Boys and Doves

Of falling in love much too quickly and despairingly.

You need to starve

To remind yourself how to swallow,

The lump in your throat

To remind yourself - so shallow.

Were your feathers stuck in a nightmare?

His metallic tastes to savour,

For time lacking closure.

Damned beauties to murder,

Within their blessed exposure.

Perhaps, it'll be your orange dots,

Stitched athwart your blank thoughts.

And it is your last bleak shot,

Is it? Your bright spot...

My blemish embracing the outcast

You now know you need

To come and go fast.

Perhaps, fluttering doves

And sinking swans

Are the price you pay?

For misjudged fate

For your fall from poise,

The mistakes I've make,

The non-taken choice.

But what is there to say,

When you have no voice?

And those tattoos of tears

Pumping hearts of glass

Of ticking inside out

Clocks of the past

Turning your geared fears

Into light in the dark

Into freshly marred scars

In your mind they are fierce,

In my sky they are stars.

Of you, earthly in your broken cage,

With features ever holy and numb,

Midst lore you turn the page

With nimbly sliced thumbs,

In fright of dust to be bent

Hearty humiliation to shove

At the uncanny prizes above,

You boldly distract yourself

From all time that's spent

Because it may never end. 

Should you know I don't want, that

I still do not crave: to see your pretty face

With eyes tied in the streams of grace

Cheeks tainted with swollen wounds

Sealed with blood, framed with sounds

Spoiled moans stuffed with clouds.

That I don't want to see you, beautiful boys, 

To drag hope down, to spread misery around, 

To break into shades, alive and burned

Amongst the homely streets, where you churn

I don't wish you to wonder what pain is for

At recognition your whimpers in hearts may bore,

But I want to see you weep and plea no more.

 

O, dry petals wait below

Locking your reveries of affection

No more beautiful boys

To wait, for cries and confessions

No more beautiful boys

To throw away my veiled toys

My twisted feelings of devotion

Preventing me of all emotion. 

Author's Note

A rather tentative post I guess, this is an old, arcaic poem, from when I was about 12. Seemingly eras ago. Not too certain about it, to sum it up, and the rhyming... is also rather hesitantly not decent. Well. Hope there is some enjoyment to be found, nevertheless, and thank you much kindly for reading. Feedback is, as always, considerably appreciated too. ☺