This stillness of grief Like a soft veil caressing my skin Comforts yet tears – shreds What lies within At times I claw Try to find a way out of myself Leaving more wounds inside That have no sound to imply… This stillness of grief – Seems a very strange thing No help from the Universe No salve to calm the burn The pain masked behind my eyes Raining tears down my throat Still can’t calm the fire – Smoldering, sooty, rubbly – as I choke No revision for these words No voice to be heard A soft place to land A blessing and curse Stealing my lonely breath Demanding my spirit; acquiesce As my fractured heart withers like time My soul forgetting that it’s divine…
This disparagement of love Cupids arms overwhelmed, exhausted with sorrow And I; in my grief I dismiss my significance If I had meaning, or enough meaning Would this catacomb be a sacred resting place?
This stillness of grief Is unlike in the past – Where raging and wailing were thrown from me – Cast Through the night and the valley, down walls, over fences… Unveiling my haunting with no recompenses Now I lay torn and crumpled, like a leaf beneath a stone Hope, a ghost – forlorn, dismissed, wandering without a home Where love should be soft, where love should be sweet Instead there are barbs, rusted wire gouging me As my hurt creeps inside this twisted cage crushing my heart The cherished faith that love abides busted apart Raging tears form a sea where I wish I could drown Get lost in this burnt landscape with its sorrow bleeding down But there’s nowhere to hide, no great escape from loves wounds Even death won’t end this agony much too soon This stillness of grief at this moment defines me It’s all I know, all I feel, all I am… All I see Turned within, flowing through yet pushed down, deep into – Where no one else could ever bear to be Lost although I seek… This stillness of grief
I’ve been pacing in my shadow I’ve been killing all my poems Walking the words backward In this valley of the bones There’s no subtle way of leaving Spongy walls of blue despair Carve the feeling of your distance Deep into this static air I’ve been sensing my own murder Since my grief is running mad And it’s ripping up my memories Like they’re just a current fad How to shake all of this dust off Is, in truth, anybodies guess I’m all alone despite my own company – In this existential mess Tried to extricate my lack of meaning Although I loathe this absurd need To form words into some semblance of beauty Some sense of fleeting dreams… A kaleidoscope in motion Yet my souls a wordless ocean Time is sinking quickly into Hopeless sands of my corrosion I’ve been acting like a cliché Stuck and drunk in my debris Wallowing in rootlessness Since my words have deserted me An empty, undone poet Spewing misery that turns this dim air blue I’ve no more words, and thus no voice, no soul Just this cup of bitter brew Damn this vile inconvenience That’s erupting in my chest Until my mouth is spewing Consonants of emptiness All you specters, all you demons Now you’re hiding under veils You’re such narcissistic dwellers When the pains not up to scale Where’s my sweet, sad, sullen song? Where’s my moody blue impression? Even though my fingertips are bleeding – I’ve no poetical confession!
At my desk, leather scent of tomes heavy in the air Beyond the window; I’ve searched the sky for weighty words Dreamt that I could countless times move souls To the extent that they might rejoice or weep, or deeply yearn… But I lament I’ve failed to paint the endless sky With bridges leading to my beloved shades of greys and blues Oh, just to hold a pen that once again leaks inky words of lonely, morbid woe There is nothing that I wouldn’t do
The crows circle this turbulent air, amethyst clouds puffy with beautiful decay Wretched things puking debris I don my collar of discontent, a silky black feathered rosette Heavy rejection comforting my weary head I’m remiss, in this pain… no collecting all these morbid thoughts There is no room for loveliness here In this foul, sadistic atmosphere, where even the demons are haunted As they spiral down into the rabbit hole To find oblivion in new volumes of misery – Sinking further into ooze that crawls with lamentations Specters poeticizing about woe and death In smoky caverns, where worms are murky, their fleshy bodies distorted with weeping thorns From feasting on acid rain Do not touch their prickly, venomous armature against your skin Or suffer the corrosive nature – how your flesh falls away, layer by layer, melting… peeling… To remind you of your brevity That various degrees, depths, altitudes, latitudes, dimensions exist within this circle of chaste collapse Its riots, disequilibrium, firestorms – Char chemical gardens, leaving gnarled, twisted, bent ruins Jagged hieroglyphs of mysteries bursting with answers that carve questions Since before origins were painted… then written… Since before the dirt was marked with bones of sorrow Since before death was anointed with sinister distortions There is no moon tonight, just a violent, cerulean hole, sucking in water and spitting out dust There is no magnet to pull the stars from their sockets – Lure the moon from her bitter sabbatical Feast on these hideous and lovely precious things This is no midnight collaboration But through the earths crust, doused with stones and weeds; A pod resting, blossoming petals tucked away Splits, sprouts and climbs, its gangly vine curving and slithering like a calligraphic love letter Defying curses, afflictions and pestilence Tender leaves scratch, poke at the dirt; Peek out Quell lifes indiscriminate brutalities An innate knowing That eternity unwraps time from its sedated follicles The sun will soon be gliding across the sky, bees calling, butterflies playing Flowing into lifes elemental atrium But momentarily The sky lurches and rumbles, cracks and hisses its icy, rancid breath, painting a frigid emptiness… Sometimes the blue can feel like drowning… Sometimes the blue can feel like dying… Some day will tears fall from the eyes of someone crying For me? Ducking beneath its soil blanket – Tunneling back into the moist, warm earth; waiting patiently to bloom, to thrive There is no pinched stalk here, no waxen leaves nor wooden determination Just a gentle hum, a tranquil momentum; A Picasso blue beautifully lulling a gentle patience To drift, to dream The place, the space, the ripe moment will unfurl, and in the meantime – To sleep until the moon returns