And for one absent moment
maybe you will know peace.
Let it rest easy within you,
if only for a second,
before moving on.
With the World
and your life.
Let it go,
In your hour of waking
did you split the dawn untold?
With the shrieks of your dreams
that surrendered you whole.
Will you lie to your brother
when your mother is old?
Can’t you see you are tainted?
God’s scorn will surely show.
Inside your skull a seed blooms
of deepest, darkest blue.
The lull of the sea whispers in your ears,
the ending draws closer every year.
Man is made to wander amid his refuse.
The rust of his passing will be swept away,
then there will be nothing but the gentle sway
of tall grass, indifferent to the pale sky.
Remember when we used to laugh?
It was all frolick and play,
not a worry under the blue sky.
Now I find myself trapped in an iron maiden of my own neglect.
Counting the seconds, filling the hours, in the dark of night.
Fearful of waking up to find my heart shriveled and old,
though my skin’s still taut and smooth.
Every word I utter falls dead to an empty auditorium,
nobody there to even throw much-welcomed scorn.
I scream with lips gently sealed, waves of grief crash uselessly against them.
No one shall know how deep the void scratches the frayed and tattered remnants of my soul.
What words pour out from this cleaved breast of mine,
that sow such failed seeds of misfortune.
There is no color in the space between my eyes
that can remove this stain of mortification.
Thus I smother my shame in the resolution of God’s grace, illusive as it may be; Their eyes shine not at the sight of me.
The simple truth paints blindness to grievances past.
Perhaps yet, I shall grow a tree called solitude, and learn to bear its fruit.
It shall not find me going hungry for the sustenance of kind words, I’d rather starve.
A valley of desire runs long and untended between trembling thighs.
Carry my wishes to them with the breath of a unrepentant kiss,
then, maybe, I shall swallow your little gasps; pizzicato notes on our merry old symphony.
Oh, how this smirk -is it yours or mine?- flickers our lovers’ delight.
I’ll be sure to whisper your name, so please, spare a thought for my lonesome;
one day I’ll be sure to remember it.
The limits of my flesh
are the failings of your words.
What body of lies you conjure,
wreathed from punishing verbs.
Still I yield to my own frailty,
encased, entrapped, entombed.
The cage is too small to be alone;
I’ll let them bury my grief with you.