Image care of Photobucket; I hold no rights to it.
I fell in Burgundy,
the color of her Convictions
tasted of Hopes and vaunted little riding hood–
allures that Gripped,
teased me past the bounds of Reason,
tempted to the sweetest Treason,
is my Soul’s Damnation,
gripped as we are in Sensory Salvation–
in D Minor–
rings Red the stacatto of our Destruction,
as Beings, set among the fog and sand–
we are Drifting.
I am become the Wolf, less man,
together craft the scarlet trails of Unmaking–
you Sing for me,
but these Hands are not my hands,
they Touch you, and I do not Know my name.
Shooting stars for luck
Tiny fire braille heralds truth
Yet always: falling.
Keeping to a “short but sweet” theme that seems to be overarching my poetry this week, I give you a Haiku. Enjoy:
Never seen Mountains;
the inner is higher than
without: nothing known.
Posted in conjunction with the Thursday Poets Rally.
And by the by, as a part of that, I nominate Kavita! Read any of her stuff. You’ll quickly figure out why.
These hands are not my hands,
How could they be
Baby blue, holding you
The wind was yours to claim,
I saw it, this past
Flowing reality of moments undone,
Webbing through existence see
You run, you sing
Let the ground give
Let the earth quake
And all rejoice, your howl
Resonant rebound through vibrant fields
Life, how I saw thee fly—
Impossible to reconcile
This motionless reality
To the beauty of my memory:
Where do you sleep?
not unbecoming in its being
Unwilling Man still feels
coursing through black Unwillingness
if I cannot will thought to being
Renouncing willingness of being
this Existence of Convenience.
My latest contribution to the wonderful One Shot Poetry Wednesdays! Once you’ve had a look, check out some of the other One Shot Poets as well– they’re a skilled bunch of poets, looking to form a community and support one another. Enjoy!