[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] 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] 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] Overturned evenings

Fingertips lace against the thin film of sleep
Endlessly and without successful reverie
And she keeps her eyes wide open, in hope
She will spot the sandman knocking at her door.

Cold air washes over her old bones left in the
Mortal realm of consciousness. She wilts,
A broken flower that feeds on starlight in her
Dreams. She begins to weaken into herself daily.

Bleached beneath alter darkness, skin flushes
With desperation. Mind forgets and numbs as
Pill after pill tumbles past her lips and down the
Cavern of her throat. Her roots are stuck in her bed.

Alone, as anyone beneath moonlight with wide
Quiet eyes always is. Her brown orbs hush deeply.
The silence echoes around her as her heart begs.
Let me visit my dreams once more. Let me live.

[POEM] .

I can feel their grip tightening today.
Where reality becomes as tenuous
As the breath from my imagined
Demons. Which should I turn
My cheek to?

Reaching for their overdue pay.
They make living just as arduous
As the dreams that blackened
My heart. How should I burn
My sins away?

I curl myself into comforts that
Stretch as far as time, but penetrate
Shallow into my soul. When will
I be whole. When should I battle
For my life?

Vision turns angled and flat.
Sounds bombard me and reverberate
Through bleached bones. My pill
Won’t make me whole. Who will rattle
My chains for freedom?

Darkness and coffin surround
Me unseen, until I bury myself,
With only my imagination to weep
At my death. What has this
Sorry life become?

[POEM] Sometimes

It still strikes within my broken body
When I had thought it was dying a death.

It turns, grinning and moving wildly
And reminds me of its depth and breadth.

All consuming, it pushes in madly
Demanding I give it each ragged breath.

All sense of time and true reality
Leaves me, as does my soul’s wealth.