daylight is brewing
and the sound of busy
birds fill my head with pretty
tunes
they have been singing
for hours now
as i’ve laid in bed-
alone with this anger,
my heart
and my head-
it’s raging through, lashing
and scratching
so appalling, alas though,
what else what can i do?
i’ve sat with this pain for so long now
i’m drowning in the darkness
of this horrid state…
trapped, i wait for the sunlight
to remind me that i’m awake
and okay…
how does one keep going-
when anger-so strongly- can eclipse
the day?
Tag: spiritualhealing
peace
oh how I wish for release
from unrelenting longing…
this fire that burns,
this fever just won’t cool-
my body lies upon the altar
of my heart
ready to sacrifice it all
for some semblance of peace
silence
the breathe of life that
so smoothly glided from
your tongue to my heart
filled darkness with splashes
of light… vibrant colors
washed away these lines
of gray
and though the words you
spoke were also touched
with pain
i licked them all up with a fervency
matched only by the despair
of loneliness left by
the silence of your leaving
spots of time
lost to words that dangle
in the air around my eyes
i pull them one by one
down from the ether
and decide how they fit
together
this puzzle of poetry that haunts
my dreams with color and sound,
defining feeling and thought…
how can these hanging words
understand the utterances
of my heart?
oh wordsworth and your spots of time!
would that I also get trapped within
my own reveries under the
sycamore tree of art! i would lose
myself forever
this wondrous bellow of love
and pain…
of darkness and suffering;
how is this human condition
so clearly marked by a universal
language lingering in the sky?
the fool
there was nothing there for me
when i looked into that
grand expanse
it was all just noise
and though i longed for some
great sage advice
that might lead me perhaps
to that which i seek
i sit in disappointment
because the darkness i so
wished to confront
was but my own echo
back at me
the frailty of life! what can release
the dull ache that lies just beneath
this exterior of cool?
perhaps it’s all just a fake
and I am the ultimate fool
mighty river’s flow
the tickling of rain, falling
against window glass lines my view
with streaks of fractured light
and broken sound…
the quiet death of suicidal
drops, colliding against clear
but solid- illusion…
how I feel for these lovingly mistaken
falling children of the clouds
oh that they should suffer
at my windowpane
without knowledge of the mistake
they are making in their falling…
and to see the love
my heart holds for you yet the same!
and decide rather to fall through trees
instead onto pane…
so that I might turn from that
which mirrors my descent and land
instead into the mighty river’s flow
violent and exquisite
alone, with just this downpour of
thought- and thunder! breaking the sky!
i am silent and hopeful, as i try to
remain untouched by the rain that falls
in sheets so heavily upon my mind…
and though the violence of this storm
is blinding, i am ready to cleanse the
heart of that which it has long denied!
deny today, i will not, yet find that which
is more useful to my heart, a cleansing touch
of acid rain to rid this chest of
all that was left behind…
these thoughts of you! may they drown
upon the puddles of my spirit
collected within my mind’s eye…
as the thunder clouds that grow within me
clear your essence from my memory
in a most violent and exquisite way
vile hold
darkened squalor-
criss crossed and dirty;
these walls are lined
with your filth,
with your hatred and pain…
what can cure a heart of such
wretchedness-
of such unsanitary condition-
when you locked the door so long ago
and ate the key in your selfishness?
now bloated and rotting this chest
of mine waits for some divine
locksmith to find me
hiding within the stench
of your hatred
to release the vile hold
your disease has had over me
prison of heart
moments hang grossly upon the
thick and humid air,
memories
coded in sounds that dangle
furtively in front of me….
would that my fingers could pluck
these remembrances out of the ether
and objectively turn them
around and around
in my hand
until I could exact the last from them
and finally let them go…
alas, the night doesn’t allow for sleep
and the noise that plays
within my heart, taunting me,
escapes my grasp-
So I wait on the very edge of thought
For release
From the prison
that houses my heart
no reserve
Thoughts that from my heart
Drip slowly to the floor
Leave me standing in a puddle
Of tears and pondering
What is the leak that from my
Veins flow- this quiet of time,
That lingers now upon a dirty
Ground waiting for me?
And this smile fastened to my mouth
Would you see the false lips curve
Or kiss the frailty that collects now
At my feet?
Innocence has no reserve
For when this well runs dry,
what will remain to quench
This hurt?
the SIBYL'S SONG 