In Doubt Have We Forsaken All

Emerging at the worn divide
Torn with surging feelings
Forcing purging of things concealed
Stinging urges of surreal consequence

Stoically stowed with eloquence
Eluding the known self
Burrowing with blinded foresight
With mind of spurned course

Cheek turned, to face surreality
Burned bridges, blackened annealing
Annul the shackles bound to honor
Honed in hindsight, alighting home

Palindromic dominion of scorned conscience
Obsessive arbitrations mold mountains
In mundane progression in vain and valence
Visage now pallid, invalid throughout

In doubt have we forsaken all
Every fiber, mired by machinations manmade
In prophecies fulfilled by self sacrifice
Compliant with secession and sacredness surrendered

Descendent no longer through sentient states
Relentlessly pondered this basement ascent
What stasis has stricken a heart stalwart
Now felled as the four walls once bracing

To Gravity’s Savage Grave Grounded

aloof, alone
star drift sea
strands in nebulous array
sunburst striking stone
accursed throne turned cinder
plundering gaussian fields
fervently grasping spirals
wired illusions allude such form
here my sworn litany lifts above sky rift
sifting through lingering silt
like lucid liaisons
gaze on horizon
engulfed in pulsar prominence
shots spray into sprawling
faint call of caressing
a dust no longer present
confined to perception
her cosmic complexion refracts
reflected on welled tear
to gravity’s savage grave, grounded

Quaint Acquiescence Is An Obsequious Acquaintance

sentiments in repetition meant to vent with relevance
relinquish the varnish that tarnishes the vulgar tolerance
commence with imminence the absence of antiquity
for quaint acquiescence is an obsequious acquaintance
ubiquitous as though it may be, acclimation clings aloof
from roof to mountaintop rounding up with rallied cries
rising echoes sound of silent sorrows soon to beckon
why then try, as troubadour or rube of high demeanor
dubious depictions dangle like truths that fall no more
musing angles by which this ruse might inflict less feeling
stitching loosely by light revealing conflicts of duress
stealing strength from respite choosing no less than languish
eventual sediment in secluded stasis embracing lost artifice
weaved words of wont whimsy will quell this wells depths
in diligent delineations of dreary dreamscapes divulged

Blue Moon

in resilience these remnants remain
the furthest reaches of reality’s semblance
shattered and splintered
coherent and complete
amassing the breadth of the beyond
composed of truths intrinsically incomprehensible
subconsciously apprised of existential paradox
dispersing to absorb all aspects of astral inflection
mystical mosaics in resonant timbres
temporal tapestries of tapering ardor
byzantine dreams breathe fervid
flashes of sempiternity
our hearts, in rapture reside
in every tense and context
an eternal truth
as sure as the azure moon that binds us

Your Era So Golden

drawn out days of titian settling
the era’s closure drawing near
awkward affections shared passing
would soon become passion entwined

distant horizons of arid liquescence
ever eluding the focus we sought
erred, the inherent aplomb, never fathoming
fears since forsaken in faith fueled fires
torrential tirade, your era so golden
impressed in the brood of its wake

heartache bore into lavender walls
awaiting the moment with you in my arms
where were your words so wont to wax in wallow
how hollow the home of the world I had known

the dance of days that deceived us
the tumulted spires of spectacle
that stood to make valid the toil
our turmoil in vain

wading in waning , awash of the waters
where once we found cleansing

the wraith of your suffering
resigned us to this disavowed closure

this fragmented filament could forge in fine temperance
but vanity’s deference reigns
trudging through deconstructed dreams
razed of the memories maimed
unceremoniously unraveled
with unrelenting

To Etch Unto Mirrors of Flesh

vibrations, energy
pulsating vermilion reveling in the void
indolent husks wrapping wired frame
housing the boundless hearth called home

yet we search for our worth
in silence obscured
voices unheard
notions absurd

feigning the faintest of feeling
to etch unto mirrors of flesh
at best, an elusive illusion
at worst, the tragedy of truth

the poles of perception persist
infinite shades of finite reality
clamoring to claim validation
in sovereign states of solitude

ensnared in silken shrouds
sewn of our own accord
the hands that bring forth our intention
have sown our reflection’s ire

it is here we conspire