workshop
Blue skies to turn white bones brittle
your steps lose erring spruice
deferring the reverberation of metal
that snake who offers the apple, now to a silent noose,
as if you had a choice, screaming
your wrasping voice quickly lost
grasping the loss of meaning
seamless endlessness is the cost.
Canto Nine ~ It has been nearly a week and Gundhag has finally sent the boy back to the battlefield for the young mother’s corpse.
The storm persists as he runs with characteristic speed to obtain her. The man he had imprisoned has escaped him, but as with all things in his chaotic mind he no longer gives thought to it. That a bewildered form of destiny had caused their paths to cross, and with the crossing possible revelation as to his ever hidden reality, has been shelved in the fearful corners of his self taught insanity.
Life never seems simple
Every day I fake dimples
To bury a secret
So no one can read it
If I could
You know I would
I am about to break
And you just take and take
I don't need peace
When you take pieces
Of me
Please don't turn out the light
Everything is not... alright
Life is a race
I cannot keep the pace
People ask what I am doing
But I am not sure where I am going
People think I am flying
On the inside I am dying
This is my knife
Deep into my life
This.
And that you love me.
Even just that you are.
That you see softness and then it is.
That you lay down and I sleep.
That you are happy and so, I am.
You are.
And that you love me.
Like this.
cool down man
you can't make everyone
listen!
many like me are
deaf and blind
in search of one
none can find
so leave your temper
far behind,
take God
out of your mind
cool down!
but you can't prohibit
poetry
that god alone does define
the critiques here
may refine....
Why this anger
I wonder
who so ever does
blunder
will get their share
why do you alone
about the unknown
so much
care...
cool down!
man!!!
mother scrubbed minds
gleaming halos of godshine
seen by no one
but fellow travelers
on the path of sheepy knee walk
grinning at the alter of a butcher,
giving thanks
for their divine lobotomies
strands of ideals
glisten ridden
upon the shoals
the hidden
tides
fishing
complimentary and pure
dipped in crescent notions
full of crespula reaching
bathed luxuriant and bare
a millenium breadth
spray fed and touched
an evening aura
worn in depths
smooth swept
Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.
I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he'd call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,
when I pour out my thoughts
into that cup in front of you
I expect for you
to take every signal
I've decanted there
Take it sip after sip,
inhale its essence,
feel its bitterness
or sweetness,
appreciate the presence
of any additional scents,
Then tell me,please
how do you like it,
is it your cup of tea?
I have been watching
as the tendrils of life
drift off and away
casting shadows
on her soul
in a waning light
I felt the touch of faith
nails indented my knees
and palms, now laying down
I feel my heart shift
into a peaceful stillness
slowly it started
sliding in a sepia light
I now held her hand
tracing the infinity symbol
into her palm
now we silently wait
as death dances in the shadows
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