Thing Is

Pictures burning

Cold, water stained walls

Together out in myself

Undecidedly

Every reason, a decision to leave

 

Tenebrous falls with porch stars flooding in moth breath

The broken urn inscribed -

"We make a poor, poor lie

But even better ending"

 

Thing is

I know that soon was just a clever game we played

Words now feather up to my window 

Pictures cage over faith

Congealed, pine perfumed boxes we once built from winter paragraphs

Drown out to sea

Taking poor the honest tries occasion 

 

Paper days

They shower off too 

Old habits in great cups make their toxic spoon

I await the wings cicada on my oaken tongue

Though spring will never know

In my hour glass I define seclusion and here is where I'll stay

Your eyes mending my digestible sin 

 

But our war is far from over

Far the slow and tired noise

Our nights thrown in spindling blades

Leaving dusk to its thread

Darkness to its come again

Stars cluttered with birds

Killing history without a need for guns

 

I'll return to my waves 

You to your lungs

A victory from a try

Where now life's wings can duly die 

In the warm supple hell of silence.

Reviews

[Gypsy Warrior Queen]

ah, the warm supple hell of silence...just in time for my birthday. Thought this might just be the year of voice.....guess Ill go back to screaming into my morning coffee ;p

[Perdition]

Alive! An eternal cloud in that cup, eternal hell where voice and silence clash, the black coffin of night where stars and moon gaze down into the only scream we will ever hold...I will go straight into the flames of it. :p

[Perdition]

Happy Birthday!