Poetry
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Abandoned spark.Hoping. If everything can beall that we, carried in heart,time can stop. Let it be –another cessation at the demonstration,one more kiss, drawn inlike breath that moved a petalfrom a rose,hardened into bleak metal. Lowered eyes.Watering our earth,in our cries. Why elsecan what supports usbe shifting? Why else,with many more breaths,can our views, what…
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What’s closer,in the pain? A certain gleam,resides, delicate in your eyes,through tearsimagined to becrystallizing these blanketing,smothering memories. Whatever leaves youwatered, for gardens,for those that remain empty – you were for liquid, to raiseonly an ocean, from within yourfertile torture. Your wounds bury youinto your own skin.I want to love, if love wouldkeep you closerthan what,…
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All times, we co-exist,faltering before doorways,wary to our shadowsceasing to exit,surrendering to be stilled, upon knees. Faint. With pleas,with arrogance to whatwe will never please. Hand-held. Fingertips frozenon skin’s burning edge. I heat up, to ourocean of surroundings, pulling you close –close, to this disappearing light,kissing a smeared smile, as we blend into mirrors –reflections,…
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It wasn’t alwaysthat you were adrift,being lost, in a mother’s womb,seeking darkness, for your thumb,desperate for that embracewhere love can boil,can be foiled, or can rope you inwith everything to grant you. Simplistic, within. To kisses, with sweatrunning from half-opened eyes,while lips trace overscars, repeated in linesfor signatures, rewritten, and never erased,when you seewhere the…
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Another trailto least follow,while letters fail to sailin their mute blankness,as hands hold air, burying a seedto come up, with the markof a recollected eternitydeep, in this fairytale. Drowning. Once, downingpills, from your bottomless kiss,bottled into a smile,remembered at a mirrorthat leaves smoke, in your favor, while I keep crawling up to it,hoping for another…
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Sufferance. Brought up, onteardrops to write words –those too cruel to be rewritten,though are rewoundin the countdownof a returned life, to the earth, while crying to be reborn,without crying in darkness. Eyelids cannot cover you,in withdrawn attentionfrom scars, raised aboveyour poisoned flesh, nor can I,could I, turn myself awayfrom these woes, raised abovea meaningless breathin…
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Standing before, the cover,the shielding casket lidof a story’s disappointment,an ending – a concealment, and still, I awaitwhat comes next. Eyes forward,towards a funeral,with song, rose, and failurecaretaking what stepswere takento recognize familiarity, without similarity. A brittle unearthingof senselessness. I carried the stars,the infinity of each dropletto let you, come looseinto solid arms. You found…
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I always turnto see you, in mirrors,drawing smoke from your lungs,with an aura of bleaknessaboard, in your eyes, while tears, have left trailsfor hollow footprintsto be anythingbut a temptation. It has meaning.Cremating this heart,while death still holdsa faint breathfrom a tragic smile, a gleaming lockof withering hair –all symbols to releasea sickness you keep, returning…
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I can, run adrift,distancing petals with you,burning hope,like with that familiar ropewe hold, tighter than hands, and sometimes,we did scar our hands,treating pain as a remedywhen we were somebody. I can always come back,opening doors, like they wereof restored fortresses.I can keep repeatinghistory’s elementsof limping flesh, or I canstall this approach,raising walls, like they arewaves…
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You are, what regrowssafely – congested, in running ivoryfrom burning eyes,those that only onceburned awayany shred of you. Whenever, youregrow, from thorns,from bitterness,in stale perfume –to clinging memories, keep on, move on,while nothing stopsthis heart,from attacking itself. Live on, go onto subside yourselfamong desolate substitution. I’ll repeat, here,what lingers inside buried cold.You are a form,…
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I can run backyour grief, to those letters,disowning yourneedless trials,empty as all airyou rush, from your panting lipsstraight into me. You left, your wordslike seeds from a grave,rebirthing a forestfrom shade. To stretch,even without roots,to want for meaningto take place –for anything would be betterthan coldness, while truthhad remained cloggedin your earth,your bewildering mind, your…
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I found outthat words are only markers,or barricades,to stall uson this path to imperfect shelter.We bring our lights forward,burning in this rush, of our faiths, tested at each step,leaving this ground tremoring. Our hands, held for needed moments,to signal a disposition,to feel this lingering side effectto a life that only stoppedfor the other, with pauses…
Modern Romanticism 