Creative Writing
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Wait, on your plastic road – roses are grown,temporary to being that concern for ephemeralunity. In your wanting death,wait under your labored breath,facing clouds, none too emptyto call a solid home. Face what soars, if foranother moment to envision birdswhile your wings are crippled into dust.I will not leave, in buildinga ring of eternal flame,circling…
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Mortal wounds. Wideness, among arms,folding around good things grown,finding a heart clashing against blank walls,an echo as universal wake-up calls, and toss this temperamentsomewhere, where this worldcan keep emptying. Bringing up, growing upfossilized stab wounds into chestsburied in mortality’s game,love’s last name. I am cheating on another grainin a lovelorn ocean. I am handingice for…
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I swear you had – at those spaces, you hadfelled tears at smaller rainfalls, lessened storms,remembered where to walkyour limping gait, to that final stopwhere you were meant to waitfor another smile to bring you clear skies,for another pair of eyesto send you apart from bitterness. I swear it, that when you were less tragic,you’d…
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Falling snow.A feeling from letting goof that hand that drifted,beyond waters, a shallownessamong that mist, given a wallto conceal her call. What else can she,among her eternity,ever desire to know?Life has heldonto her dresses,staying there like leeches,while she coughs out snowflakes,a sign of surrendering scenes. Leaves are matchingwith all white against her temples,flurried there, clashed…
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Broken – letters smeared,weeping with what we endeared,expecting to keep removingimperfections from those lessonsthat we didn’t offer our eyes,while we settled on lies. Leaving ruins, returningto a home covered in dust,letting rust connect –color of blood, reusing that flood,teardrops of all shades,entertaining our way. Our haste to keep rememberingall reused lettering in abstractdescriptions, fading meaning…
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A set of dying eyescrumbling, like worn paper.Old news, for another dayin leaving droplets of dark inkas another messagefor an infinite, despairing world,rotates in all blank footsteps, while none can calm aches –those sores of a man without his cane,his last limb to plod another course,a path of an unknown mile. Dark vision has been…
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Watching those places – desert themselves,while watching these spacesfind themselves lasting us, between fogged eyes,holding onto open sceneries and skies,hearing what little we make of everythingbecome, again. One more yearnful caressbeyond a noose, far from all thatfades among that hourglass,because in our vision, we might lastif we are rebirthed from mirrors,not smoke of ruins. We…
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Caught in all thatrecurring blue, dropping aboveat repeated droplets of dew.At here, are youfading with everything left,burning inside our driftwhere our hands soar downto sift, to lifttears that never fellthis closely? I’ll fall if it means tobreak you, loose, while wearingthese discarded objectswe remembered, belonged to you.For you, treasuringwhat you are rememberinginside these emptied rooms,where…
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Someone’s open palmforgot to prayfor a forgiveness, sudden,for two souls that are driftingin a universe that cannot immerseitself, in that someone’s kindness.Receding to random stars – caught in our blindness. Continue to forget us,those who are not like uswho need to keep believingsomeone will find us standing still.To find us, like statuesbefore we become dust,like…
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Still, those blanketsare familiar with those waves,curving at ripples, overgrowingto weighing flesh being caughtto be motionedat a slight breath – one that wantsto be its final. Still, we arehurting to keep growingthese towers towards gleaming skies,lifting all that remains familiar,if we can keep telling lies. Love can be at all those reused signals,ones that resided…
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Were you always awareof what was meant to be evaded?Avoided, like another kisslanding on your vacant arms – while I cannot imagine that youare dearest in your emptiness. Whose puddles can you facewhen either your tears or mineare collected, in circles being traced? Rings of age, under eyesred-rimmed in discolored yearswashing aside all those brittle…
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In even a lesser volume,start fires, send us higher,bending lowin keeping lowall that faithless turmoilwhere we came closeto distance each other,among dark rooms,while we should have beenwatching black candles,our fingers, our figuresburn away into ash. Uncover what we conceal,to never smothersmiles that even if never foreverwill continue to reveal.We lead on growthfor other roses,other spaces…
Modern Romanticism 