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MyiagrosYou went quietly
Like granite with finesse
Days and nights
The come down monster

I had a drink
Six, seven, eight more
Always and sometimes
Completely nothing

The weeks of illness
Before it pulled your eyes shut
No small talk
Just plain, empty time

I walked to the store for smokes
Struggled not to howl
There was fly paper nailed to the register
Legs still moving

And I knew what they were buzzing for
Hell had found you first

a surrendered shorelet me dismember your shores
please
let me slowly
gently
leave you
unable to
reach the sea
you
always buoyant
would never miss
sand in your shoes
me
the path to your
precious waves
you'd never go wanting
for a touch of water
if you let me render
you helpless
on land

in dark eyeethereally floating there
envying the lust of life
luridly at a rolling boil

expansive outcome of supernova
distant alluring signal
behind fine line lashes

comet trails pioneer the iris
tease of civilizations incalculable
ancient creation secrets born anew

granted before wish uttered
just a shy blink leaves me
ethereally floating there

Blue Smocking in the True Essence of Time"You have no idea what time is going to do to you."
The girl was certainly no older than me, certainly. In fact, she looked at least ten years younger than me, and her dark blue, smock-like top the drugstore chain made her wear at the register made her look even younger and more childish.
If I allowed myself a moment of superficiality right then, I would have said there was nothing special about her: not her hair style, not her face, not her body, not her smile, not her eyes or even the tone of her voice. In fact, there was something slightly non-pleasing about all those elements of her, but I couldn't quite put my finger on exactly why. Maybe everything about her was just a little "off' by the world's standard of what was beautiful and what wasn't. Regardless of that, though, I realized that at 2:00am, when I was the only customer in the store full of everything a person could need at 2:00am, it was an odd thing for her to say to me as I walked in and passed the che

I lost youAn impression
is all that remains
of where you once were,
sheets the same
as you left them
as I haven't slept
since you left me.
I pray to a god
that I don't believe in
for you to return,
but you will never
be in my bed
or in my arms again.
Tears roll down
and they coalesce
with all the rest
as we watch
you being lowered
and I realize
that the hole
is your bed now
and the silk
is where your
impression will lie
without me
until I find the courage
to join you
in the dark.

the way of two heartshe can't touch her distance

all the while
she ruminates on existence
commas
and non-dairy creamers

he just resides
on the edge of potential
long pauses
whole milk upbringing

she sees him, near-sighted

he acts in solid ways
rarely speaking, yet
reliable
and unaware lumbering grace

she just resides
on the peak support felt
in his rough hands
bringing her up, whole

they see. they are.

HarmonikabarsYou raised me to be a prosaic proletariat,
But this biopic will be filmed in Dreamcoat technicolor.

And when your body is donated to science
And picked apart by college students
Who want to know what not to do,

I promise

I will undust those knives.
I will learn to play the harmonica.
I will always know what time it is.

I just want to thank you
For leaving a hole in my head I tried to fill
With drugs girls and poetry.

Thank you
For never teaching me anything,
Except how to take a punch.

That skill came in handy.

The only man I've ever met
Who had to lose his parents twice.

Your past was stolen from you,
And I'll be damned if

RuinsFallen, desecrated -
The windows to your soul are stained;
You would kill to be a mosaic, but
You are no Roman empire.

The windows to your soul are stained -
You were never high beloved, no
You are no Roman empire;
You have crumbled under the weight of the world.

You were never high beloved,no -
Fallen, desecrated -
You have crumbled under the weight of the world...
You would kill to be a mosaic.

MakarI am discovering poetry in lines of genius --
fragments of a broken existence
where only misfit pieces build the puzzle
and discarding the words like carbon dioxide

They are drowning me in a dictionary of experiences --
inhale a panicked definition of life
and exhale an ocean of ink and paper
with no surface in sight

every artist should die for their passion

Summers Lost god died today. or maybe it was tomorrow. i can't remember.

"ask anything."

static skies;
grizzled blue
sketching down
to sewer lines:
like a wish
on a dead star.

the feeling of gritted teeth
and fingers crossed
until they break.

shame tasted
like a scalpel
and a brick wall
against my throat.

and i was
chewing concrete
when i said,
"it's okay."

swallowing cinder blocks;
stuffing steel under skin.

sugar-sweet
on my cheek,
like book pages:

"where have you been?"

blue and gold are not just colorsshe had been blue-sighted
since
dawn cracked her forehead.
it was the dress she wore on his funeral
the color of her school flag
the shine in her father's eyes;
she waited in blue and gold.

no, she refused to set a bar
because
life didn't just come to her.
she earned her place
in her mother's womb
when each blood vessel questioned her
each nerve ending, if she could live
and each antibody, if she was worth it.

see, she doesn't need new dresses.
she has a memory
for each of hers in her locked closet.
she may not wear all of them
(and most she cringes at the sight of)
but her heart
jumps enough
every time bits of her old

NovaWe live such fragile lives
Like lanterns:
So beautiful, burning bright
With incomprehensible wonder and energy,
Yet as willing to shine as to shatter
Into glimmering bits of glass.

Although the cold wind's hand
Has reached in and extinguished your flame,
I will always remember your light,
Your warmth, and your passion
When I gaze at the stars above

The Girl With The SeasonsThe girl continued to paint
Little details here
And there

A new baby for this family
An extra apple for her
A new rifle for him
With all the contrasting colors
Of her painted spectrum

But she began to grow
Very bored
With her warm and sensual creations
Under a beating sun
They were all so similar
And forever unchanging

With an angry flick
She blotted white over the fields
On the tops of trees
And over the homes of her creatures

Next to that canvas she splattered colors
Blues and pinks and purples
Curling up
To become petals
She drew smaller game
With hasty silver strokes
And sky blue feathers
To adorn her flying crea

JupiterIn a crazed dream I swore to protect him
To keep him far from creeping shadows
And the death that still escapes me
As I gave his arms my cursed blessing
And knelt to his everlasting power
With hope for a sign from past

But he dared to raise his eyes
To meet my own tear stained orbs
With a caring and sparkling smile
As he grabbed me by a scarred hand
To present to me a new hope

He showed me an eternally shining sky
One that I had glanced at many times before
But he revealed hidden treasures I had never seen
He gestured to each constellation with his voice rising
And falling with each myth recited to me
He showed me each dream t

let the night falllet the night
fall
never a command
or an order
just a wish
that you let it be

let the lack of light
stop cowering
in your inventory
of truth
embrace the use
of its cover
while you explore
covert personalities
daylight makes you
timid to release

let the things that go
bump
roam freely
for they would enjoy
high noon
if it were not for judgement
often adjudicated
by sol dwellers

let forth the riders
of your fears
so they may tame
harness and saddle
the wild buckings
of irrationality
until broken in
and ridden to
mortal exhaustion

let out your sky wandering
eyes
to the pale to the round
to the distant to pu

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Musing over the Moon

by *enigmaticsmile, Oct 2, 2012, 8:25:59 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

I don't think that the moon

wanted to be

the moon

imagine a hot rock

released to its own path

by a collision

explosion

or monumental

fission fusion of creation

taking pace

among the stars

free

only soon

a sun with planets

slowly pulls

cajoles

this liberated

piece of travel-rounded

mass

into a steady orbit

of obligations

light the night

guide the ships

pull the tides

make us wonder

let the wolves howl

night after night

repetitive

circling

wondering

about its freedom

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Musing over the Moonby *enigmaticsmile

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Just a thought...

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Submitted on: October 2, 2012
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~Sigma-Echo-Seven Jan 22, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Pure brilliance. Every line, every notion.

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*enigmaticsmile Jan 24, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you- what a wonderful comment. And thanks for the fave!

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*Hfeather53 Dec 10, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Featured here: [link]

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*enigmaticsmile Dec 10, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thanks!

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*Hfeather53 Dec 10, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Always a pleasure (=

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~oracle-of-nonsense Oct 13, 2012 Student Writer

This is an interesting thought, and an original one. I really like it, and it sort of makes me sad for the moon

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*enigmaticsmile Oct 14, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Well, you know me... always thinkin' about things...

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~Wooltree Oct 4, 2012

I found this quite sad, but beautiful. Great piece

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*enigmaticsmile Oct 4, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you!

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`vespera Oct 3, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Oh darling, this is such a cool piece!

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