Words Shaped Like Poems.
After many moons of solitary scrawling, I've decided to finally put a couple of my "poems" out there and gain some much-needed criticism. There's nothing completely concrete - dribs and drabs of holy moments that I've tried to translate to word. Purges of feeling-fuelled thought. Glimmers of that which makes me smile.
Feel free to unload your thoughts, ladies and gentlemen. My shoulders are broad, and I have few illusions. It can only get better, right?
Over and out; enjoy.
Time spent with cats is never wasted.
The Reaper Unveiled
Perched, bird-like
Swelling with the sea.
A wise-eyed Reaper
Sleeps beside me.
Tossing and turning
In the streets of his slumber,
Swaying and burning
And groaning like thunder.
His robe, painted
From the midnight palette,
It slips:
Milky skin exposed
And glowing like the moon.
I wake my finger-tips
To touch His breathing bones
-The wind falls to whisper
And I have come home.
His eyes unfold,
Reflect the universe
In one spinning iris.
His long pale fingers
Entwine within mine
And we rise together,
As church bells chime.
He undresses ‘neath the weeping willow
As raindrops kiss his naked flesh
I go to him,
Crawl into his arms like a child,
And my own clothes melt
With every step.
It is here we sit,
A peculiar jigsaw.
A girl and a God.
Two drops in a downpour;
Finding shelter from the storm.
As the rain slows to spit,
And the world becomes real,
We untangle, and rise, and pause to kneel.
He pulls my head into his chest,
For a moment, laying me to rest.
Whispers words that flow in reel
“Nothing gained and nothing lost,
And nothing is revealed.”
Time spent with cats is never wasted.
The Fall of Venus / Autumn's way.
But picking the flowers from the wallpaper,
She is happy.
Stroking them and smelling them and making them feel
Alive.
Black-dogs and lovers and paper-petal armies;
They deafen her to the dark.
Some nights she sleeps and some nights
She can't.
She dwells in corners of the ocean,
And to and fro she rocks.
Every to meets every tick,
and every fro meets tock.
Beyond her liquid windows,
All that's real is thin
The burning ball of sun is dust
When she tastes the light within.
The city falls a-slumber,
But our lady's eyes still walk.
Forever seeking, never seeing
The beauty of which our Earth talks.
The sky is a sheet full of pin-hole burns
A curtain creating walls.
She shushes her soul every time it yearns
And curses the world every time it turns.
And with eyes like embers, she falls.
Time spent with cats is never wasted.
I'll leave it at this for a while. Bombardment isn't my forte.
Time spent with cats is never wasted.
these are beautiful alisha, i especially like the first one
Very nice. I also especially like the first one.
Sloth Love Chunk
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