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The scent of ink ,

A bit like wine ;

Making me slightly drunk

As I pen this line.

" Making " in itself is like a drug ,

Bending reality around my thoughts ,

Like shaping iron, makes me strong.

Even in my moments of greatest weakness

There is power in my words

Power like a saint's in my sinner's hands

To heal even the oldest wounds

Still the scars remain

Livid or pale, streaking my flesh

Silent echoes of pain

Keeping the mem'ries fresh.

I'VE WAKED AND SLEPT ALONE

I'VE DREAMED MY MUDDY DREAMS ALONE

I'VE WALKED THIS CITY'S STREETS ALONE

MY EYES DOWNCAST

I MEET NOONE'S GAZE

I KNOW NOONES NAME

I CALL NOONE FRIEND

NOONE CLAIMS ME

AND AS LIFE STEAMS PAST ME

TWO BY TWO

WHO CAN FAULT ME

FOR THINKING I MUST BE BROKEN

LIKE A TOYU LEFT TO LANGUISH IN THE BOX

NOT MISSING ARMS OR LEGS OR HEAD

BUT SOMEHOW LESSER THAN THE REST

AND SO NEVER CHOSEN

most often , in poetry ,

blood is a metaphore

it represents pain suffering

turmoil

i pray you will forgive me

for my literal-minded way

of saying what i mean

in what i've written today

or perhaps forgiveness is beside the point

for if you could feel what i feel

then like as not

you would want what i want

you , too , would wander

toward the darker corners of your mind

searching out means of release

heretofore Anathema

a word without meaning

here in Hell

I STAND OFTEN ON THE BRINK OF QUIETUS / THE SEA OF QUENCHING AND RESPITE / FUMBLING AMONG MY LONGINGS / FEVERISH WITH WANTING / AND SOMETIMES, LOOKING OUT OVER THE TRANQUIL WATERS / I ALLOW MYSELF THE LUXURY OF DREAMING OF AN END / HOW, DRAWN BY THE LURE OF PEACE/ I HEAR IN THE EASY WHISPER OF THE WAVES / I'D SINK GRATEFULLY INTO THE TIDE'S ROUGH EMBRACE / AND SAVORING THE SALT ON THE BLOOD WARM SPRAY /I'D DRIFT AWAY FROM LIFE , AND INTO GRACE .

pressed between the pages of Time's black book, / a luckless exotic with the splayed limbs of a broken doll / and sunken eyes , like collapsed stars / a deeper emptiness suspended against the face of the void / i bear witness to the decay of all things / though i am never seen...

Her theme echoes in my mind / Lush chords swelling / Cresting / Spillilling over / Ravishing my soul / There are no words / Just an awful sympathy / For the horrid weight of life / And the frail hearts that must bare it / Her music speaks of suffering / And the bliss of letting go.

A Lady ,dark and lush with promise, wieldind temptation like a scythe . How can I cod and lonesome as I am , resist , why? Cool white hands caress away my fears, and a last lingering touch brushes away my doubts. Her black eyes , infinitely deep and consoling meet with mine, and I am irretrievably lost...

COMMENTS

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xVampx
22:32 Apr 04 2008

Lovely. My favorite. Oh do keep writing some more.

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