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I dreamed of a life by the sea;

where the redwoods meet

the sand dunes

and the whales sing dreary love tunes.



I dreamed of a house and garden

where barbaric moon blossoms stand ardent,

and refined roses of mauve wave

behind bird baths in an enclave.

Where the tree trunks are too wide to hold

and the ivy climbs up them,

chasing the sunlight of the grove.



And if I searched long enough

I would find a weeping willow;

to take rest under,

my head leaning on its mossy pillow

while the birds whisper songs,

as if heard through a billow.



I dreamed of great brown rocks,

some of which jolt up

in the ocean.

They pretend to be mountains

in the water

and I'd sing to them quietly

as I'd saunter.



I dreamed of a love unfeigned,

like burning candles and incense

upon an alter in a secret shrine;

of a man with eyes deeper than an abyss

who can rescue me from mine

and heal me with his kiss.

No, no need for him to be perfect,

but his voice refreshing

like foam on the tide's surface.

His heart a treasure so priceless,

a ruby gleaming in the light;

a hand to hold down the shadowy path

of the night.



And then I dreamed of wings

that could help me fly away.



I realized my dreams do not manifest.

I am the victim of broken hearts, broken wings;

separation and forbidden love, unfulfilled love, frustrated love.

Suffocated romance and choked,

strangulated by those cloaked

in the robes of the angels of light.

And what do I wish for?

Nothing other than to run away

from this sorrow, from the people that link together like a chain necklace bound by sadness.

All that there is left to do is scream

a distinguished cry that no one seems to hear...

Seared by the burning ache within,

I long to be long for.

A pain that feels so good,

a lingering shiver

and a void forever.

I am dirty, dark, and thirsty.

What more could you ask for?

It is my pride and my own undoing;

a screaming lust -- boiling and brewing.



Feel my icy touch on your chest, your naval.

Feel my parched lips on your wrists,

and I'll slit them softly if you're willing and able.

Stabbing teeth, clawing nails, breaking skin.

Some call it the animal within. Some say it's sin.



What do you want it to be? What do you want me to be?

Your ghost? Your phantom? Your freak? Your ransom?



Just love me and need me! Just touch me, please me,

and I will whisper death to you, oh so sweetly.

Only we can love you forever.

And if you are still not sure,

just kiss me...

COMMENTS

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Talona
19:58 Aug 18 2012

This is lovely. Painfully beautiful, even. Thank you for sharing.

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POST COMMENT

You can only run from something for so long;

you can only pretend to forget.

You can bury something so deep,

but when it is alive you'll find

that you shoveled a shallow grave.



Sometimes love can feel like death;

sometimes the heart

mourns and grieves its phantom.



But just as darkness has its own beauty,

you are drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

Although it hurts too much to bear,

you sometimes find you like the pain.

The longing is like poison,

and you sometimes love the taste.



You can cross your arms and shut your eyes,

yet even in your coffin you hear loves cries.

Alas, you cannot escape!

A romantic ghost --

love is an irresistible fate.

I long for you...



Where is your breath?



When will I hear your voice

and my soul echo its melody?

When will my ears hear your

beating heart

and flutter like butterfly wings

over the love it will impart?



I long for you...



Where are your finger tips?



When will your lips

wrap around mine

like a double helix

enclosing her mystery?



When will I sleep with

my head on your chest

after a night of our

anatomy sojourning

a burning quest?



Where are you, my love?



I long for you...



Who are you?

There is a sad strain

that numbs my fingers

And screeches

as I grind my teeth-

Making sorrow songs

like a slave singer.



Oh, you were my angel;

You came and rescued me

so many times-

I wore your hand

like a fitted bangle.



Innocence, sunshine, and hope…

Now you are piss stains, sorrow, and can’t cope.



Rats in your kitchen, shit smears, and broken bones;

Loss of vision, a lost mind, and a broken home.



You did it,

she did it,

he did it,

and no one wins.



My Mimi,

you are going,

going,

gone…



Just a shell

is left

and the drones

of hell.



A faint glimmer

of my fondest

childhood memory;

You’re there

but not here

again,

and not yet buried.



You’ve got slit wrists

because you desire

to live no more;

I’ve got clenched fists

because my heart

is so sore.



Who do I

unleash

this anger toward?

Not you,

my helpless

cherub…



Restrained without gain,

choked up like a noose!

But you, me, and Jesus

were like a threefold cord.



As your strength

slips away so does mine,

And yet in all of this

I am still looking for a sign.

heart of despair,

hallow and swallowed,

that once was fair

in the stare of his eyes



you are gone, gone, gone

like the moon at dawn

like the innocence of childhood -

the warm scent of burning wood



heart of despair,

where have you traversed?

going to and fro

have you found where is worse?



oh rove vagabond,

gone, gone, gone

just beyond loves reach -

you were wrong, wrong, wrong



wrong



heart of despair,

black as the dusk,

your beating sweat

dithers

and quivers with musk



your dirty finger tips,

your chapped, cracked lips,

heart of despair!

you are gone, gone, gone

thought that you could reach him

but you were wrong, wrong, wrong



gone



heart of despair,

if only your sighs

could vomit and

dissipate all of the lies



cries in the window

tears in the bible

tongue, so unbridled -

fear of your rival

survival, but no revival



my heart!

heart of despair!

though dead, i am

still painfully aware!



wrong, wrong, wrong



gone, gone, gone



alone with this

song, song, ...song



alone



heart of despair

I thought I wasn't loathed;

felt so good from close-up.

Face pressed tight against the glass;

At last, a place to spill my blood.

Shattered; that's all it ever was.



I felt I wasn't dead.

Each night I'd pray in my bed;

Spirit-filled, holy ghost mislead.

A dream woven in brokenness;

that's all I ever had.



You were my head held high.

My words I can't say right

any time I try.

Any time I try...

Any time I try...



Can't keep what I did not have;

can't even give it back.

I did not dream of that...



Convulsing right from the spine.

Tell the truth and you'll be fine.

What if the truth is another lie?

No one seems to mind,

just don't look behind...



It's all smiles and laughs till the jokes on you,

ridiculed for the things that you did and did not do,

and the four walls of your room are a prison too,

and no one seems to mind.

No one seems to mind...

No one seems to mind.



Isha'a comes with a flood of tears;

wearing my heart on my sleeve, so sheer.

The mirror beholds the story told;

the look on a face that can't go back

and escape a weeping voice that cracks.

Nothing good ever seems to last.



I just can't get it right

any time I try.

Any time I try...

Any time I try...



So what if the truth is just another lie?

No one seems to mind...

Alone, here in the darkness.

My veil hides the grimace of sorrow;

the frown of a thousand years.

My head hits this rock,

so gentle a gift...

and though it is clean

and it purifies my face

it can never wash away my pain.



My head down,

my body bent,

tears coming out,

cries and shrills!



Life is drained out of me.

I can feel the days slipping away.

One adversity to the next,

no relief,

and I do it all alone.



I cry for help,

but it never seems to come.

Alone,

staring down the barrel of a gun.

Always reaching, always searching,

and forever finding life's cruelty.



I was bent and bowed once before,

and life kicked me in the teeth.

They chattered a piercing sound

to my ear,

and when the cracking of

my bones finished I

began to drown in

a river of tears.

In this same river

I came to survive,

floating upon the water

birthed from heartaches,

and drinking it to survive.



Yes,

somehow my pain

caused me to survive

and the dove of my naval

forced me to strive.

I do it all for her,

and I fight alone to stay alive.



Why have I inherited this lot?

I will rise from the ground now

and kiss my dove goodnight.

The darkness shall remain around me,

but maybe it does not mean that

light is out of reach, and out of sight.

The dark sky, the shimmering stars, and the bright moon all collect

her night time tears - her sighs, and the lonely company they reflect.

Your hammer is belligerent;

It nails down nothing

But wreaks havoc upon my grasp.

How I wish the roles were reversed,

But you asphyxiated my creativity.



I built you a home, and I can smell it burning.

I built you a fire; you extinguished it with bitter cold.

I built you a ship; that ship has sailed.

It drifts away without me,

Wondering if you like it or not.



Chaos reigns upon my conclusions.

Too much bedlam;

I cannot seem to reach into the deep.

Can I speak a new world into existence?

All is without form, and void -- again.

You choked my influence to make things new.



You tried to blindfold me with empty promises

And break me with a lonely bed.

There is no need for my sight now;

I can feel you slipping through my fingers

Like sand in an hour glass.

Is there a way to turn back time?

We turned things upside down,

Yet it was not that simple.



The grains are being exhausted like me,

Wondering if I like it or not.

What can be said now for sands and ships at sea?

There is a vast ocean that will keep them apart.

If bleeding hearts are flowers than I am a garden.

The aroma of my pain,

the wear of my gates…

The tears in my rain.



The birds passing through perch on my branches.

I shelter them with my weary wings;

they sing me sorrow songs,

take my seed,

and fly away.



No robin or jay asks about my flowers.

They see the blood dripping;

their hands are empty.



A flower bleeding to death;

they turn a blind eye toward me.

The cold of snow,

though it may clothe my heart with white

still glows crimson when the dust settles.



I have no one to speak to

and yet so many to speak of.

I prayed to the gardener to stop tilling my earth;

His ear is not deaf,

though it seems deaf to my cries.



He tills while I trail behind Him.

My shovel suggests I bury the bleeding,

but even burying it won’t stop these feelings.



Should I scream?

Should I faint?

Should I turn my love into hate?



If I gouge out my eyes I won’t see it.

If I cut out my tongue I won’t speak of it…

though there is still no one to speak to.



If I stab my ear drums I won’t hear it;

the pounding and beating of my bleeding heart.

…I have not the valor.



So I wait for someone to take a walk here

and see right through me.

Maybe they will give me a coat to wear,

maybe they will make me feel sure.

Maybe they will reach for me

just as I am reaching.



Maybe they will stop the bleeding.

She had pity on no one,

just as I had no pity on myself.



A smear in my makeup,

a stain on my Persian rug;

a regurgitated woe I have re-swallowed.



She taught me that motherly love

is a whirlwind of lunacy;

dragged by the heel into her cyclone of criticism

and cunning, contorted affection.

Crafty, her lion’s den is a snake pit.



If I was God and she was Laodicea I would spew her.

She is not lukewarm, but like John’s scroll;

sweet to the taste but bitter in the stomach.



I wish I was anorexic, but I have gluttony for punishment.

Like a moth was I, that flew right into the fire;

she burned my enthusiasm for flight.



I was looking for her face and found she had two.

She gave me hers as a gift, and I have been cursed for it ever since.

Nothing lasts forever.



If she is a part of me than I should

leave her on the deepest floor of the ocean.

She belongs with the wreaks and the bones of the dead;

she in fact is both.

Her stench is that of a rotten grave

grey and tingling like yellow.



My finger is numb from pointing at myself,

but hers is still pointing at me.

No matter how far I go I can still see it.

I wish she would just leave me alone.

In the stillness I realize

My heart is a sinking ship.



Down she goes into the

Black deep.

No direction can

Be seen.



Had I only some

Distraction

I might not know it.



This ocean is too

Quiet,

Too vast an expanse

Of silence.



Your Sabbath hushed

My commotion

And now I know

I am a

violent sea.



Insatiably I swallow

This gripped rudder

Into the chasm.



No storm

No waves

No wars waged

Down here.



Just emptiness

And alone;

Teeming with

Heaviness

And fear.



Maybe one day

They’ll find it

And call it archeology.

Or maybe it will lay

Lonely;

One of

History’s mysteries.

She walks among dreamt up thistles

while she sneers to herself about

dichotomies and obsolete epistles.



On the verge of someone beautiful,

she remembers the darkness she

quietly tucked away.

So miserable she has been since

those free, child-like days.



The cemeteries she wandered,

the names on the tombstones

she pondered...



A drop of blood,

a taste so divine...

the woods, the sun, the moon,

and dragons blood

were the aromas of her shrine.



When the weak were

seduced and preyed upon,

and their lives drank like

saffron and tea from Ceylon,

she was blessed and full of life.



But then her world

grew without walls,

too small it was.

Is ignorance bliss or is bliss ignorance?

The answer now is insignificant.



Yet oh, to skip once again along the water,

to hear its voice as a soothing incantation.

Though an orphan, to feel like a daughter

and have magic fantasy in contemplation.



So comely, so lovely,

she walks dead among the living.

She runs through dreamt up rye fields

and sings like no one can hear her,

with crystals as her shield.



Fallen angel or goddess or vampress or monster,

how gracefully your beauty gleams in darkness

where you saunter.



Fair lady, teeming with wildflowers

in the most mysterious of hours,

may I feel you and your life again!

Even if the Book would condemn...

Amen.

Oh sleep,

how I have missed you so.

I pine for you each morning

and daydream of your embrace all day.

How I long to be lost in our love

for the rest of my days.

Yet even now at the edge of your lips

I cannot drift away with you,

for in my mind I am wishing you were someone else.

The solemn night falls;

the fire flickers,

burning.



Cotton in my mouth,

nails in my ear drum,

knives in my eyes;

my vocal cords a dry violin.

Strings tied tight around my fingers;

strung also through my finger nails,

puppet strings...





My ribs a bird cage,

even the inner walls of my body cry

because there is no escape.



Hell is a close friend of mine.



Darkness is a veil;

it pales me.