Tag Archives: solitude

Solus

i miss the solitude of comfort

the breathless etudes that waltzed

around my bruised wrists and

made me think of distal vagaries—

beyond the thought of epiphany

none so vague, fallen anechoic sigh

brackish, your ocean salt, i elude

without objection, spinning starlings

and maxims that barely touched

the very tip of your aquiline outlines

nostalgia for months long passed

though, it seems centuries, impaling

my wit’s ends and ensconcing me

in linen funeral wear; wary sunshine

stains the blinds as my lungs take

a convulsive hiatus, scheming against

better company, scant afterglows

and that abstract sensation of leaving

the confines of my home after all

the stars had long burned out and the

city has long moved away from me,

from beckoning me, call my siren song

my swan song, epoch of resolution…

breathing, i miss the comfort of solitude.

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ErbsĂĽnde

Facile strokes and dismembered veneration

Severed applause for a predicated generation

Amid disparate provenance lay foreboding whim

Of dissonance and elegance—prays original sin

.

Wandering aspirations brought upon the knell

Ornate devilry waltzing on a dormant clandestine hell

Banished to fields precarious as forbidden valleys

Austere as poor man’s blood smeared upon rich tapestries

.

From the agitated archangels that dare to implore

Comes resentment refracted and arrogance adored

And heartbeats resonating within a derelict mortuary

Sinners and serpents alike singing for a purgatory

.

And when raging disquiet permeates the idyllic tempest

Of naphthalene rivers and lunary souls brought in behest

Cries the sanctuary of heaven—weeping for paradise lost

For Eden is the tempting muse and vestal morality the cost

.

Intransigence weeps the treachery, torn with abated melancholy

A disheartening performance acted out in entablateured cemeteries

When masqueraded stagnation blooms from impassioned stones

Original sin reposes triumphant, perennial solitude on a devastated throne.

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Lost Paradise

In my young boyhood—should it thus be given
T’were folly still to hope for higher Heaven!
~Dreams; Edgar Allan Poe

~*~

A shot of nepenthe lay waste to ruin

What might have been a clandestine heaven

With dreams that gazed upon the yonder

Of mysticism, limerence, and wonder

Altercations, though idyllic its lambency

Spare nephilim hearts and exquisite reverie

Wherefore doubt may have and doubt may be

Upon befallen tears of quiet syncope

Empty grave rather dreamless, hellfire cold

Rose above rampant flames that scourge the soul

This solitude threats me more than mercy

Lost in the spirits upon a past that never shall be

Yet, still I lay my hands upon dark lilac skies

Wishing for a memory that even seraphs dare defy

A sip of nepenthe lay waste to overtaken

What never was and never shall be my secret heaven.

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Thy Kingdom Come

I rule a desolate world, with no men nor mice

I sit brooding in a throne of fire and ice

Thorns and blood placed upon my head acting as a crown

Bestowed along with my power, a ghost-infested town
.

This was my doing, I tried to play the great game

But one wrong step caused everything to go up in flames

Once mighty and filled with valour, now they call me names

Like coward, the destroyer, and the avaricious one to blame
.

Now everything is naught, only bleached skeletons remain

The songs of the dead to haunt me and nagging voices retained

All there is are empty ruined houses and whispering winds

And a regretful lone king with no honour and broken wings.

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