Mornings find comfort here In the coolness of this paradise, A silken oasis found Where thirst and hunger Find satiety Yet thirst and hunger Still into the desire Of evenings Filled with evermore Longing for fire Comforting and raging Always.
Petals of these words Capture not your true essence, A perfume to me. The rarest flowers With their soft, fragrant petals Are waxen mimics Of You stretched, glowing sleep A contented, wonderous sight Perfect perfection.
I am unsure how this happened, but the stone grew, encasing me, protective and cold, a walking grave of comfort for many years. Now, having grown moss over the passing of so many seasons and used to the weight of stone I carry into the calm of night, blossoms burst forth from this tonnage of comforting cold stone, this grave of a home I have known. I would like to twist, turn away from such blossoms, yet find I cannot. I cannot gather dust to me, creating stone again. Cannot piece shards together for there are not enough left in this remaining dust. As I rest in this place, I will tuck these blooms away-- Until they bear ripened fruit, Readied for picking. Fragrant blossoms that they may only be for now.
In the language of gods,
we speak in whispers
of the luxury to touch
And know all there is
to know of heaven and earth
mingled here in our hearts
and in the earth
we create in ecstasy
of feeling knowing
all there is to know
and each other–
I swore never to give my words away like blossoms in the spring.
Yet, I marvel at all the words I’d gather,
arrange for you in artful, elegant bouquets.
I’ve keloid locks where my words are stored.
I possess not the oils to soften those locks,
Trapping my words deep in their vault,
My words may never know freedom.
Yet, I find myself streaming petals of words for you
In hazy, lazy patterns,
Knowing you have the wisdom, the soul
To read my words much like braille—
A code of sorts–
So you can hear and know,
All my words bestow.
Against a sky of perfect blue
Containing strains of purest white,
My heart and soul,
A kite woven,
Finally, after all the years,
Unafraid of the heights
Attained on these winds.
My hope no longer dwells within
A fortress built
Of scars or fears
That others would have me hear.
Can’t really say how it happened.
But it did. All those years ago.
Some may say it’s a pity or a sin.
All I say is I survived.
It was the lava, really.
That’s at fault. Yeah, maybe
me, since I did let it in.
Into my network of arteries and veins,
letting it flow until it coated
I turned to stone.
I walked in skin and could yet bleed.
But, sure enough, inside—
I was stone.
I felt nothing.
And that felt good—
To be cold as stone.
No longer part of the network of humanity
Though I walked in it—
How perfect it felt
to feel inhuman,
to feel nothing at all–
At least, for a little while.
Today’s prompt— Write a poem using evanescence, trill, and longevity.
dreams held up the sky
the edge of sea could cleanse a soul
magic chimed in the songs of birds
the universe trilled with vibrancy contained in starlight
the evanescence of our lives unquestioned
then hope, golden and shining, possessed eternal longevity.
A scent upon the air this morning still
At least in these wild imaginings—
With the colors of sunrise muted
By the humid haze hanging in the air,
My eyes close to better see the glow
Of white skin by moonlight,
To better catch the scent
Of her in the slight breeze–
And then—I do not know—
It seems I feel the touch of angel feathers upon my face.
Lightning cracked the sky today
Very nearly tethering Desire and Want,
Who entwined, rolling from edge
To edge of the horizon—
And I walked,
Thinking I’d make it home
Before pelting rain could chill
My heated sweating skin.
But I did not.
I made it home,
Trailing water drops
Down the hall.
Finally, dry and warmed,
Dressed in fresh clothes,
I looked outside
To find a pink sky,
With clouds tethered
To the earth like me.