Ixchellian
Bluelighter
I know there's people here who have an easier time using verse or metaphor in describing their emotions and/or situation. For the most part, I keep my writing very private.... but I've learned recently that if its not recorded and shared somewhere for posterity or personal edification, things I write tend to vanish.... along with any concurrent memories.
So here's two of mine, written for & about one of the very very few ppl I care deeply about.... during a trip of her own to the Dark Side.
For those of us who feel the need, I guess here is as good a place as any for bad poetry.
-Waits-
time trickled melting brass runs down the face of the clock, searing trails with sweeping hands away traces of light's last holdings. sun so cold turning nights so warmly deep that once again its welcome touch shivers along electric bones.
only crying quiet sounds of dream to skip lines between wires left bound, nothing's left but blood iron dust drizzle across the sand.
but for the pins behind these eyes, which remind when closed, dig at steady memory of one unknown. to taunt during hours of awareness, torment in surrender to sleep, it sings the future known. unattainable.
________
-Crumbs-
paths through lead, lines leading through metal, scratched in names long lost.
crumbs decay in dens of momentary horrors amber-sealed by consuming reality.
preserved in absence of existence, this insistent licking of irresistible temptation.
in sight of truth beyond possibility, reaching fingers of sensual theft strip all pale of hope.
So here's two of mine, written for & about one of the very very few ppl I care deeply about.... during a trip of her own to the Dark Side.
For those of us who feel the need, I guess here is as good a place as any for bad poetry.
-Waits-
time trickled melting brass runs down the face of the clock, searing trails with sweeping hands away traces of light's last holdings. sun so cold turning nights so warmly deep that once again its welcome touch shivers along electric bones.
only crying quiet sounds of dream to skip lines between wires left bound, nothing's left but blood iron dust drizzle across the sand.
but for the pins behind these eyes, which remind when closed, dig at steady memory of one unknown. to taunt during hours of awareness, torment in surrender to sleep, it sings the future known. unattainable.
________
-Crumbs-
paths through lead, lines leading through metal, scratched in names long lost.
crumbs decay in dens of momentary horrors amber-sealed by consuming reality.
preserved in absence of existence, this insistent licking of irresistible temptation.
in sight of truth beyond possibility, reaching fingers of sensual theft strip all pale of hope.
