Poetry
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I know I’ve been cruelthrough saving nothing morethan a shard from a broken mirror.I bled you to keep you warm,while I judged your fearsto not be your comfort, because I thought that holding youwould mean to sink intoyour thoughts, where you are gathered. I thought to understandsomeone, who was hungby one delicate strand.One thin wireof…
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In this abyssof a watering moment,I am pullingat what keeps guessingwhen it keeps pushing meto keep her open.I am pulling closer,though she remains far,enough to disbelievewhere her roots extend. I want her to roamnot from east to west,though to a subtle northto begin sensinga hidden, time-worn sensationdeserted to a disheartened chestthat loves, without thinking. In…
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Lost upontrails of ice,coated in your pale,burdening apathy.I couldn’t tell,in having eyes fused shut,who wrote your pages. They were oncewhiter than snow.They have remainedmore stilled than death.In closing that book,I have begun to float,I have begin to look pastthose tattered sailsthat guided our ship. Although, your face,your presence still burnsthin threads, into an imageI cannot…
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I am still sinking in,with thoughts that overturnothers, on this blinding pathwaywhere sunlight keeps me going –but where am I going? Back again, to those aimless ways,over to that field where growthhad been an intrusion of thorns.Color was always a thin mist,while hauntings were those clouds,gathered for memorial.Rain would bring nothing up,besides repetition, of an…
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In these hands,adorned in bruises,I have found somethingI find impossible to discard,to treat in its entire formlike worthless to scorn. In these arms,serrated with cuts,bleeding down to the bone,I am wielding something –someone, whom I cannot let gowhile this mindsurrounds itself, in shadows. In these eyes,sundered from nightswithout rest,under constant test,I am viewing who has…
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Wandering closerto those lips, a havenof leveled focus, of interactionwith the dust that collectsin hands that have washedmemories, from clouds. She has staggeredthrough a wilderness of song.She has reunitedright with wrong – the same senseof misunderstandingI am remembering during dayswe were pretending to love,in those disserving plays. She has stung her futurein sympathies, breaking her…
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I wished to see the daylightbefore it expired, beyond our rush,to be behind our need to toucha sign of pleasant hope,in this dimness,of worsening vision. It is this, while I wish to keep returningto wounds, that leak from wherewe were discovered, there,at a place where funerals are bare. I am living in our aftermath,but we…
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I don’t believesome spare bough, can stretchfor your scars, because I havebeen that one to keep returninga fallen leaf, for your hair. Even in tears, I land backto burn into you,because I aim to accompanyyour present image,in each droplet of rainto set the stains. To set the stagemeans to welcome both. Dualities, of hopeless futurewith…
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Deprived, somehowyou have surviveda descent, to crawl towardsyour four corners,sinking in order toalways arrive. Damaged lungs,breaths come throughfrom a face, that twistswith autumn’s reveal,beyond decorative green. Your crisp, wandering spirityearning for more to sunder for,swimming in depth over depth,layers of discarded touch. One lesson has never been enoughto remind you of a sickness,where condemnation has…
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Dilated pupils.There’s a voidwhere you surround yourselfin white markings, petals of a fallen conception. I have answered you,while you have rememberedone other time,making this another timeto fold a spoken promise,into a predicted deception. Fragile one,come climbingonto that dark horsethat will send you surging. Will you run freewith blinding wind,carrying your tearsto fill your depth? It…
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Why does sheseek surrender, in timesarms are always open?A breath would spreadher seeds, as a teardropwould grow her garden. Why does she find answersin her memories?She likes leaving truthat a door, closing itbefore she forgetswhat kept calling her back. She remembers a second,a moment, ones she collectsfor decorations of painto adorn her hallways,framed with harrowing…
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I tend to forgetthose tolerable simplicities.I keep dreams, more thanwhat’s a mere shadowin that corner, marked with dust,marked with a blanketof remorsefulness. I mend what’s rememberedin times of sinking pain,because I haven’t forgottenwhat’s true, as it remainseven what’s blue,in the beyond. I gather photographs,twisting secrets with everythingI care to keep conceiving –a conception, a beginningof…
Modern Romanticism 