Black ink and sunbeams poetry

Catatonic, your hearts stilled beating, washed over, hope, ever-rending unsettles the fortune soul My love, the world expires around us, let be what will be and cross the Atlantic, my ankles broken upon perdition, will you carry me?

Falling down, cartographer to my heart, twice afflicted, comb the silt-flats, deviations of despair as before keep your confidence perhaps when impressions of solitude settle like a star unmoored and the wellspring of sorrow swimming behind your eyes dries alongside the Pacific, you will find a glimmer of peace, like gold, upon the seabed

Your prismatic lens rusted over, play dice in the sable light, you’ve gambled before and lost, two masks for eyes, smile made thin by the wasting sickness, even still, feet mired in misery, you laugh, casting tomorrow upon the teeth of fate

Who can say with certainty, the indelible shades of right or wrong, when those who mistake faith for conviction and conviction for righteousness are surprised when that which they did to others returns to them like a curse nurtured in secret and gorged upon grief Exile, cast out, broaden the interpretation of your understanding, kindle…

Architect of dreams, hands stained with clay, plant another flower, pack down the dust with your tears worry not, when the bracken springs forth beneath storm clouds, the raindrops will keep your confidence, the thunder will ply its melodies, they too, indelible as sorrow, are your inheritance

Translucent parts of the self-contained heart, once denied, cast their chorus into the silence, capricious as desire, cacophonous as the omnipresent spark of creation that deafens reason brother, your ambition worn thin, made brittle as my prismatic lens, cleave your prayers before the tattered chords of madmen, carve yourself a sliver on the wall, bury…

Lonely minded architect of the silver spire, sat silently, alone at the table, dressed sharply in black and grey, your fingers stained with ink, made thin by the wasting sickness when October arrives outside the window and you wither further alongside Autumn, will you fall spent like the leaves, or have you yet the spirit…

My love, strip the viridian edges of my canvas, pull forth the black with your brush, soothe my heart with grey, when we fall together upon the hillside overlooking the city of trees and I cast my line into the wellspring of unease that bubbles forth every night at dusk, rend me with your fingertips,…