Tag Archives: wind

lux aestiva: the pollen count is high today

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Beacon

I shall hold you steadfast by the dim of the lamplight

The maelstrom roars its fury, lashing and beating against stone

Shaking the very foundations that brought centuries to atone

.

Knees, collapsing; hands, clasped tightly together in collective prayer

Watery eyes gazing obstinately against the dying of the distant drumlins

But our kerosene hearts will burn out beyond the call of inimical rain

I shall hold you steadfast by the dim of the lamplight

Though it flickers and falters slow, and threatens to fall victim to the wind

And every hourly vigil only brings the hurricane closer to our doorstep

.

Knees, locked firmly; hands, draping crossed against our gossamer ribs

Let the windows rattle, let the midnight howl, and the floods be unleashed

For tomorrow morning, our lamp will grow cold as the sun finally greets us beneath.

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b.r.a.i.l.l.e.

i am with the wind.

and the exhilarating thrill

envelops every sense,

taking my aching bones,

my hour-old bruises,

my smiling chipped teeth,

my angry brown scabs,

and lulling them back to rest,

making the pain seem like

just another pastel dream.

everyone’s just a myriad blur,

a riot of ceaseless colours

all rushing past me as

wheels bite gravel and spins

me to a whole new revolution

of a different planet in a

different existence where all

those bad memories don’t exist,

only i, and the sweat and rain

soaking the angel wings on

my back; feeling gravity

and friction and momentum

and all those ethereal forces of

the universe ensconced between

my scuffed red sneakers.

it’s all tricks and treats,

and it doesn’t matter if i fall

and eat concrete a thousand times

trying to do the same thing over again;

it doesn’t matter if i go home

always with new holes all over my

favourite jeans and jumpers

every single damn time;

it doesn’t matter if i’m being

chased away by the people who

think it’s a vagrant’s crime…

because the past and future tense

doesn’t matter when freedom

is felt right here, right now,

with me and my ride,

and i am the wind.

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Colourblind Memory

And when I see you
I really see you upside-down
But my brain knows better
It picks you up and turns you around
Turns you around, turns you around
If you feel discouraged
That there’s a lack of color here…

~*~

It was an easy kind of self-destruction; the one I never had to beg for.

After a few nights of staying awake and listening to cheaply-constructed songs on the static radio, I was already haunted. Copper chain links that stabbed at the fictional horizon and left unstitched scars on the exposed wind. Shy vespertine flowers that bloomed in the most coruscant spectrums, but only when no weeping eye was there to witness their exquisite grandeur and compose concerto symphonies about it. An infinite, arrogant, wakeless kind of blue that rivaled every transatlantic and pacific direction that I chased; but, unlike the oceans of this planet so drenched and cold and jaded to the bone, no one is ever able to cross it, and no one ever will.

And violet. A damnable shade, akin to roses-not-reds and forget-me-nots, that violet. A bleeding, dirty kind of violet that left filthy, undecipherable Roschach stains everywhere. Splattering the bruises of my halted tongue, shading the asphyxiation of my untouched lips, violently overtaking the rock-steady sorry secret that was divulged and diluted all too late. It painted a tragedy that only the most damaged and paranoid artists could understand, and rending shreds of the purest agony down my colliding ribs that not even the most genius maestros and starving dilettantes could begin to dissect; for it was a foreign anatomy. A different unknown. A beyond the beyond. It was brutally twisted inside my veins and gauchely discarded somewhere in between sense and sanctuary, photographed and arrested in another postcard vintage lie. I could write graphite letters at the back all I want, but I’ll never swim away from the indigo waves in front. It was our holiday memory, drowning me again and again and again.

Absolutely useless. It couldn’t aid my breathing. It couldn’t save my sleeping. It was a disease that was highly susceptible only to my atrophied words and comatosed syllogisms—the same unfortunate ones that are now leaving my chafed fingers but never my wornout mind, like you, like you, like you.

Unrelenting. Unsuspending. Unending.

All my colours were inverted. And no one can turn it back the right way.

If there even was one.

~*~

Please don’t worry, lover
It’s really bursting at the seams
For absorbing everything
The spectrum’s A to Z
This is fact, not fiction
For the first time in years…

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fell for it

heartache fucking hurts

especially if i’m hollow

i lose myself to the wind

and end up in tornadoes

heartache fucking hurts

especially if it’s shallow

i never lose, only to you

so what the hell do i know?

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Gossamer

Here’s to the boy with flowers for hands

And a voice that sounds like fair weather clouds

Sending angels down the darkest of stands

And tranquil oxygen that ensconces and enshrouds

Here’s to the child with oceans for smiles

And a soul that plays like a perfect eventide reverie

Keeping powerless, the brightest of minds

A wind chime caught in a breeze, the only song for me.

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Nephilim

i’m a thousand feet high

in a breathless paradise

and all i want to do is fall

.

but my shoulder blades

are bare and featherless

and my halo is but a faux

story in fairy tale books;

never broken, unexisting

.

so i tiptoe off the edge

of that endless blue

and i wait for the night to

let my jaded soul go

.

and i quietly whisper to

the clouds, the wind, and the stars

“please don’t catch me again.”

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summer stasis

Well, I guess I could
Sell some nice things
Or write about how good
My life’s been…

~*~

empty pages

being held hostage

by the sweltering wind

of six years spent

without any due journey

or any further recourse

.

i want to change

to arrest new adventures

with the tip of my pen

but, it seems, another year will go

with me complaining about

nothing but being bored.

~*~

Maybe I should drop it
Pick a different subject
Maybe it’s deliberate
If it’s lacking substance…

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D R O W N

Swim, push the water
To the edge and watch it drip
Check your footing
Don’t get caught up in the rip
I know I said I’d call, I never did
No, swim, swim now…

~*~

submerge me

under crystalline depths

i’m taking on

these liquid-laden breaths

haunted by the

cold bite of the coastal air

and i’m hanging

by the sand, shorn away bare

while my body is

pulled under the stygian grave

of chasmic serenity—

returning again like a tidal wave

choking on water

and the breeze becomes critical

i’m falling away

elastic flesh numb and insensible

i will sink down

before i can move myself to swim

please let me drown

water in my lungs, death in my sins.

~*~

I can take you even though
I’ve never been there
The tide has currently been
Thrashing around me again and again
I’ve been drowning for a minute…

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luna cielo

for there never was

and never will be

a finer vagrant soul

to poetically allude me

than the billows of notes

that fall from your shade

and the stars in your lips

to sing a thousand serenades

dear, if only i could compose

about all my woeful throes

in lights enchanting as yours

no word a wasted recourse

and the aesthete that lies

beneath restless amber eyes

will dream up a promise

for fallen eternity’s premise

where the universe spins

as relentless time should be

and no whispers of parallels

between the lines of you and me

i’m quite dizzy from the sun again

but i’ll close my hands, count to ten

and wait against such fragile hope

that you’re the sunrise to decode

so why do i weep, ever still?

in the midst of my bedroom floor

only bare remnants remain, until

a voice paints a distant nevermore

of faithless keep, an endless rue

tomorrow’s heart, nor i nor you

southern nights, quaint afterglow

the days pass on as we’ll quietly go

i may be weary, yet do not think

i’ll give up when i’m on the brink

let’s chase the wind, and we’ll ascend

to an everlasting paradise we can spend

for there never was and never will be

a finer valiant soul to poetically allure me

than the muse of the moon and billowing notes

that fall from your shade and the stars that you wrote.

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