Tag: poetry
-
#28
Fisher of dreams, sow the field with your philosophy, posit longing amidst the clouds for when life suspends itself in the crook of your elbow and your line snares another nightmare, even those rapacious trembles that shake you unbidden from sleep, cannot this time deny, your ink-laden design
-
#27
Granulated, the shape of a soul in flux, shaped and shaped again, weightless as surrender, triumphant in rebirth my friend, the color of your grief is no different than the color of my own, inflections treasure made manifest between the turbulent narrows of sorrow and rage for, when at last, the faithful exhaust their tolerance…
-
#26
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?
-
#25
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
-
#24
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
-
#23
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…
-
#22
Stowaway your name cast to the sea, fold remorse like ink into your skin, tension of the soul sustained yields itself upon the bulkhead, for what is winnowed forth from the skein of fate is but a prelude to yet another becoming, bear it gratefully, the pain does you good
-
#21
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
-
#20
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…
-
#18
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…
