[x]

The Man and the MoonHer mouth corners hung themselves
and I began to wonder if that was the death of them.
A simple, quiet death;
without broken fingernails lining the walls
with the stripes of a despairing end.
I began to ache with the questioning in my heart
with the echoes reverberating in my capillaries
of her face scorching sunshine in her smile
right before it crumpled
and nothing was left but a frowning moon
set firm in its resignation to an upcoming eclipse.

Dandelion QueenI dream of the ocean;
that paper-thin line where
the current swallows the stars
and the water churns violet

(you tell me to be
quiet,

dandelion queen, we've
heard all these words before)

tonight
I will sleep heavy
and wake a few hours before dawn,
only to forget my name

my wave-weathered heart will cry,
I will cry (my biggest fear
is drowning in too many
of my own weighted words

you tell me to be
quiet
so I can hear the world breathe)

I want to go home

the scars on your shouldersthe scars on your shoulders
are braille to me, so that i
can read your skin, so that i
can know you better.

i like to listen to your heartbeat
and how it resounds differently
from mine, just so beautifully
like two songs played in tandem
to harmonise in rounds;

i like to hold your hands
and rub your back
so that maybe my love
can find its way through your pores
and seep into your blood
(never can i find the right words
to tell you just the way you feel to me)

and to think that and how i nearly missed you
makes me miss you more
every minute and mile we spend
elsewhere.
i can't sleep with another body
in my bed,
but sleeping without you
leav

He doesn't write poetry anymore.He doesn’t write poetry anymore,
even if he still collects it, reads it, saves it, treasures
faded verses from his wife the way connoisseurs
savor vinyl over metallic rainbows on disc.
I don’t mind not knowing, but I can’t stand not asking.

The record needle hits the groove wrong;
he stumbles over words that aren’t there,
rummaging for an answer he doesn’t really have.
He doesn’t write poetry anymore
and his confusion is strangely endearing.

But there’s a lyricism to his words that I love,
poetic lines inserted between the daily grind
of character names and who said what;
voiceless boys in white a

Overgrown ColorsRed like blood on a rose.
White like bone and stars.
Black like reclusiveness.
Green like dead air.
Orange like the savage instinct.
Purity like a god's heart.
Red like thawing hatred.
White like a frozen, severe cry.
Black like the night's deprived shadows.
Green like the wind in the grass.
Orange like the light in the shadows.
Purity like the sun rising.
So discharging through the moon in a wheeze is like luminous white, dispersed red.

PocketLeftover religion in the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
A key that unlocks nothing
A penny, a scrap of paper
With half of your name
Written in black ink

A song that is usually in my head
In the shriveled carcass
Of a long-dead dream
In the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
With the lint

WindowsHere am I, repeated,
and beyond waits everything
but everything is more
than I can bear.

I am not built for altitude
nor looking far afield;
groves and granite-sided mountains
stop my gaze

like rest for every tired wing;
a cover in the coldest time
snugged up beneath my chin.

Windows nothing more,
but safe lies there behind them
as the chambered hours pass;

safe sleeps there behind them
on the soft side of the glass.

with thanks to frosttwo roads diverged in a soulless dawn
and you pull over,
idling on the shoulder of route 50.
it's a polaroid morning and
the world is as grainy
and sleep-heavy
as your eyes,
and one million miles
is not far enough.
it plays back, filmstrip,
blurred along the length of
optic nerves,
and here you are:
facing a choice between
on
and
out.
and this?
this loosejointed, hollowbodied
weightless ache--
this is what
gone
feels like.

Condemnedbeneath the beaten earth they lay,
their dreams condemned to ashes,
and our restless bodies stretch,
for forgiveness, for direction –

survivors of the abyss,
amidst wide-eye, silent soldiers –
so many dead, so many maimed,

how many graves are we standing on, today?

Pull Her Hair/Stare At The StarsThe ghosts have crashed their ship
on the other side of town,
you can see it from the second floor
all the way over here.
You can see the white clouds
rising from the wreck
and a nova of heat, a big bright
nova of warmth pulling the moths and wolves
out from the woods (with their noses up and searching).
You can smell the yearning like bees
leaving the hive, like the grizzly brown bears
on the jagged white mountains (concrete and imposing).
They call it fear,
but I see these ghosts
scrambling up into the sky
and I like to think it's
something different entirely.

SisterSister

A sister is like a soul mate;
Someone who is always there
to guide me through fate.

A sister is,
a part of childhood that I cannot erase;
A sister like you,
is one that I would never replace
because you always know how to
put a smile on my face.

I know I can depend on you
to always be there for me;
This is one hundred percent guaranteed!

I've had great memories with you
in the past;
and I hope there are many more
to come,
in the future.

Life, Death And A Pork Chop SandwichAll tangled up, hard to breathe
This steel cloud day that swirls
With heat and pounding hammers
I shake in my boots and cough up
Blood, rust and damaged flesh
Waiting for the second coming
Maybe next time around there'll be
Some chance for more than this

A twisted barbed wire halo
Wrapped tight around my skull
Blinding white light aura
Swarming with flies I'm flying
To pieces, thousands of shards
Cannot be brought back together
But I will remember the summer
Of my first Chevrolet in each bit

Gleaming bits of glass in the desert
Each reflecting a different moment
Still, now, enduring until the waves
Of a new ocean sweep them away
No pain

Riddle My tears fall,

like invisible

diamonds.

My heart beats,

like soundless

drums.

Unwanted,

because of the

strings attached.

What am I?

A Night By the FireNo light,
The light sired by the night
All above whilst the day's delights
Now disappears from mortal sight.

Faded away is the sun's power,
Taking the stage now is night's sallow flower;
Now mortals may behold the stars and falling shower.

Set in a pit Nature's skyscraper ablaze
And revel in the emanating heat as you gaze,
Looking down on occasion when you hear a crack from the fire
And witness "fireflies" flying away from mother's blaze;
Dying shortly after but not lacking burning beauty do they desire!

I look out towards the teasing shore
And meditate as we sit upon her door,
Thinking on what my future has in store;
Who I am now and even

Pretty little things called words and dustif you weren't a hypocrite,
you'd be wrapped in the sweetest
perfumes
(learning
how to engulf the ocean
with your lungs
and think of how to cup it
in your hands
despite
your broken prayers and
still be beautiful)

dance with the gypsies
'till noon
(a quake in
your hips like the thrust
of continents
and the faultlines
emanating from
your spine,
but still
so, so graceful)

sing with the nymphs
in tune
(your voice,
it's growing old,
raspy even.
your throat's burning dry
like a monsoon
faltering in a desert,

and tones
still octaves
powerful)

be nestled in a king's arms
soon
(oh, you precious
little thing.
how

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Untitled and unfinished 4Took a chance
Made my stance
Now I'm stuck between infinity
Perhaps a sign of divinity?
I was never hell bound
Bound for the void in between
looking back my mood remains serene
How did I ever break out my old routine?
Same old scene
sitting alone in the dark
Stormy thoughts watch the lightning arc
Been marked by the devil
Soldier of heaven
Don't bother upon remark upon that irony
the agony of lacking destiny is one I know
allow me to bestow upon you the knowledge of centuries

it was the first war
angels swarmed
my own neutrality
made me a causality
god granted me immortality
my new reality was to speak in fallacies
doome

Untitled and unfinished 3Was a meek child
afraid to speak
to weeak to fight
might mutter under my breath
stutter if I spoke
in front of crowds I'd choke
till one morning I awoke
Spoke clearly
Sincerely
realized it was all merely within my head
too long had I been misled
No longer would i be bled
tore my chains to shreds

Untitled and unfinished 2When they finally
Make my life into a movie
how will I be played?
How will they portray me?
Will they flay my soul
Let all see the truth in my role
open the door
answer the question I'd kill for
What was I put on this earth for
I was never meant to soar
meant to write metaphors
that leave your mind sore
as if the mighty Thor had
slammed his hammer into your head
and I'm fed up with the feds
at my house every weekend
At a young age i learned to fend for myslef
pictures upon the shelf fade into sepia tones
as cyclones of angst tear through my mind
not the kind to call when your in need
never been that person
does that mak

Suicidal Recital- UnfinishedAs I sit watching the clock
Tic toc tic toc
Got a glock to my head
Sure wonder I ain't dead
I've said all that needs to be said
'Bout to let the water run red

Soon to meet my maker
I'm no faker when I spit this I'm real
only wish you could feel what I feel
This sense of despair
And I no longer care
This is a rare moment of solace
my warm hearts turned callous

This is my suicidal recital
and its vital you pay attention
this is a rendition of my
psychological condition
Of the pain in my brain
Left with nothing, nothing left to gain
allow me to refrain and rephrase
this lyrical maze
every I've been left in a daze
Wonderin

Into AnarchyA strong duality
the war within the peace
the truth within the lies
descending
into the anarchy
of my minds eye
unfocused
my world of blur
the anarchy of my mind

A strong duality
the peace within the war
the lies within the truth
as the bullets fly
so focused am i
so sharp
so clear
The anarchy of the moment
Fueled by fear
ruled by instinct

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Untitled 1

by ~Aezil, Jun 9, 2008, 4:42:24 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

Every kid from the hoods tried suicide
Pulled a gat on an ill cat, shoulda died
Now a bonafide killer, on the run from the law
The gaping maw that these streets are
From Detroit to Dc
The crooks that run every city
have the audacity to attribute to us the ability to corrupt humanity
its insanity baling youth culture
but they the vultures
sent soldiers to the desert for oil
created within millions inner turmoil
now they bitchin bout the recoil

Untitled 1by ~Aezil

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

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