrounds her like a cushion, so commonly found.
This mortal realm seems to bring sorrowful sound.

Brothers and sisters are humanity,
Misunderstanding each other completely.

A poet’s world is the same shape as any other she has seen
Nothing too different or special than any other place that may have been.

She trusts in beauty that lies within every space,
Just as pain hides behind every face.

A poet’s world simply has more words. No fate.
As if we could be born too early, or too late.

[POEM] The Tree

Winter shifts its bone white sheet of cold
Across the world. From colours oh so bold
To bare and barren our world slowly turns.
Each tree leaf sets itself aflame and burns.

Orange, sunlight and blood trickles off
Their heights, into the pavements like troughs
Of colour and brightness. And then, they sleep.
Except for one. She hides within herself so deep.

The others look upon her with pity as they
Prepare for their winter slumber. They lay
Their leaves down like covers on the ground
And let their hibernation come without a sound.

“Is she even a tree?” one asks in hushed
Voice. But she stood green, not flushed
With tender colours of blushing leaves
As the earth around her dies and heaves.

Her friends have all shed their skin, as
She becomes lifeless. Dead? She has
Lost her life, but her branches still grow.
Perhaps her nesting time is just slow?

Pity whispers on the wind as one day
She finds herself alone. Some, they say
That she is bare and lifeless from pain.
Not able to feel slumber ever again.

So she stands half alive, grey trunk, alone.
Until she finds vulnerable, nude to the bone
And exposed, to the sharp touch of Jack’s
Hands. She sometimes wishes for the axe.

But what can a tree do, when she forgets
How to die for the winter? Full of regrets
She misses the feeling of spring between
Her fingers and weeps over flowers never seen.

[POEM] Forgettable

I find myself falling into the most forgettable stupor.
Wonder, will I ever wake myself.
My world is a dry and desolate place, I a war torn trooper.
Dying of life thirst.

Burning the ends of my fingertips, I find ink stains.
Beneath my flesh they bleed.
Running along my stiffened bones and sickened veins.
Drowning in drought.

Eyelashes flutter, against consciousness, unconsciousness.
I have no protection here.
Slowly stripping off my tattered armor. It’s useless.
Rusting in the sun.

 

[POEM] The burning

My bones have wilted ‘neath
The harsh glare of the sun.
Limbs weak, gaze languid,
Stars blocked from eyes with
Grey storm clouds.
My tongue lies heavy in
My mouth, an unwelcome
Visitor in this casket that
Once lived so brightly. So very
Intermittently. A candle
Flickering, born and dying
Every hour, never able to
Make up its mortal mind.
It asks: Am I fire?
Or am I being burned?
Through the pain and
Self awareness it does not know.
I do not know.
But what is the different if
The slow burning pain
Feels just the same either way?

[POEM] Tether

This tether is tenuous, flimsy
As I swing against billowing wind.
Half sleeping wakefullness,
Drinking in my lethargy like the
Sweetest liqueur.

Swimming in syrup that chokes
Into my lungs, I can’t gasp
Or scream, though I desperately
Want to. Spitting out the bile only
For it to pour back in.

I can’t cling, or grab, or crawl,
Only swing at the mercy of this
Thin string of consciousness.
When will I be awake enough
To smell the Earth again?

[POEM]

Mindless box kept aloft on strength
Built on years of plugging on
Without thought. Without sense.
What other strength is there,
Besides this fog of desensitization?
What other meaning besides making
It through and back to the Earth
As unscathed as humanly possible.
And taking the longest to get there.

Head hung, weighltess atop this
Weighty body. Power built for what?
Not for any real purpose, not for
The battle she keeps expecting to come.
She has trained the wrong muscle.
Left her brain and feelings to rot
Beneath the leachings of modern
Disease, not so modern and just
Crossed wires of back then and now.

Hopeless, and waiting for a pill to
Numb this numbness she has
Built to survive. Built to revive
Herself from the pain, but she does
Not remember that fire and ashes
Bring new life, not soft and safe
Surroundings.

Build your nest on needles and sheer
Cliffs, young bird, and watch yourself
Die.