Skull

I dusted off the dust and tried to see if there were worms
Beneath a countenance of confidence
While I, behind a mask of domino and actions obstinate
Sat behind a window wearing fog from all the softly whispered words

And picking at the pictures like the old, and peeling paint
Upon the obelisks and oubliettes
I wondered long on Ios, poor Ophelias, and Juliettes
Wearing gloves and monocles, and looking for a name, however faint

I emptied out the emptiness and drank ’til I was full
Using a cup of coded confidence
Where, like the hangman’s daughter, I was not immune to consequence
Resting, you, or maybe I, on wooden pillows over lands of wool

And chasing, like a chalice, filled with all I wished to know
I asked a question of a quandary
You answered like an absent word, “You never did belong to me.
And after all that was, and for the darkness that you hold
You ought to know
You’re gonna leave an ugly skull
After you go.”


I’ve been on a big Acid Bath and Agents of Oblivion kick recently. This poem was inspired by the song The Hangman’s Daughter. Good song.

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Ania

There I saw her dancing once
As soft, and calm as autumn dust
My angel in this world of ashes raining from an empty sky

Listening to distant rain
Like songs that never sound the same
As those she heard before when she could smile and her eyes were dry

There she was, with folded wings
Her words and heart a coiled spring
Where joy was like a cigarette, and life a flame, and hope a sigh

There I saw her, looking down
Her tears, they never made a sound
Where rain was all around her, and my arms could never keep her dry

Wondering how I can see
A dance where surely none could be
An answer where she sees forever what? and who? and how? and why?

There she is, as if the moon
Her darkest day is bright as noon
For I, who saw her dancing once, with folded wings, and tears within her eyes

Blossoms

There blossoms in her depth a fury
Chaos tethered by the reins of such a yearning soul
That sets her sun with such a hurry
There like shifting stars within a fire that she struggles to control

There, her veil of raven tresses
Hanging as the eve, or as a fog that meets the sun
That turns a stoic world to guesses
And the tourniquet upon my lips and heart to finally come undone

There blossoms in her eyes a wonder
Something gentle hiding neath her armor always worn
That like a wave, would pull me under
Leaving me benighted, on a knee, her name a vow I’ve gladly sworn

There, beyond the stretching miles
Hidden, yet revealed, like an eclipse in summer skies
It pulls, like gravity, her wiles
Like a set of strings so when she beckons, how could I refuse to rise?

There blossoms in her face a beauty
Nyx upon the earth, beset with oceans in her eyes
And calling, like a desert, ever to me
My lips an errant pilgrim set to pray within the temple of her sighs

Throne

Looking now, it seems as though I’m truly all alone
Within a home I never wanted
More a drone than anyone is
An expression always blank, as if I carved it out of stone

Walking in a world that always says, “You could have flown…”
And with a groan, I simply shamble
Falling prone, within the brambles
Hearing words that seem to guarantee I’ve no way to atone

For anything I’ve done, or for the seeds already sown
And to the bone, I’m feeling empty
Ever thrown, and never gently
As it seems my very world is but the interest on a loan

Looking now it seems there’s no escaping what was shown
Or what is known to be the ending
In the gloam that I’m descending
On a spiral that would lead me to an oubliette or throne

Coward

Speak another word under the lens you colored rose
As if it lends the word of friend before you end it with repose
…For mending and depending, if upending, are disposed
Beneath the fallacy constructed upon how words…

Open doors of meaning, shining light where shadows grow
But in the night you so delight in hidden spite you’d never show
…The right becomes a blight, a silent fight of letting go
And not acknowledging when things have truly soured…

All the points of paragon – now pinnacles of pain
But never cynical, so clinical in sinning it’s insane
…A minuet of bending, an ascent to the inane
Without response for the remains you left devoured…

And bleeding on a field atop a pile of despair
And all the while, you would smile, as if styling your hair
…It’s vile, hard to file, reconcile or repair
The view I had before I saw you were a coward

 

Hubris

I dug into the snow with cracking skin
And fingers red
I wouldn’t listen
They insisted
You were gone or you were dead

And pulling nothing forth of any worth
Or any dread
I’ve chosen you
And chosen to
See evidence in every shred

In tiny grains of sand and little stones
And frozen flakes
They told me, “No…
Just let it go…”
But you’re the dream I won’t forsake

I dug into the earth until it bled
And I beheld
A shred of truth
Idyllic proof
That in my arms you would be held

And pulling everything of any price
And any worth
I’ve chosen you
My chosen view
For any life bereft of you would be a curse

Voice

For you were banners streaming in the sky
A chorus made of fairies in the dreams where lovers lie
And felt, did I, your presence like a pulse
But silently enamored, from my breath, my words avulse

For you were summer nights in late July
A countenance that captured, and I never could deny
And felt, did I, enchanted by your ways
Enraptured so I couldn’t put my heart into a phrase

For you were gentle words and opened arms
A sanctuary offering respite from every harm
And felt, did I, at peace within your grasp
An adoration quiet kept when’er you thought to ask

For you were beauty borne for better things
My heart a lonely harp and you were more than merely strings
And felt, did I, at times I had a choice
But couldn’t find the words and give my love for you a voice