Tomorrows bleakness Did we dye ourselvesTomorrows bleakness by LumenArtist
in colours of mercy,
do we go neutral
ourselves or fade to
black, was it nearest
the end we found
our own redemption
we laid its tracks,
was it human-like
the sincerest act
as stern as tomorrows
bleakness. As wings
that protrude from
the dawning figure
those once protruding
wings that once stood
with the proudest
glimmer but now
they were covered
by red murder-struck,
as feathers fell like
floods of streams
from where they hung,
fear fled fullish as
fleeting from itself
as the subtleness
sheds from shrouds
they seeped, those
shrouds the seams
of mercury. Was it
We blotted out our
like an octopus
squirts its ink.
Murky as those eluded
kink-like ripples that
spewed to the water
as human chain-mail
Your thousand roadsHe would lead them as far as the edge of town,Your thousand roads by LumenArtist
to forgive the cynical smile that wasn't his own
it was just how others would cruelly depict him
the devilish glint in his eyes made him a victim
for the countless lives he saved, to mention
he was not a savage on a edge of redemption
sadly its true that the devil was in the detail
as was a victory without the means to prevail
they feared him as the light that lead their fear
a good man, they saw him with a vengeful sneer
that's why he hadn't overstayed his welcome,
and that's why he never hailed their maelstrom
he stuck to places where roads became so thin
you wouldst scarcely remember where they begin
though to him they were the everything he knew
deeply they bared his secret to however he grew
and his heart was like a precious rose suspended
behind a wall of glass, yet it was as he intended
his greatest work was but a canvas sat on a wall
gathering dust on the precipice of a
SubtletiesPetty moments spent reaching to enchantSubtleties by LumenArtist
those abrupt, those chasing nones dream,
those chasing to thy, embracing an abrasive smile.
As those who knew it would chant softly
spoken music, to strum the vacant of mind.
As hanging pictures on an empty mural so that nothing shall relent,
the impetus granted to the likes of the sweet pangs to our ears
wearing muted colours, subtleties that coloured sincerity clear;
influencing, caressing, innocence despite how unkindness
was planted, waiting to be robbed of its rotten root.
We collage the sense conjuring a slumber new...
the traits of the child versus that of an adult, one strong
and one new, one was a wanderer, a journeyman, journeying into the wilds
into yesterday. As nimble as the first step, like an owl was agile,
till silver linings were ashen grey, till stillness was beguile
The owl in all its wisdom would say "Strike true into our truer colours
not unto a lesser heart, to know
A dream was like a shudderHow can you have such a great destinyA dream was like a shudder by LumenArtist
for it to end, on fabricated wings
that stretch to glory
as virtuoso as all that was everything,
as we intern become the leaves, the branches,
that stretched earnest themselves
into these serene-like dances
like turning so effortless,
to shiver like they into one and other, like the sun into itself
a dream was but a shudder...
like boughs they crack and then embrace
marred like the shadows that embed and face
a moment was the poetry of the weary
as we never stole from its grace,
like gardens stood for centuries,
what allowed the wood to breathe
what stood as its soul, when a tiring-
some memory it leaves
standing like pillars into one and other, as the past, the present, the future,
there is a story yet to uncover.
the light fading
four o'clocks call
color of sunlight
row on row of sunflowers
turning their faces
chariot of Helios
west to horizon
then turning again
they look towards the dawn
yet never to reach their god
shedding seeds as tears
rooted in the earth
hearts forever following
the path of the sun
Love a GirlLearn to love a girl…
who doesn't love herself.
Learn to love the way
she desires your attention.
Learn to love the way she
follows you down the hall:
learn to love her whimsical smile.
Love this girl,
who wants your acceptance.
Learn that she was never average.
She is one of a kind.
Cherish that girl:
for those feelings don't last forever.
i am a dragon (you can't hear my roar)my words have always
bruised the back of my throat
beating my chest until i burst
but i've never had something
scrape my larynx
like self-induced vomiting.
i really am a dragon
living in a cave of my own pathetic self-pity
too afraid to let anyone kiss my wounds
and too stubborn to let myself lick them.
crooked teeth, broken wings
and so many scars
i can't even count them
but somehow, it's not enough
somehow, i still want to add more
i have no idea how
i haven't jested with
silver knights in so long
(especially with these fangs
dragging themselves over my shoulders
screaming for someone to kill me)
it's been months since my suicide attempt
but i can already feel flames
flickering in the back of my eye sockets
and i hate it
and i hate myself because i still
am not better
i thought you were supposed to be grateful
i don't want to die
i just want to drench
this fire in my bones
but i'm getting the feeling
that doing that
and killing myself
is the same
i hopeeverything is going to be okay.
it's getting harder and harder
to look at my wrists and not want to
slice them open and show the world
all the ugliness that's been brewing inside
breathing broken glass into my lungs
i miss you dancing without red fingertips
i miss you
there's no point in missing what's gone.
i can't stop crying and
i'm cringing at my thoughts and
shriveling up inside myself
i do not want to exist anymore
i never asked to breathe
i never asked
it's all too fucking real for them.
i was born in cancer and grew up
in threatened suicides
but i am only allowed to talk about things
i've been through
because me being in this kind of pain is
too real for anyone
too real for
no one ever talks about the sound.
like tearing thin paper
or the sound of a lighter when you flick it on
so maybe that's why i crown myself a
because of the sound i've used to ignite it
and you're tearing your outsides apart because
She glimpses out of my mind
Like a fraying ghost from pearl treaded stories
She flickers in and out of dry sea waves
Sparkling softly, she whispers
“You lost me”
Frayed strings on curtain rings
Snap and spun, silky in the sun
Crumbling threads from the spider’s web
Crack and laugh, the labyrinth’s last
Whispering “I’m guilty” and whispering “love me”
She slips away, hiding in the sunlight’s breath
Her words are tiny pearls, she drops them at my feet
Watching my fingers stroke them
The indescribable p
ColorsI can sketch the colors of the wind
On a blanket of nature's insecurities
As sunlight cuts through pool water
And the rivers slowly grow brown
I sketch the colors of the wind
Shading in the smoke abound
And if the colors had ever been brighter
If nature wasn't smoldering in the deep
Perhaps we all could be sitting up here
Loving earth with our empty sheets
My death poem
Come immortal silence, deliver me from broken shores to bottom of ocean's low pitched abyss.
There where my motionless heart can sleep in the forlorn hope of pitiless peace.
Sing to me waters of the deep, as I sink into your soothing embrace.
Come sweet death, close mine tired eyes and clasp my cold fingers tightly.
Sever my soul from the sun above and take me deep below,
There to rest upon the mourning sands where I may never be disturbed again.
Come blessed rest, speak no more. Let my voice be still upon the motherly warmth of thine soft breast.
My ashes settle into the sands of heaven's gate, dissolved by the kiss of your sweet blessed death.
luring papillon earthward-
nature's pas de deux
butterfly and sweet flower-
an eternal dance
beneath en-pointe kisses bow-
the heat of the sun
stirring small hearts into flight-
the soul of motion
each beat of a wing
strikes a chime in the garden-
[sublime collaboration with Old Mule/cattservant~mine in italics]
Barkley to BrooklynMy girlfriend writes to me from way up north,
on an island of pine trees
where sunsets meet the silhouettes of mountain chains like a painting
every night and humpbacks cry over the calm water.
I ask her how she's doing and all she says
is It's gorgeous,
like I can't tell, from the thousands of postcards and calendars
and inspirational posters plastered with those same sunsets
she sees each night.
I know what beauty is supposed to be.
But I can't help wondering, when she asks how I am, how is New York,
will she understand when I say the city
spread out below me, lights shining in a rainbow against shadows
of muted glass and steel
is just as beautiful?
The energy and the glow of the streetlamps
lighting dim concrete sidewalks in the city that never sleeps
and the cars still rushing past on the street below
at 3 AM and the music blasted from the apartment next door
This is how we know we are alive,
and those same red clouds
signaling calm seas to the fisherman on
.maybe someday i will master the art of
pouring my soul onto the page in the form of
but for now, i am clueless as to
how to express the empty hole in me where
anger and hatred should be, and
for now i am clueless as to how to
express these things i've never felt
before (like love, and trust, and
and for now i still have no way of
apologising without saying "i'm sorry" or
promising without saying "i promise"
(i suppose i am still just a lonely little
girl who never learned how to live)
Fourfold BeauMountains are born from Earthly convergence,
Crashing turbulent winds and catching fallen snow,
For water is patient, but water is nervous,
Never still for a moment in its cyclic flow,
I'll memorize the value in my imagination
So I can paint every flake from the top of my head,
And recall distant mountains and their blueish gradation,
As you glimpse far art, into the hearts of the dead,
Born by Earth, water, wind: after a bellow it strikes,
In the mountains where cold Boreas snuffs out the sunrise,
The lightning is heat, thereby the fire is life,
First mastered by wonderment in the Sapian's eyes,
Yet fire will die, or scourge the seeds of the dirt,
Life is an elemental gift, but Death is the price,
Death by drowning, burning, storm, even the quaking of Earth,
A disease as dubious as rolling whimsical dice,
Seems so peculiar, this double edged blade,
That are the four ancient bases to all of the world,
In which to every living thing, their entwined like a braid,
Of mother nature'
Yes even sickness inspires poetry...Sleep away the spell,
And time will make you well,
But perhaps there is a lesson,
To be learned in times of hardship,
The subconscious maybe beckons,
And in sickness there be friendship,
I don't know, can you tell?
Delve into the wishing well,
And see the stars alike,
Whilst the church is swinging funeral bells,
Is there any good to life?
If evil strikes simultaneously,
They cancel each other out,
Good and evil now extraneously,
Non-existent 'round about,
The perspective of the universe, without a cosmic doubt,
But whatever the truth may turn out to be,
Get well very soon, so that doubt may turn glee.
(Yes even sickness inspires poetry)...
cadmium and alizarineand this is where it
starts to take a twist
and this is where the
fortune must unwind:
she captures colors like
memories and pins them
to the canvas, flattens them
to brittle bristle strokes
her bright eyes, light heart
turn dust to flames
shift wire to sparks
burn doubt to cinders
i am the clay she has
shaped between her palms
and smoothed down
i have grown humble, patient,
than a meteor exploding
to the ground
"all good things come
to an end," they say,
but this finish is
by a scissor snip on
disgustingit's fine, it's fine,
i'm fine, i'm okay.
you say this
with a shaky
of the fallen
but still alive
but not wild
your grey-green eyes
in the leavings
of past petals.
but the root
of your fuse
is still intact
and you have not
lost your dynamite yet.
your heart is still
here and it's scary,
i know, but i also know
that it's not fine
and you're not okay,
but i love you anyway.
and i can't promise
that this will always
be this way,
but today i do.
tonight i do.
tomorrow i will.
and if whatever
i will always love you.
because it is a verb.
materfamiliasmy palms spread across
the sandpaper skinned
desert of my face
and tornado drafts
scatter the sand
of my work in progress;
and i am lost
in the papers
of embryonic misguidance
by the mosquitoes.
my soul is a
looking for water
and hands to hold me
from this trip.
but i am lost,
and no one can hear me--
my introvert is showing
and no one can see it
my pupils are dilated,
the pads of my fingers
are wrinkled like folded clothes
and my lips are stone-dry.
my eyes are all out of tears
and the corners of my mouth
are tearing as i scream for help--
but no sound is coming out.
but i feel the soothing warmth
of your hands on both sides
of my dying fac(ad)e
and you kiss my forehead,
and my tense legs
(infinitum) in the
waters of your rooted soul,
my air is heavily attached,
and the ocean
of your existence
bring the hydration
when my voice dried
and withered into an anxiety
that deserted itself
within my identity.
you hold me down
san gabrielSometimes you dream about a burning grocery store and it means nothing.
This is me standing in a hallway realizing that the people who left
aren't showing up for dinner, that's why it's only a theory.
Look at these streetlights, look at you wearing that wreckage on your face,
soaked in radio. To white windmills flickering across the coast, to
your dogs barking like shootouts behind these gates. An old forest flashes
against the bridge and starts breathing; headlights bleach our hills and you say
What kind of ending is this, I'm never here anymore.
And Hell yeah, I think, how insane that the species blooms in catastrophe,
how improbable to survive this lottery, to conquer the probability
of having never blinked toward the blinding white shipwreck,
to find an abandoned planet and fill it with chairs. Back in the day
I'd probably moan for the other side, but now I'd argue that our people's poetry
is best understood as a consequence; not a shotgun but the stained carpet
being dragged from