[x]

Under a Witches SkyAnd lo there he said: "I am darkness rising"
— ‘an apparition bleeding into a dreaming sky
Distilled in the timbre of windswept voices,
black feathers enchant earth in fevered-song
Magick ebbs & shimmers thru earthen veins,
seething like a migration of hungry wolves
Silvery eyes peer, drinking the ether of souls;
watching the spirit world fold into the mists
And where Shadows and Witches conjure,
— myriad talons beshrew Winter’s prayer

For eons I hath wandered in forgotten lore
— a sleep walker thru ash & fire, hunting ..
Beneath Moon solemn and drifting,
I covet thy ghostly figure velvet, undressing
Pools of

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

SpeakeasyI can feel you like a phantom,
sensation without touch,
like breath in winter
or a misty mountain morning
that stays with me
until the stars fall in evening.

Your eyes contain the secrets
your lips would dare to betray,
but your body tells the story
and I am trying
to read between the lines
of your paperback smiles.

A grazing touch, a covert glance,
the memories remain
as skin grows warm and red
beneath lying fingertips
that claim incidental contact
a thousand times a day.

Of course,
it's not the kind of thing we say
when we are speaking
without talking and feeling
without touching
and thinking without knowing...

all of the things

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.

We Can't Be Together.Every kiss you plant on my lips,
Takes a little bit of my soul away.

You're stealing the passion,
You're invading my heart,
And killing what emotion I've left untouched.
Stop this.
I can't love you.

I've tried to before,
Oh my god,
Have I tried.

Tried to unlock the doors to myself,
Tried to open up,
And let you in.
But as soon as I took one look,
Negativity took it's opportunity,
And struck the hot iron I'd been molding.

Every word you mutter
My knees falter under
You're killing me

You're my kryptonite
I'm your paradise
But in this odd peace that seems to be approaching
I can't find happiness.

We aren't meant to be together
But this

Poet as PainterThe world
Your dusty palette,
The pen
Your muddied paintbrush:

Dip into
The impossible
Colour
Of imagination

And stain
The pristine slate
With an
Image distilled.

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.

Dry Spell I am immobilized by time.
by the idea that it is somehow slipping,
fleeting,
evaporating
through the cracks of
my fingers and high

above my head.
I am terrified by the incessant notion
that no combination of thoughts,
words,
silences,
or actions
could possibly satiate it.

I realize only now that it can never be filled:
all which is tossed into it is swallowed in haste
or stretched
so far
that it dissolves into non-being.
I find that I am caught within its furrows
much like the words it devo

BoyfriendI thought you were good.

You WERE good.

You played with my hair.

You held me when I cried.

You were a gentleman.

You made me laugh.

You kissed me.

You loved me.

I loved you.

It was then that I learned the truth.

The dirty, rotten, stinking truth.

About you!

You cheated.

You played with her hair.

You kissed her.

You loved her.

You made her laugh.

I saw you – don’t you dare deny it.

I saw you giving her that love.

That same love you gave me.

I break up with you.

You don’t even seem to care.

Did you ever love me at all?

Or was it only ever her?

Much later, you’ll realize what a mistake you made.

I

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

You Don't Know ItYou don't know it, but you kept me sane
I nearly went over the edge
With a knife in one hand and a gun in the other
But you grabbed me
Pulled me back on my own two feet
Emptied my hands
And when you realized that I couldn't stand on my own
You hugged me
Like a mother would do for her child
Like a friend would do for, dare I say, another friend

You don't know it, but when you saved me
I felt free
I felt wanted
I felt needed
I felt, dare I say, loved

You don't know it, but when you showed me kindness
I fell in love
In love with your kindness
That same sweet kindness you saved me with
It felt like I found a new home
One that I could be, dare

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

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.

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You Shared Your Secrets, but I Kept MineI saw your smile
And then thought I knew everything about you
What a fool I was
What kind of fool were you?

I saw you standing there
And you looked so free
Under the branches of the half-wilted tree
How blind was I?
How clearly could you see?

I saw your painted nails
And I knew you were a colorful figure
How right I was
In the wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong ways

I saw you shed a tear
And I felt that you were crying for the first time
But the tear fell so expertly
I must have missed it all this time

I saw your scar-riddled arms
And I thought you looked relieved
That no more secrets were being kept
Silly you, foolish me
How much more wrong coul

AtelophobiaI am me
A ratio of five to seven
Nose, uneven
Teeth, astray

You are you
A tongue that smells like ashes
Day-old fever chapped lips
Pretty eyes
Begging to be pitied
Skin as white as a billion spotlights
From the microscopes
Dissecting you for research
And it figures that they could never figure you out

I suppose we were
Probably hospital patients in another life
Or juvenile pageant queens

You cried
“I’m unsatisfied with my future”
But really, it’s a matter of getting the timing right

You are
The ship that crashed my headlights
The jewel behind those jet sets
Reckless and sheltered at the same time

I am
Raw and I

Pause and ReflectI swear to god (and to you)
Nothing compares to the way I compare myself
To everyone else

They say, “Perfect, you’re perfect
Don’t you know it?”
I say, “I don’t think anybody does”

I’m a temple
Crushed and turned into a shopping mall
I’m selling out
I’m the latest trends and such a big spender
I’ll be over before they say “I’m over it”

I’ve been there, done that
And I already know what it’s like to be hated
(And I already know what it’s like to hate)
For your information
I never liked myself all that much, anyways

And they say “Perf

PlagueColored by candlelight
She whispers a silent prayer
“Leave me dead, but don’t leave me be.”
The glow illuminates her body
The original Mona Lisa

The crossroads are crippling her and me
And this worthless worship we fall prey to does us no goddamn good
None at all, I say
All, she echoes

But who are we to blame other than ourselves?
Pandora was a fool, Pythagoras was a fraud
The sore swelling of my neck leaves no room to think

“If I go, don’t follow.” I plead.
And she shakes her head sadly
Shakes her soul, simpering
From here, I smell the festering flavor of rotting flesh
Her feminine fingertips are baby

It Lingers Like SmokeI found the face of God
At the bottom of a bottle of Eau de Parfum
On a Sunday night at a Macy’s store
My eyes were sore and my hands were shaking
As I pressed my lips to the edge of the bottle
Whispering into it, incredulously
I was delirious, but so was the world
A dash of my spit falls into the glass
Frizzing the blossom-pink secretion and oil

“Hello God, it’s me.”

The sounds fog up the container
The room is dead silent besides
Red plastic high-heeled rip-offs sauntering down the aisle
It’s silent enough for the ringing in my ears to scream
And then…
The bottle slips and shatters at my feet
The glass

Elvis Sang it BestWise men may not rush in love
But I was born from a fool and a genius
And when chemicals collided
I was taught to stand back
And admire the ever-changing colors

At first sight it was sand
But time turned you into gold
I didn’t rush
I just stumbled
And you casually swallowed me whole

Falling is a fickle thing
But surely it’s been done before
And if I were to hold on
I’d never want to let go

Like a river into the sea
But more of a fire that melts the house away
My characteristics will change
But I will never stray

When you turned to me and sang
“Take my hand”
And when I did I felt as if you had taken
My whole

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The Optimistic Apparition

by ~heartxofxchains, Jun 24, 2012, 2:37:12 AM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

When drunk on words and a slightly disoriented,
Even the solicitous will become less willing to,
Serve a sweet glass of entertainment to your waiting lips.
And when the pendulum swings even the motions can,
Succumb to the relaxation droning on and on about you,
And eventually time will stop in utter, utter silence.
As the sparkling cider is mindlessly poured down the drain,
So slowly, yes so slowly that it's hypnotizing,
And the nearby shouts of scared bystanders are all drowned out… "Sorry, what did you say?"
When the forced laughter starts to hurt and gradually numbs,
You shake your head repeating I'm not desperate, just optimistic,
You are blind to the disbelief quickly forming in everyone else's eyes.
If you stare long enough inside the smoky mirrors then,
The images will maybe begin to clear and if you look hard enough
You will be able to see the apparent apparition that is you.
So swing! To the beat of the cheerful antagonistic gathering,
Just close your eyes and start humming to the awfully bright,
Chorus of "ashes, ashes, we all fall down."
We fall down, we fall down.

The Optimistic Apparitionby ~heartxofxchains

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

this is a poem.

it belongs to me.

that is all.

~heartxofxchains Jul 11, 2012 Student Writer

lol.
what is this even about?
this is trippy.

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