Life, The Mockery Of

Not really poetry. I don't know how to classify it. I just wrote what came into my head at the moment it did.

Ebb and flow. Ebb and flow.

Mind spill. Over spill. Sharp stark needle. Plain tender skin. Crazy heart. Heart crazy. Veins. Blue, purple. Shock. Eyes. Chapped lips. Parted lips. Breath. Gasp breath. Breathe breath. Cold. Winter. Morning night. Night darkness. Darkness death. Death forever. Finished.

Blue envelope. Unaddressed envelope. Letter written of warm tears. Damp. Sweet smell of wet ink. Paper. Thin paper, thin inky paper. Carrying the words that you couldn’t speak. Couldn’t speak to me. Couldn’t speak say bleed to me. Thin paper. Letter. The ink merges with your thoughts.

Sharp indistinct feeling growing like moss in a green forest, sharp feeling in the region of my chest, feeling growing expanding. It took over the horizons like a storm, impending storm, blowing the eternity out of forever and look my hands have no marks on them. I am born again to die again to live again to sin again.

What peace, yes peace that peace of warm yellow buttercups and toasted honey bread and mother. Mother. A mother. Yes, mother. That love that leaks out of the feeling that keeps growing like that storm that’s taking over the horizon. Those footprints, the sea stole the footprints I wanted to follow, stole them away and the castle the sand castle the sea.

Close and yet so far away like the blood rushing in my veins I can feel and yet not it’s there but I can’t see it as you are, as he is as they are, to exist and to not and to be and yet. The silver mornings and the defeated noon. The slain twilight by the ogre night. That star we caught, do you remember, on that dark night on that dark day with the sun leached out of it, that time when the star we caught it burnt us, we burnt but oh we were bright while we burnt.

It was enough.

Reviews

[Bleeding Ink]

I love the way you progress to fully formed thoughts through almost demanding words. The first two paragraphs almost had a hunger to them that made them immediatly likeable. *Snapping Fingers* Great beat, Great beat.

[None]

Fantastic. I love the rhythm of this poem. The short, staccato sentences, arranged in paragraphs all adds to the anticipation of the poem; that ebb and flow. The entire last paragraph is just fabulous, so much poignant description. "silver mornings," "defeated noon," "slain twilight by the ogre night," and "that dark day with the sun leached out of it." Just wonderful. And then the last sentence, separated from the rest, the stamp to everything, the end of the ebb and flow. Intense.