Poetry
-
Departure. At a drift.Regression, before a kissmight have receded these waveswhile I walk on for cliffsto send beneath, this fall. Mute this note. Force onemouth to close. I have beentoo close, for words to connect. Loss of grace. A lack of waterin its space. Leaving marks, trailsfor your ghost to follow. Dry lips. Emptied arms.Folded…
-
Till we canstand, before wedrown on two legs.I presented youa distant paradise,condemned at a strugglefrom newfound parasites. You extinguished, beforefire could lash your tongue.Messages have sparked.Words did go outa door I never saw. Before passion might havestung you into silence,water brought us down,lowest to drown. When we can stand,love will borrow its thirddegree, from someplacewe…
-
I have been inthese wet grounds, huggingbandages of soil. I keep thesefingers pressed againsta lid, still too far awayto see another day. Buried in thoughtsthat eclipse a former timewhen pain brought life,while heartbeats now bringsickness with strife. A rose, I grewout of brambles.Thorns pieced love’severy vein, to leave paintingsas bloodstains, wheremight have beensolid footsteps. I…
-
Trade-off. Pay whatkeeps our hearts empty.Loss, with trivial costs,light in a fervent blightwhile we rediscover secretsengrained in lone memory. All those moments, half-drowned under wholemoons. We prayed, down underfilthy weather, engenderedin surrender. One moremoment to reconsiderthose sunrises. Were theyour answer, or our cancer? Those thousand embers,these hundred glimpseswe felt our arms, this tenderin one memory.…
-
A sheltered sound. An ocean’sground, where sadness floods around.Life disconnects. Love resurrectssimple shapes from broken hearts,to be held inside serenity. A shell. Far from an engulfing Hell,towards that edge, that gulf, to tellour eyes in calming oceanswe can repeat that familiar motion. I find that nothing else can takewhat little there exists to break.Your feet,…
-
For more than a minute,I will cart forth this worth.For what I will lose,I will lose more, if I cankeep her heart moving. If meaning to turn to dust,I will disallow her valueto become something discarded,in its rust. She will fend for life,in her sickness. As a witness, I canhold her where she stands. A…
-
She swayed. Strayingfar from bleeding groundswhere hearts lay wasted.She spoke of moons, she wrotethose words on starved sand.She blessed a nameless rosethat grew like a sunrise,only to sink like a sunset. What matters to our eyeswhen all that has been filledare these oceans? What can keepliving on, among exhaled clouds,besides what keeps pouring? Those sounds.…
-
Someone showed mea door with no keyable to open me, for apath down to rediscovery.A waiting game, a callingforward, though no stepsare moving onebroken set of arms,a burning torso. Answers on silver,moldable to be somethingelse, other than whatmight be preventable. Words that driftas placeless sentences. Eyes that findlight, smoldering toan engulfing brink. I could be…
-
In our silence,we fall to bleeding knees,we collect our shardswhere our hearts had spreadits solemn flames.Taking music into sunsetsto rediscover when lastwe met. Those fanning eyeswill grow light that blinds. To sickness, to us, a witnesswhile we bend low. We findthat God had sent usbeneath, to submit insidewhere lost heartscan be reminded. Inside those frozen…
-
Turn your damaged face,deserted, from all that tracedyou, under those cloudswhere your weather collected.If I can bring youback, from Heaven’s gate,there will be more to embrace,if you tell those tears to wait. One wound that keeps soundingtunes, from saddest stories.This grief that keeps spillingsoundless, shelling reverbs,while curtained under our scars,hidden beneath where death startsthat familiar…
Modern Romanticism 