Subtle Delights

I WRITE

I write,

diamonds mingle with sawdust,

i sit here waiting like beethoven

for that clarity,

when universe finds these eyes

to see through,

though not blessed by deafness, i persist,

the lines are narrow but treacherous,

the ocean is large but thoroughly broken.

I write,

concerning the heart

cleverly impaled on the desk before me,

blood drips to my feet,

and the light from the one who made me

leaves its shadow where fear devours need.

I write,

to protest not so much fate,

but the kingdom that designs it.

I write,

with but meager resources

in the tall and lonely spire

of the long-forgotten self,

until the silence hounds me no longer.

Translucent Spaces

THE MOON MAKES ME HOLLOW

The moon makes me hollow

with its incessant cold and deliberate shadows,

rain falls in its emerald madness

captured in the lake of the timeless.

Emotions are hurled at me

from the crystalline sling of the archer,

they impale me as i sit by the window,

blood coalesces at my feet,

a strange flower blossoms,

my trembling hands yearn for it,

the fragrance carries me above the icy planets.

Peripheral Vision

WHEN THEY FIND MY BONES

When they find my bones,

will they know their history,

will they recognize the delicate moments

will they trace the poignancy

the joy and the laughter.

When they find my bones,

will memories be etched upon them,

from the hollow of my rib cage

will the heart leave its shadow

or some tell-tale dust to mark its

infatuations and its passions,

will the line of my pelvis

give an indication of its bygone libido.

When they find my bones,

will they detect the scars and the mending,     

the time of my passing

and all its laments.

When they find my bones,

will the spirit of my presence

reside with them.

When they find my bones

will humanity remain

haunted by the darkness.