The darkness in us, around us, IS our shattered symphony. The music of our lives, broken and discordant.
a momentary lapse of judgment, slipping from the razors edge.
into hot and abrasive arms, holding as if welcoming giving way to realization of discomfort; then struggle
escape only possible with bloods price
a momentary lapse, sending bloody ripples into uncertain future
a past sinking down to the depths below
The pose of impropriety.
The blush giving to knowing smile.
The faint green scent of dying flowers
laying like dew over musk.
A joyous bark of laughter covering
the faint slap of leather to skin,
Eyes a darkness, full of promises
Languid, languishing
Passing by unnoticed.
Pierced like a blade,
Flechette drawing gasps.
A turned head,
Lips, full of knowledge,
For the taking
So I promised I would post this as soon as created. Consider this Wednesday’s post.
A suddenness of fire
To throbbing ache
Again and again
Until there is only fire
Waives wracking
Lithe
Pains pulsing glamour
Coupled gasp
Pleasure bounding forward
Each…slip…
Hearts pounding
Straining for surcease
Quietly now
Tumbling out ecstatic
The fire sated
Curbed
Fevere reverie
Into lethe
I seethe with need
A desire for darker pleasures
Life is said to be pain.
the shared human experience.
I shudder in anticipation of it
Wanting to feel the lash’s kiss
And to wield it,
In equal measure.
Shattered shadows, darkness, and pain
These are three of my favorite things
Or so my poetry would have you believe
A moment in sunshine and peace rendered as hearts pain
Experiences of pleasure in the touch of another described as darkness shifting its skin
A hundred different emotions distilled down to these three things. Always the first words I write. Always these three written small on my heart and tongue.
I’ve always felt out of place
Like I didn’t fit
Pieces of me stick out at odd places and as a consequence I don’t fit in the world.
I’ve made a lifetime of not fitting
I stand alone, apart.
Conversations held, I don’t take to my logical conclusions because experience has taught me that others find those conclusions odd. And some can tell I’m holding back. Which most take as rejection. Which is hard since it is those with that intuitive sense that I can have a real conversation with.
My one major relationship… with a woman with whom I shared obsession with. It was what we could give each other but it was not love. A long time coming, that realization.
And so it is with every moment, turned about and about until intuition and logic tell my conscious mind each peice, until it is ready to become a part of my tapestry of experience.
I jut out at odd angles, looking for a place I fit, despairing that it won’t be found, and fearing that it will.
Broken on the precipice of dawn
I stand waiting for you, forlorn hope lost to me.
Shattered but mending
broken anew as memories assault me. Slake my thirst on bitter dreams. Emerging from the settled surface from the unsettled depths.
I awaken renewed.
Souls siphoned down the fallow earth
Flowing over depressions
Collecting
Forgotten pools reflecting a sullen sky
Dwindling from moment to moment
Shallowing
Clouds racing to the horizons edge
Growing between breathes
Emerging
Wind whipping into brazen lines
Mending order into chaos
Raging
Reflected light throwing shadows
Revealing secrets arcane
Drowning
The garden is fallow and rotting in the shade of the ancient oak
Its branches reach for the hint of sun,
Streaming between the gaps of the forgotten building whose voices still ring out,
Sounds from the past trembling and mingling with things left unheard
Hope leaves me on uncertain ground
Wretched hope, it burns through my mind,
A disease which promises and lies
What would she like
what would he like
what can I do
A disease that rips through the self
leaving aching and inflamed
I want it to end, I want it’s fruition.
Can the part of me that was asleep, lulled by years of sorrow
sleep again or will it die.
Sleep or death this is what life has taught me,
The fragility of hope
Can I rip away the masks and lay bare my desires
When the masks have sheltered me for so long that it’s hard to differentiate between the mask and the self.
The Shaman, the poet, the cynic, the bastard
All pieces and all lies
or is one the truth and the other just half closed doors leaking traits
I’m lost in the overthinking overfeeling and can’t seem to find my way home.
Pelgris 