Poems
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Silenced heartbeat. Awakened reprieve.I, once more, hold a token for another trainthat will travel me towards that edge,outside of this space of sanity. One more kiss, sent towards barest air,with shelter toppling into burning sticks.One more light of passionfrom another wakeful lighthouse,guiding this engine into devastation. I will want to hear these limbsfade out of…
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Cold stardom. Left adrift, bleeding currentsgray with the wash of afterglow.I let you ignite, become white with the night’scomforting fairies. Though, I will dreamwithout leading that stone into future steps, not that heart that kept sinkinginto puddles from these red-rimmed eyes. No more to us, what kept merginginto firestorms – after showers that weremore than…
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Mishandling the melody. The memoryof us, burning undercover, in those shadows,infiltrating – stepping towards a futurewe painted, then we tainted our road with snowwith tracks we could not retrace,within warmth where wewere unable to embrace, deep undercovers both black and blue,in an ocean of a nestled two. Twin’s hearts longing in the longstretches of feverish…
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To touch that faint silhouette. Sublime shadowundressing to a desertion of garments she wore –kissed into ashes, bled into driest wine,turned into tides at folds with flesh, with death –the death in that revealing aftermath, an aftershock. What’s left in this ruin of another heart?Quakes are those years I followto a broken majesty’s throne, where…
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No need. Most certainly,no need to hear me clarifywhere my suffering should,most certainly should be rectified.I weep when I cannot sleep,letting stars fall from each eveninginto cupped hands. I let another daypass with the petals that format the stems within vases,on the edge of tablesI cannot even reach. No more. Most definitely,there is no need…
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Once I saw what gleamed, untilI only saw what dreamed. One darkrealization, never before rubbed,smeared, left under curtains; there, as a disguise to the daylightwith the misery.He wanted his chains broken,his mask torn off,left with the bandages, his skin,the nakedness of honesty. He dreamed under a glaze,a stir from a heavy heart.He hoped during the…
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Who says that, in time,a light this close will flare out,will wrap what has been as distantas those ships that carry on,carry out another moment of remorse,another memory I compel to beas fleeting as me? I have been the lighthouse, too longhoping for one more reunion.Though I’m abandoned, like this islandthat has been forgotten, though…
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Lantern shadows, to eyesthat melt in these breathing rooms,while I hold on to the fadein the form of a silver handbroken from its strength,left to quiver among autumn leaves. I kissed once what feltlike a period of thunder in the grayaftermath, between night and day. I told what was evil, “no more”,feeling my fever become…
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I once wrote a smile down.I once carved a line in the sandupon a shore, after I had realizedthat time is an infinite sprawl,leaving wounds as open as oceans – as that smile came to be knownas that divide between sadness,softness, and some other choice. That smile was from recognizingthat life repeats what it ignores,that…
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If answers hold me back,let me have none. Let me havesomething most prominent.Let me be hereto count seconds like hours,to find hours the sameas everything all the same,as all things unchangingwith the seasons, unchanging. Let me hold hands with a god,deaf to every prayer,from one faithful worshipper.I feel divinity’s skin, dried to a desertwith no…
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Who needs meto return, when one needsa rope around their feet?Stability in the shape of stillness,a tightness in the placeof a woven bond, a reminder of what they’d lost,though be mirrored of whatthey’ve always retained. Out of what naked scars,can I reprieve? Out from thesemarks on unbandaged arms,can I offer anything but another sigh?Given from…
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Call it strange. Call it somethingto blame. Call it a heat to hover one’s hands,and name it as a place where lightcomes from, while it had been bornfrom an era of darkness. Possessor. A hand wrapped as burning ropearound a brittle, kiss-starved neck.One more whispered longing sent upwardsto branches in a thinning evening.For me to…
Modern Romanticism 