To Be A Poet Is To Be ImmortalTo Be A Poet Is To Be Immortal
Black letters drip onto the parchment page Inked with my soul and written in my blood Traced with fingers into the granite walls Of my stone-castle heart.
I’m crying in the rain and my tears are ebony drops Falling into the verses lying at my feet,
&
thank you doseand in this one odd instant I am proud of us each parading our own quiet existence amidst the persistent tribal drums and giddy fanfare skipping each generation placing the next proudlythank you dose
proclaiming its features refined
we keep waiting
for the shape to make itself plain in the paper
allowing us those fragile moments to bathe in color to trace
and there are parts of me I've only just discovered
there is a personal gravity and orbit
there
Mourning Dewthe grass is mourning; i can feel the wetness on my skin, standing barefoot, in a sea of even-cut green.Mourning Dew
and though the sun will rise, and wipe away those tears; as a lover might; i find those moments before dawn somber and sobering.
just how sad must one's dreams be to wake up with tears,
settled on your lashes, every morning?
dollwhite walls, or perhaps that pale aqua that is meant to be soothing.doll
the hiss and sigh of machines breathing. in and out.
for you.
your lashes lie, dark tassels,
against your cheeks.
and i can't help but think of those dolls...
and i wonder:
are your eyes closed solely because you are lying down? and would they blink open (and un-staring)
if i just sat you upright?
When the last pen runs out...they say it will all end in a fiery supernova millions of years from now.When the last pen runs out...
they say it will all end with angel choirs and righteous wrathful indignation.
mountains will rise up and then crumble into valleys and the very Earth will tremble and crack, seep molten blood.
rivers will dry up in their beds and the very Sea will be a roiling boil of agony, will beg for mercy.
or so they say.
signs of the apocalypse
are everywhere:
in the bottom of every... tea
whoa...i can see!!
Love
--
unplug thephone.stop all the taps.itall comes flooding back.from poisoned cloud to poisoned dwarf>>what a nastydulkbhs SurprisE.the wormsll come for you big boots
xo!
--
I am a poetry admin for *DailyLitDeviations.
interested in collaborating?
writer, photographer, painter, whatever(er) -
I'll mix with words with anything you've got.
Thanks so much for the watch and the fave
xo!
--
I am a poetry admin for *DailyLitDeviations.
interested in collaborating?
writer, photographer, painter, whatever(er) -
I'll mix with words with anything you've got.
--
Love is the Movement. | Note me your poetry suggestions for *DailyLitDeviations! | Have you seen today's *DailyDeviants?
--
silent tears falling
unheard amongst the rustle
of wings come undone
--
I am a poet, but sometimes words fail me.
"Excuse me sir, I believe you have my scissors."
--
silent tears falling
unheard amongst the rustle
of wings come undone
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