Creative Writing
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Deliberate, liberate,feed jealousyits cold stones,and herd obedient sheeppast those markersscattered on littered pavement,while all that walks backwardsis time’s limping shadow. To our memories, never remadewithout another thoughtto dispense. Into subtle delusion,we go, we rowall these thoughts into absenceand snow. To images, to heaviness,a joyous leap elsewhereno moon ever stares. I found you, bleeding in quietness,Where…
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When leaves blowas eyes clear, it doesn’t snowwithin familiar turbulence.For we are handheld,we are born to meldwhile steering our panic elsewhere,hearing comforting heartbeatsceasing for mere seconds, playing back what we know. A lifetime of hearing each otherspeaking those same words,though reentered in textual numbers,backwards. Who knew that Heavencan misplace a couple of angels? For Hell,…
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Dusty floors. Wide-open doors,reentering you, from an extensive,extended openness. A porcelain landscapeput ahead, laid out and spreadlike the gravity in your heart,and were you wonderingwhose sadness you were growing? I can connect starsuntil worlds between usare no longer this far apart.When tears outnumberprayers, phases of our tension,perhaps lights will go out,or perhaps night will merely…
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March your eyeson, to that distance,towards distant surrenderof light, upon promises.Reverse pleading for a wonderto come – to come up. You’ve been feeble,forever stretching gapsbetween words, between letters.Upon seconds where you neverbothered to smile, still yourself, in your pace.Trace sobering moments into sands,be restrained from catching anythinginside broken hourglasses, for when you surrender,when your hands…
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Lost award,no one could tell youto keep losing those tearsinside vacancy.Were these ruinstoo cold, far too old,in that stilled rush? Your eyes run,while your feet walkto a door left over your shoulder,and you never turn your headto see who stands still, and who has stopped breathing inafter you walked out. Something afforded youremembrance, drowned underresurgence.…
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Bleached lips. White eyes.Deadness, in under a heartbeat,upon hearing that signal –a voice, a distant shrill,that it is too late to let me knowbefore blood was revealed in snow. I have a letterbeing blocked of its return,from higher degreesof intimate temperature.All that you felthand-written, in the sadnessboth of us did meltpledging us, deep into underwater.…
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Lost in a drift. Adrift,sidelining barriers, letting dams break,arms be open, guards be dropped,in a place where nothing faded,inside a space where nothingever degraded, choosing instead to rise upward,to bring us close. To drown us in our emptied minds,to reveal those glimmersfrom achievable sunshine. A sunrisestares, as if finding our yearningmatchable. Here, in these depths,finding…
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Color up that moon,hanging looselyupon your untouchable shoulder,for I see you looking overboard,seeking some starkness,hovering your eyes abovewhirlpools, distant rocksat the bottom of transparent,mirroring lakes. You desire a solid color,a face that never changes.That is whyyou turn to those nightswhen that moon,a mere lie that blinds,finds you covered upin bedsheets, in comforting deceit. For whom…
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I brought in someone, different.Frank, with newness. Once bleeding out,and here, dreaming while afloat,keeping her scars close.Marrying this world, combiningselfless shame with bottomless pain,to become a witness to clarityin a perfume of stars. A deck, for a bodythat has loosened itself up,turning down, once, and reusingthose old notes, emptyin their shallow tone.Whose hell was she…
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At whose presence? Was he to live? Was he to stay living? For a woman born, and also scorned. She was left to a place, inside fatal ruins, becoming and living for that fatality. He came through, entered through, and brought forth all he could not leave for merely himself. A promise. A gift. Some…
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Blacked out, words of remembrance,a final ocean to deplete,in stages, inside thinning graces,imagining what could, what could notever depart at a single glance,a pair of eyes that run,and never walk. You never turnedto see that outpouring sunlight,hoping those flames would terminatetheir display of hopeless life. A reflection, your dissection,alit on tiniest hourglasses.Time could be your…
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A grave.A pair of tunneling eyesturning sidewaysto lift something, adjacentto whomever sheds color,always. Like a leaf,drifting, wandering –with every thought finding faultin those stable ways,those fabled days. Like all those journeysof those faces, buried in hearts,light had left those who were plentyin their surrender, going empty.How can you ever rope insomething that was never given…
Modern Romanticism 