Extant

Silent exit
Know the lie
Lifeless respite
Closing eyes
Sight infectious
Holding my
Sigh and let this
Fold divide

Multiplying
Reasons left
No defying
Leaving less
Pulverizing
Me and just
Nullifying
Each egress

Serenity

I saw you look
But did you see?
And were we bound?
Or were we free?

I couldn’t watch
So readily
Yet couldn’t stand
To ever flee

Did ever you
See any me
Or merely flawed
Obscenity?

Can we but share
Some lenity
One moment of
Serenity?

Prune

Let us say, for sake of saying,
Else for need of fears allaying
That which, dear we hold, for staying
Was not prone to know of either breaking or betraying

Static, then, and so consistent
Moving not by words insistent
How long til the bond is distant
Ragged made by banes unwaveringly grown persistent

Let us say, for point of knowing
Change unknown is future slowing
Salted land for seeds worth sowing
Ships at port, without a sail or any crew for rowing

So then shall we cease the holding
To the hand we’re loathe of folding
Fearing less our mental scolding
Chancing change by adding water to the clay we’re molding

Knowing tears will mark transition
Pain a guaranteed condition
Healing hurts as does admission
That perhaps before we grow we must endure abscission

Aggiornamento

Early did I wake to find
Like evening was, so were the banes of mind
Reduced to such
A minor thing
No hand of mine could clutch or cling
And you, with idle form, were thus supine

I did not wish to be a chore
And quiet, let you linger all the more
With violet blooms
In gentle wreaths
The cost that love assumes to breathe
And softly, with a kiss, I sought the door

Where night was rushing with a chill
For songs of harpies flew upon the hill
In efforts cold
Of reasons pure
With iron plans to hold me sure
For lack of knowing why for what I will

But saw they not our souls release
And only what their eyes could boldly piece
The simple why
The end result
Oh, why could not they see how I exult
And spared us both when drank of night did I the least


First attempt at doing a Dramatic Monologue. Admittedly…the ones I’ve currently read all seemed to have the same theme, which is what I also went with. No points for originality, eh?

Sinner

Let me speak of heaven
While I hold that there is none
Writing praise to morning
Though I rarely see the sun

When I speak of spiders,
Disregard the web I’ve spun
Lamenting that I lost you
Nevermind the things I’ve done

Let me speak of beauty
While I shatter all the mirrors
And pen another sonnet
For my crocodile tears

I speak so much of monsters
As if one, I’ve never been
Lamenting lost salvation
While I gladly sin again

Bouquet

Roses are red, or they’re pink, or they’re black, or they’re yellow, and sometimes they’re white

Violets, in truth, aren’t always so blue. Not a lie, nor entirely right.

Sugar is sweet. So is honey, and money is sweet in different way.

We’re none of us roses, or violets, or sugar – regardless of what poets say.

So roses are polychromatic. The same could be said of your curious ways.

And violets are all different colors, and like you their moniker truth would betray.

And sugar, if eaten too often, is likely to cause any number of woes.

Like you when I choose to obsess and poetically write my confessions in prose.

Wine

What sweetness can I offer
To remove the bitter taste
Of honesty? My coffer
Overflows with only waste

Of efforts to rekindle
All the fires I’ve employed
To singe the thread and spindle
And the bridges I’ve destroyed.

What efforts can I alter
At the temple where I fail
To falter? Here, an altar
Has forbidden that I sail

To lands that seem to flourish
With those ever faulting lines.
And thus I leave unnourished
By the sweetness of your wine.