Before The Face of God

I glance upon the home that we once shared, the porch now sloped in grips of disrepair, the growing blades, gold with memories incomparable. The fields, heavy in dust and horses, where once they ran wild in spirit, now laid thin to bone and  vacant eyed, their bodies infused in sarcoptic mange and though young with summer, the rain that tears at their hide reminds me how spring will never last.

 

“Come! See where in death your lilacs I have placed inside. The light of morning in patterns of rain”, thoughts and older faces painted onto each another. “Come! For I am only half the equation sculpted in this slate-coddled affair”.  In time I will plead my deliverance. In time I will be without the stale reminders and aging home that I still visit mysteriously missing. No petals in the past will ever adorn the gardens again. Instead I will speak of our truth. I will speak about our lives and about our emptied dreams; the portage we traversed without cargo as this was our pilfered lives. Like slaves plagued in abundance. Not knowing the pains in our worth.

 I will speak above the sun, laden as if covered in the countenance of strain. The warming bond of madness that we shared and if by chance, if for only once it stood as glorious as before, alive again in our greatest of hands to hand. If in some redemption of night we could learn by lunacy alone that life develops through heart and thought , darkened by the  awkward hours of isolation, and the light made indifferent soon arrives  as honesty withdraws. We glance into something shared as a home, falling, falling with mottled arms. Questions though we know spring and our mortal beat can never last.

Reviews

[s]

Oh, How I missed reading your writing. I always find something about your expression kind of soothing, maybe wise...though the breakdown of relationships like these (or am I assuming?) is always so raw and painful and leads us to ask many more questions, and you conveyed that beautifully. I must catch up on reading all of your poetry that I have missed. xX

[Perdition]

Be careful...there are spirits that roam these lines. Thanks!

[Phalen Schuyler]

The aftermath of a tumultuous relationship.
Or the remains of a beautiful one, cursed to have a bitter end.

I live life sullenly, angry with the world. I don't believe that good things come of good.

And that is why when something glorious happens in our lives, we always have that nagging sense, the spiders creeping in the backs of our minds- telling us that something awful is bound to happen.
"spring will never last"

A 1 am ramble

[Perdition]

Smiling.....ramble on. Sounds good from here.
Thanks!

[Gypsy Warrior Queen]

With out end...amen.........

[Perdition]

Amen..And Thanks!