Category: Poetry

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Where Lost Time Stands Still

a faltering state of mind
calls this pittance to arms
the paltriest paradigm
of pandering charms
defaulting to circumstance
chants ruing the day
in vaults of indignance
locked deftly away
a vacuous feeling
since stolen from god
that once seemed appealing
now dolent and odd
beyond every precipice
where lost time stands still
and thoughts of our sins escape
from cells of spent will
but dare never to look back
lest our sanity fall
from blight into blackness
confined to mute walls
constructed of naught but
our lies and laments
in reveries e’er fraught
with heaven’s repent

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Roseate Lips

having read
the words
i had written

i lay somber
in solitude

soft strands
of sorrow
trace
this weary face

unable to understand
the nature
of perception
painting
my known reality

in scenes
of dormant verve
where torment falls
into tedium’s abyss

this resignation
squanders
the heart’s of men
quashing freed spirits

these tears are more
than salted dew

they whisper
thoughts
of hopeless wander

knowing
their fate

to be forsaken

swaddled in
this brimming cauldron
of cacophonous echoes

refused
their final
resting place
that lay within
your heart

what sorrow
this truth
weighs upon me

for i have come
to comprehend
its toll

as winter
now descends
brisk and bright
with snow-blanched walls

i fall

to find the fears
from which i have
forever fled
surround me
in my umbral journey

i have nothing
present
to pacify
the passing
hours

and prudence,

ever the afterthought

yet
here i lay

drenched
in tears
that draw
but one
conclusion

the illusion
of now
is the illustration
that streaks across
my mind’s eye

like light
that lived
so long ago

now soaring
above silent shadows
to show the truth
of temporal permanence

this
you have awakened
within me

i can only watch
as perfumed petals
waft

from roseate lips

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A Tranquilness

where scarlet roads seeped into sentience
below the escarpment of ire
a tranquilness pierced all dimensions
unfolding in plumes of expire
as dire as the atoms dividing
despair courting burdensome skies
a chaos of static illusion
yet lingers in mem’ries denied

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Winter’s Trine

flaxen strands at angles errant

dangle draped in fine translucence

lucid lines trace shapes ensconcing

winsome ways awash in whispers

 

all the almond’s fond azure

paragon of floret’s dew

sinuous tresses weaved in waters

worlds away from whence she watched

 

passive paramour of plight

plunging into astral pools

solitude that stings with piercing

as she sings her song of tears

 

pensively a passive pondering

wanders through the prism spire

spoken naught in uttered earnest

turning over tides of trine

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Latent Introspection

having just awoken from a truth
none dare to dream
i reveled in the feeling
of an old familiar friend
for once the house that held this heart
had found itself a home
inhabited by every hapless moment
rapt in youth
i felt a warmth so radiant
where smiles wore freedom’s linger
the foreign touch of fingers
poised to praise and not condemn
i wandered through the shifting walls
of visions so uplifting
while drifting in between
the conscious states that fate once held
a gentle hand was guiding me
through windows of perception
with eyes of every fabled tale
of caring and concern
many arms were reaching out
that left no sting of burden
and words were spoken
with a calming comfort and relief
in this fixed expression of release
like peals of fulgurance
strike every version’s revelations
voiced of your reflection
with resonance, they ring out
to floresce in all dimensions
through broken mirrors
of latent introspection

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How Long Is A Mile?

a dismal gloom blares
in the distance
of concrete the corridors cry
gnashing with sinuous steel
stolen from the vacuum of midnight erosion

it is now as it was then
a tenuous terror entranced
beyond the circumstance of thought
barreling down outstretched roads of unknown ending
a home blighted nomadic with static fluoresce
abuzz with abundant abandon

each night anew
feeding silver to shiver
amid layered squalor shown blind to bright eyes
left to devices unfit for adorning
fetid filth teemed with ambiguities

but stranger things still filled my head as i stood
behind the partition of gold lamé dinge
alone like a stone world of door tethered drifters
obscured by their numbers
familiar yet foreign

rasping with roars of abrupt deconstructing
and hearts worn by prophets of apathy’s idle
but pray not awaken
the ire composed of their hijacked illusion

when truant frontiers promised fears
poised to fade
from days faster
than words would beam hope
inside daydreams of youth

disaster had fled with indignance
in woven distortions
unspooling in blood
where conifers blurred
in absurdity
dust filled my head
with a sweet symphonic suite
still assuring that we are not there yet

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2 am

two in the morning
the hour of unmooring
and sordid self-sanctified litanies of lament

a restless contortion condemned
to weak flesh
And pensive delusions
of dreams death and somnolence
vying for conquest compliant
in courtship of heaven’s duress

with static distortion
the cries since impending
have rendered the dawn sempiternally unsound
as whispers she once left
to toil within
the tempest eye
where the star’s
lonesome hearts dwell
on waves of her lips
wisps of wistful prose
haunting perception
felled cowardice kisses
transmuted

adrift between boundaries
of bold indecision
dare told by none
writhing long
in scorching depths
arriving at naught
but poise fraught with a bold thought

to win the morn

a toll was then taken
far greater than fate
inundating our soul

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Ego Trumps All

to share upon this vulgar pittance
beholding the avarice emboldened hence
is all too appalling
and calls for impaling
those of impudent partisan offense

pathology virulent of veiled reverie
begets naught but apathy’s reign of contempt
as death trickles down
of loss so profound
appearing perfunctory in its descent

a madness has stricken the tenuous hearts
with lichen tinged artifice haunting closed minds
the flesh disavowed
such feverish cow
forsaking for no sake but wastrel design

and squander they will with such lack of foresight
to plunder the will of humanity’s fight
whose plight turned so grave
all life spurned to save
malignance indignant of our human rights

stripped of our own person, to verse, we must take
eclipsing the truth of our sanity’s wake
as such to arrive
where none shall e’er thrive
diseased by a greed that can never be slaked

alas, i implore thee, with feeling once more
regale us with narratives slighting succor
for ego trumps all
behind fortified walls
and calls heard to defend the rich from the poor

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Stowed Amid A Solstice Dream

end this e’er incessant stream
of penance prying open seams
with hypervigilance unspoken
stowed amid a solstice dream

halt this hallowed grand illusion
bending will with blind intrude
bleeding onto open canvas
tapestries of hope construed

stay thy tongue of saintly affect
straying from each painted breath
brushing bold projections thrust
beyond the surface tension’s depth

swallow all the seas between us
stinging erstwhile tears of trust
lost in sallow shores born waning
scars implore fomenting rust

sink into the brink of madness
tingling impingent caress
ere we held this cursed congress
acquiescing fear’s duress

in the interim entangled
dangling whims will surely shed
sans decorum, sowing unheard
cries of autumn blur, bereft

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The Sloe

silent shrills
spilled forth like flies
from graves of eager repose

dolent will
crept from her eyes
in waves of welling woe

stoically
a stolen bliss
of esoteric air

stranded long
as loss bestilled
mesmeric songs drew tears

sycamores
loomed nigh as night
blew fickle wafts of clove

trickling
illuminously
from aloft the sloe

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