| urban desolation and a vague nausea. |
Future Tensein fifteen years, will we remember these leaves, scattered red, yellow, orange like wastrel words across the page: poetry - and the besotted brook, spilling wine or water drunkenly across the path, beneath our feet, wet. will memory fade like withering leaves bleeding out its pigment, a skeleton whisked and riven by the wind?Future Tense
in fifteen months, will you walk with me still, trudging through the February snow crinkling and scratching beneath sneakers, wet and celebrate two years with kisses, lips warm air chilled, and slipping on the hill? will you still burn,
conflagrate deliriumyou are my virus: you're in my blood, in my throbbing veins - consume me, wracked with fever conflagrate deliriumconflagrate delirium
my cheeks are flushed palms are cold and clammy, sweaty as I grasp your hand. burning, burning, burning fill the tub with ice, this temperature won't fade (I feel the heat)
meningitis, thoughts dissolve spread like fire through my mind central nervous meltdown mercury hallucinations
I lay in bed for days burning, burning, burning. cold sweat runs off my brow. mercury hallucinations, all I see is yo
Rain Barrelam I your rain barrel?Rain Barrel
pitter-patter, pitter-patter, I hear salt rain drops like anguished tears drizzling across the plain of my mind, your cries, my inability to save.
I am not infinite, I am not an ocean, and the waters quickly rise. am I your rain barrel? and I will overflow these wooden planks will burst; I am not infinite.
I cannot store, I cannot savor this chemical irrigation forever. like downpours into melting snow, flood the rivers' banks and wash the bridges down the stream. I cannot drink what you have wept, cannot
| all words are prejudices. (Nietzsche) |
Ardent roofsmall world stain."i was proudest of you."small world stain.
but only when i was opening myself up, slipping out of my seams, unbuttoning
my temporary skin to let your carrion body fester here beneath the pulsating organs, my flesh your sanctuary, temple.
you said prayers among the gristle of my humanity, the reminders of non-eternity. you clasped your hands around my bones, threaded your limbs into my dark places and swam in my puddles of blood thickerthanwater,
the way you never let me forget.
"and when you thought yourself most beautiful,"
on those sundays
| what you can't pull from me, pull from yourself. (Norma Jean) |
--
let's play a game called you pretend i am an actual poet
I really appreciate the fave.
It means the world to me, coming from
an artist as talented as yourself, and I
bow in gratitude for the act of kindness.
I'll be completely honest. I feel that my
poetry stinks, and that I'm not a real
poet, but the purpose of my writings are
not standard art. It's a spiritual art
that started when I achieved a
connection with the Universe and with
the world around me.
A good 90% of the writings that are
posted in my gallery are those which are
wrote during meditation. They lack the
proper grammatical structure common in
most good works of poetry, they often
have invented words, they have no
capitalization and even others have no
form of punctuation, but this is because
I type the poems on here exactly as they
are wrote on the meditation paper during
my evening practice.
I'd love to learn a little more about
you, if you have the time. What inspires
you? Where do you get this inspiration
from? There are a million questions that
I'd love to ask...
Again, thank you for the kind fave. It
means the world to me.
-Sean-
AIM- healedstronger
Yahoo! Messenger- spiritualrocket
--
--
'!everybody knows that life can be wonderful!'
--
--
My father died, and then I cried
But I failed to see-
I'm not alone, to sit on the throne.
He lives inside of me.
--
There's no more life left to live...
If I can't be me, I don't see why I should even be.
--
There's no more life left to live...
If I can't be me, I don't see why I should even be.
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