It has been some time,Since I've had the time to write,Now I feel hurried. Frantic as I post,These feelings wrapped in my soul,Clinging, grasping hands. Released, I'm relieved,But tension crawls in my scars,A depth unfulfilled. I may lose myself,In these intemperate years,Devoid of feelings. I just want to cry,But I worry I've lost it,That part … Continue reading Worry, Worry
Tag: Closed Form
Poetry that follows pre-established formats and and patterns for lines, syllables, and rhymes.
The Triple Goddess
For my arrogance,He reached for the stars above,Black skies filling empty hands. Within this hollow,Filled with your endless desire,A pale flower blooms like blood. I offer my eyes,Covetous, life-drinking orbs,Gleaming the shade of lost dreams.
A Recurring Fever
This 'cursed fever,Breaks upon my mind's shoreline,Dragging away every thought. I wish you were here,Not to tend to ailing bones,But nurse my spirit anew. I lie here dying,Wondering of my last death:My name on your lips, no more.
The Game of Love
I reclaimed my place,The princess of your black heart,By wit and cunning,I am the Conquering Sword,A faithless exile no more. Lost again, have I?To a ronin with no shame,And no sense of pride.So be it, it's your win, now,In this Game of Love, I'm done.
I fell in love then
I feel in love then,As he struggled so boldly,Daring me to care.
Your song takes my soul
Your song takes my soul,Once heavy, now light and free,Like a fairy bloom,How transient our lives are,How meaningless our turmoil.
Obsession Forgiven
I think that I am,An obsession forgiven,Given for my pride,Proud that I was once yourself,Your self freed from what I am.
A Yellow Bloom
My summer garden,Wilts beneath the joyless sun,Yet a yellow bloom,Finds a way of blossoming,A cool grace in hateful heat.
I suffer illness / is my death enough
I suffer illness,A static deep in the mind,That I wish killed me.Instead, it forces me toRecall my lost love for you. No exorcism,Will rid me of this demon,Who haunts my last breath,For at the end of all things,It means that you loved me once. Is my death enough,To rid myself of your gift:This knife that … Continue reading I suffer illness / is my death enough
True Necromancy
True Necromancy,Is the greatest skill I teach,For dead speak softly,And were it not for these books,Their wisdom be lost to us. I think my students,Would think these lessons worthy,If only they knew,Our daily poetry books,Were really something magic.