All Hallows Eve

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I found my last bed

in the place of the first

lesser my heartbeat

greater my thirst

only my pain can realize

        the silent fear

        that lingers here

among a dozen wetted eyes

and hearts doubled over

to see yellow skin

my last fleshly covering

a sad soul within

whose mate in tears resides beside

        my rock and love

        my precious dove

in whom I hope my fate abides

yet she refers me

toward other things

with halos of light

and feathery wings

but I cannot see the light from here

        with eyes gone grey

        fading away

and filled with cold and bitter tears

for fear and regret

all these chains that I’ve earned

in those toiling days

whose dreams I burned

with tunnel vision and selfish pride

        my fate I chose

        the thorny rose

whose beauty at last has bled me dry

leaving naught but a shell

that cannot receive

a blessing that’s blocked

by anger and grief

but I may have one final gift

        my heart to give

        to one who lives

long after this soul passes through the rift

may he love her with care

for better, for worse

and learn from my death

lest he fall to the curse

that still lingers here within the air

        with brutal eyes

        on new love lies

and fixes them with unmerciful stare

so my final act

will not be a cry

for mercy or peace

I simply will die

an example to a foolish world

        to which I belong

        a son of its song

        its promises lies

        when everyone dies

but lives like their lives cannot be unfurled

so breathe like it matters

live without regret

and love while you live

and never forget.

An Acrostic on Midnight – Life XVII

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We hide each night

not in gestures, however timely

in stature

and living marks of strained torque –

deeds of no extent.

 

A new day

set upon nimble reaches in sure event,

glows red on waiting shores,

sighing onward

‘neath each awaiting response.

 

This hour answers those

warring emotions,

crashing and neurotic,

tipped over unconditionally, crying horrendously

to heroic endearments,

slighting pillars, and culling each sentinel.

 

It ticks softly,

this intimate moment evading

the other

siding midway over on the hearth

to hither ears

hidden above iridescent regality.

 

Addled, noted digressions

greet each tether,

together heading everywhere,

dreaming in multiplexed prickles, leaning ever south,

reverencing every addler, despite yourself.

 

All now declare

with open numinosity, declaring eighty reaches

without end,

cradled over us, lowered down,

crossed and redeeming evermore.

 

For our respite

there heralds a trophy,

only left dying

for a death-eating democracy

marked in damned notes, in great hellish thoughts.

 

This has a troubling,

fear-ridden intensity, garnished here this evening, next empty doors,

but underneath this,

another note…

hope – our understanding renewed.

Through a glass darkly – to Picasso’s “Girl Before A Mirror”

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Toe to toe

against the glass

face to foe

turned calm caress

that bitter wind

cares carefully less

breaking sundered sight

that blurs unbidden

and shakes tonight

staring sharply across

piercing into you

remembering your loss

prevalent eyes disguised

and deemed unseen

in darkness hides

leaving shadows cast

out of Eden

fallen far past

the lies told

with silver bows

and biting cold

for your dismiss

she bends your

gazes away amiss

an inner shame

feelings that forget

your new name

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Beauty (from Blackbirds)

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9/18/05 and 05/30/07

How terrible to behold true Beauty, whose undaunted presence stirs such passion and life from deep inside the very being while all else and everything fade away into a despairing void that must have… it never remains satisfied with a mere glance or word …or touch, rather within each moment of its presence the hunger intensifies until all the world is sold in one last and foolish attempt to take that which, like the wind itself, cannot be held… cannot be caught – for no sooner has it been grasped, but then it is gone, never again to return. This is the curse of man: that he might tame the land, tame the beasts, stand against nature and tame the immortal gods… and even, at last, tame himself; but even as he sells all he might ever possess – he will never tame Beauty.

(posted in response to a comment made by Marc and some recent discussions on who got it worse Adam or Eve)