Fragmented days and sleepless nights

Read it.

 

I woke up this morning

with the ghost of your nectar

Teasing my palate

 

The sweet melody of your voice

Haunted my dreams last night

Reverberating through the corridors

of my dawn

 

You are vile beyond understanding

You snuck in amid my slumber

And left before I had the chance

to curse the ground you walk on

 

You have crashed into my peace

Like a drunken meteorite

stumbling through the cosmos

 

Part of me longs...

for you to whisper my name...

into my neck...

while you cling to me....

....

for dear life

 

Part of me burns

In lieu of incense

Corrosive tobacco

Wrapped in Egyptian papyrus

To ward of your memory

 

All the while

The biggest fragment of myself

Of my old self

Longs to write sonnets

On the small of your back

In homage to your love

Using my nimble tongue

As mine quill

 

But this cannot be!

 

So I implore you please!

If you have found a haven in his eyes

I won’t accept it, but its fine.

 

Just let me roam the streets

In peace.

 

 

Reviews

[Nancy Lee Shrader]

A beautifully written piece. Good job

Author: Nancy Lee Shrader

[Maria F. Rojas]

very nice written. I can understand that love lives in memory then it huants.

[Silent Kim aka mizmetap..]

Nicely written, a love that has turned to another, doesn't stop the feelings that remain. It's hard when those memories keep haunting. Well done.

Send me read request of some of your stories titles look interesting.

[Spoken]

Yes! Write on...

purely wonderful piece.. such great word usage and creative imagery here.. loved it!

[Hawksmoor]

You are vile beyond understanding
You snuck in amid my slumber
And left before I had the chance
to curse the ground you walk on


I tell you, it has been my experience that that's love for you. Surfing the highest, brightest peaks of happiness and zeal one moment, the next, you're coasting the bottommost pits of despair, hatred, and regret. This ride, it never stops, not while we breathe.

All the while
The biggest fragment of myself
Of my old self
Longs to write sonnets
On the small of your back
In homage to your love
Using my nimble tongue
As mine quill

This, man...this is the stuff that True Poetry is made of. No reason to lie in the flow of the words, no reason to feel shame or regret or weakness. This is the substance of passion and desire that runs much, much deeper than flesh-lust or selfishness. Dude, this stanza is BEAUTUFULLY DONE. Holy s**t, I wish I could write poetry like this.

All-in-all, excellent work. Flowing, extremely clear and crisp writing. You say that this is common, this level of writing, in Spanish �speaking countries? If that is so, it is no wonder that the rest of the world associates the birth of passion with the Hispanic birthplaces of the world. As usual, your poetry makes me want to try harder at this particular art form.

Really, Rob, this is excellent writing.

Hawksmoor...From The Bleed.

[distefano 401]

in my opinion, this poem was written amazingly. you used great sensory images like "teasing my palate" and it perfectly expressed the mixed emotions. nicely done.