Tag Archives: peace

hymn

my native

tongue

is comfortable

twisting in

songs of 90’s

melancholy,

heavy fingers

strumming

delicately on

four strings

with a hum

and tranquility,

smiling as

i sing only for

the morning

and it sings back

only to me.

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western trees

The silhouettes, they play the part
Their east coast digs are works of art
But the sickness sleeps inside our bones
With solipsistic overtones…

~*~

oh, how quiet the songs

of the western trees impede

amid soft tantrum of the breeze

and falling taffeta leaves

dislimn the topaz rays that glaze

when the sun adores its haze

and transforms honeysuckle brie

drops that reach your eyes so sweet

as pastel flora invites neon grass

and twines of hurtful weeds that pass

for an interlude on clement grudges

and a chance to altogether flourish

the kismet that kisses skins and knees

bruised blackcurrants and peonies oblique

tasting just like lemonade lunette

as the campanile rings out for sunset

oh how lulling, these summer songs

of the western trees’ symphonies

amid hums and chirps of solstice cicadas

and falling hearts resting at ease.

~*~

From the burbs’ to the streets now, it’s a revival
The spirit is found in the idealistically idle
The age of excess, I just love it…

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Saturni Ad Infinitum

~*~

CHANGE OF PACE

To see the clouds dragged down in vain

Another schism pulled away into disdain

An aftershock of cyanide writ in red letters

The austerity banished and again embittered.

~*~

MIKO

Disconnected dissension dwelt in maiden shrines

A lone voice seeks peace in a tempest of rigid design

In precarious erudition and fraudulent disputation

As her ebony tapestry is burned in laureate predilection.

~*~

DELLE PIOVERE

Recherche glistening in rusticated reveries of diamond dewdrops

An avalanche of labyrinthine dreams brimming to the cusp

Illicit, a monochrome heart searches tranquility in the midst of dissonance

Nihilism whispers for each staccato beat, as behind the pale moon, shadows dance in elegance.

~*~

TAKING BACK RED

Notches on the canvas that used to be the purest of white

Now reduced to common insanity, pilfering a virgin sight

Chagrined wish never uttered, held at the back of interface

And hope—against hope, that the ruptures will be erased.

~*~

CHASING FOR A GLIMPSE

Just tell me when you’re down, and we can go downtown

To paint the rain with auburn blues, draw on every smiley face a frown

Just tell me when you’re not alright, and we can stay all night

To pen about storms in chemical black, write until you take back the light.

~*~

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upside

down

in every sense of the word

looking for a way

to distract my thoughts

against contrition

“i’m tired” i complain

as if i just wasn’t

already long used to it

left behind

by all the chatter

why am i still hoping?

“you fucked up

something again”

my mind screams at me

even though i know

i didn’t (did i?)

“i’m alone”

i mused dumbly

as if it wasn’t such

a daily norm

breaking blood

and draining bones

from its brewing storm

“the sun is murder”

melting away as the

heat and faceless crowd

further add to

this delirious stupor

“why am i still here?”

i want to go home

so i can seek death in peace

and be alone to feel

down

in every sense of the word.

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waves of whimsy

I’ll be your optimistic black hole
Full of love I can’t control
Let’s keep each other safe from the world…

~*~

happiness

comes in little waves

of sipped hot cocoa

and marshmallow bits

warming quiet souls

on a rainy sunday morn

.

happiness

comes in little waves

of day-old biscuits

and mouthfuls of chocolate

and a faint bite of pink

in strawberry and caramel

.

happiness

comes in little waves

of melancholy songs

and purple boys wrapped

in twinkling fairy lights

resting beneath telephones

.

happiness

comes in little waves

of such lone-star musings

huddled under covers and

writing epistles for sunrise

as ink stains the skylines

.

happiness

comes in little waves

of whimsical contentment

and peaceful nothings

amid beating quiet hearts

on a rainy sunday morn.

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5:50 AM

“Arrogant boy
Love yourself so no one has to
They’re better off without you…”

~*~

lukewarm milk taken in sips

as i pick off bits of polka-dotted tape

sticking stubbornly on my skin

huddling under ducky yellow blankets

and among happy-faced pillows

as a soothing song lulls my fitful heart

softly sighing at the fleeting peace

all before the throes of education come

to render me numb and lost again.

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Snow Maiden (Winter Sonata)

Snow is falling, last train home
Hurry up, it’s been too long, I know, I know
Been on the road a hundred days
And I can’t wait to see your face
Come home, she said come home…

~*~

The disappointment is as palpable

As the ashes of a burnt linden tree

Painting nightmares on my tongue

Tracing rivulets of bruised scarlet

I wonder if I knew anything at all

(I’ll never feel this way again)

.

I wake up to scream at the falling sky

Waiting for melting watches to tick

As i crushed quinces on my fingers

Lost queries of my olive laurel echoing

Returning peace to my crystal diadem

(If I held my breath, would I feel a thing?)

.

Cleaves of grey accentuate my shoulders

Angles cutting against chilly winter wind

As I mindlessly counted cobweb snowflakes

The jackfrost kissing my unfortunate skin

It’s so cold, yet your spell is potent to season

(I’ll never feel this way again)

.

Was it my crime to tread past your virgin snow?

Snapping frail twigs beneath solemn footsteps

Looking for lime thrush amid robin evergreen

Distractions working their way into my heart

YThe temperature drops like icicles in my coat

(If I held my breath, would I feel a thing?)

.

Hibernating eyes reminded me of summer days

That never really arrived to thaw this glacial soul

Midst of mirages and premonitions of soft laughs

My warm coffee spilling as the steam train stops

I thought I was finally home…hope is a fickle thing

(I’ll never feel this way again)

.

Oh beloved, your nectarine gaze was mine to spare

Crashing the chrysalis of our failed metamorphosis

As arctic weather turns our breaths foggy, icy shivers

Last beyond the horizon. I never meant to let you down

I’m so sorry that I still can’t see why you truly loved me…

In this cruel coldness, I wonder if I knew anything at all

(If I held my breath, would I feel a thing?)

.

(And I’ll never feel this way again—

If I held my breath forever, would I still feel a thing?)

~*~

You’ve been waiting so long for me
I know that’s not that fair now baby
I come home on Christmas morning
Knock on your door, the snow is falling
You come out, come out to greet me
Wrap your arms, your arms around me…

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The Game Played Right

Is there anyone who can make me see?
Help me breathe
Is there anyone who can make me feel alive inside?
Sink or swim is all I know tonight
Well take me to the bed, it feels so right
Wake me up…

~*~

I keep on lying. The silent pieces remain unapologetically in my lips, melting and melding together and apart, clashing like shades of blue and gold, until my smiles are mutated and my bated tongue is in shreds. Fear is an embrace I’ve learned to take upon myself, selling myself short to it, buying away the final remaining original thoughts I’ve slaved over in myriad sleepless nights until I’m a-la carte. Change is to blame for the causeless effect, and I’m asking for more from what can’t be taken away from me, cutting corners and targeting the contrition with a bolted gun, as if that would solve my problem. Would that open the deadlocked box of hope, containing those transient reminiscences of what used to be faith, keeping my wrists from giving itself up to bladed handcuffs and abrading ropes?

No, because it’s been open all this time. I’m merely pretending that it’s fully out of grasp, stuffing the sunshine in a pocket with a hole, then feigning remorseful surprise when I grasp the cloth and fail to feel its reassuring outline. I won’t get away, just as the moon can’t break away from its cruel mistress, no matter how hard it tries. Dependence requires sustenance, never mind if one’s getting hurt, never mind if one’s just wasting time and lightyears, never mind that there’s someone who sucks on the cigarette and there’s one who gets snuffed out in the ashes of its former companions, and both are slowly dying with each harmful, addicting, nicotine drag. Perhaps it’s better to move on, burn my house down with the lighter, and stab a flag on top of a desolate mountain, letting the frigid Arctic breeze pierce my lungs, reminding me that I’m dead inside, day by day, every single night.

Yes, the truth hurts worst when you’re lying on your back in a hollowly-carved bed, watching the tick of the sagging clock draw frowns on your dripping beige ceiling, the crude notches on the bedpost your only substitute for a calendar, not even the gathering dust on your windowsill keeping track of your blunt existence, but is that really such a bad plotline to read into? After all, I’m a mere instrument of conflict, and if I do not fulfill my function, I have no point, and dull instruments are of no use to anyone but the junkyard. So, what’s the point but pointlessness? What is there to release from arrogance, from selfishness, from egocentric human needs and desires, shallowness sucking away the will to speak in freedom, constantly starving for lust and lusting for starvation and dying from either loneliness or hunger in the end?

Give me that. Give me an answer that would morph my vulgar counterfeit laughter back into a purely genuine jubilance, give me a reply that would wash away the contracting fallacies in my conflicted mind and make my craving lecherous soul finally taste the decadent truth, give me a statement to swim in and sink under as I ponder deeply upon it and spend all my cashed-in stars to figure it out until I may finally repose in peace, give me an oratorical rhetoric that would drag me out of the hands of the angels in the ambulance and shock my heart into sinus rhythm, give me something, anything at all that would set this hellish perpetual carousel in a dead jolting halt and wouldn’t throw me off the cutthroat ride, give me—give me what I want. Yet, is what I want really what I need?

Never. Because in this reality, the parallel cruelty prevents any chance of a perfect alignment or even a destined intersection between any limits, and it’s all we can do to keep walking in the thin line and keep a painful positiveness, because backtracking to the negatives would devour us whole, render us irrational, and count us as impossible. Yet, despite knowing all of those and sharing such meaningless contrivances to the eyes that refuse to perceive and the ears that refuse to listen, I still want you to lie to me. Lie to me until your lips are mutated and your bated tongue is in shreds, lie, lie, lie, until the wrong turns right, until forward becomes backwards, until the truth is the ultimate lie, and I’ll gladly do the same to you. After all, we’re just doing what we need to do. We’re just doing all we can do.

~*~

These self inviting auras
Made me bring out the sun
Your body’s played its role
It’s ruined my game
And now I can’t believe I’ve done it
But somehow I still feel
But I still feel, so far gone…

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Filed under Prose

Severing Heartstrings

I’m a ghost in your eyes
A shadow you can’t seem to recognise
I have a thought of you for every, star in the sky
But I’m scared, I’ll never cross your mind…

~*~

Lusted contrivances hold a harangued heart

The chaos of the slow moment is lost in the depart

Further regressing, counting ocean shore waves

Falling into the demesnes of a shadow I can’t save

Where the houses are burned to build a bonfire

And the dissemination is nothing but a pipe desire

What can be wrong with the things one can’t expect?

And what does this heedless vitriol bring to that next?

The sharpest tools have rusted away into desperation

Until one can no longer cut away those strings of infection

Finding museum peace over the turnstiles of amusement

This heart may be heavy but the weight can circumvent.

~*~

Will our stars ever align?
Will two hearts, beat in time?
These words you should always remember
To you, my heart I surrender…

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electric ocean

tiny pond in a thumb

painted soft tranquility

chipped oceans fade

tea shops and memory

rippling lake stones

nictitation nail silvery

scintillate northern

bitter blue melancholy.

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Filed under Poetry