Poetry
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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…
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Was it always a stillness?Or a cloaked gentleness? This repeatedexhaust, a motionless stir in a senselessdeprivation from being well,after asked if I am well. Listless inside a vacancyafter knowing I have lost my soul,bleeding here where a canvas used to bepainted in Heaven’s colors, as I often confuse a curewith moments I cannot mirror. I…
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If in the presentation, I choose tohug the bark of strange trees,I’ll hope with rushes plungingfrom softened eyes that those rootslike hands, can form their gestureof prayer to a man with his years in ruin,with his gaze always looking awayfrom a rotting sun in a fatal distance. Whoever thought that sadness could melt?Whoever thought that…
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Open your bruises. Keep your eyesthe music of waterfalls. I longto kiss the daytime into silence,while we caress, when we undressall our wounds into becomingscenery we cannot ignore,cannot come to abhor. Take the message of a rotten man.Hear his plea, from beneath,where sickness is his parasite,and also, his appetite. He holds blood in his hands,brought…
Modern Romanticism 