Do With This What You Will
In English we say, I am hurting,
but in poetry we say ~
I am windswept wave
weeping weathered roses
upon the haunting heart of drowsy dunes,
kissed by the mineralized melancholy
of wounded wadis,
for love forgot the fated flow,
nevermore feeling the forlorn skin
of b l e e d i n g ink…
I seize the scorpion crushed weight
of crestfallen crystals,
once voiced
through painless passion.
Devouring the distress
cutting through lips splitting,
I taste nothingness
amidst raining ruby-winged butterflies,
mirroring the bruise
burning in sync with extreme dolor…
O beloved, would you still recognize
the rippling riddles of soul’s river,
or has distance
dried the wild-lilies
dressed in dramatic scents
of dangerous devotion,
like the syllables I spilled
between the spaces that
held the poetry we once breathed?
Would you still hear the
undreamed chimeras ~
chapters channelled
now choking the reveries
I home in morbid muteness,
or has the nerving nadir
jinxed the sparks of Jupiter ablaze,
numbing ringed-jewels of strength
we once believed faithfully
would
never phase
nor decay…
I wonder if your skies serenade
soft blue soliloquies ~
sunrise soaked in honeysuckle hymns.
Do they drizzle
densely designed darkness
draped in dissonance,
or do you find comfort
in painting me with solemn ashes
as the black-fanged Empusa ~
one that inflicted
nothing but misery,
injected like liquid lethal lament
that suffocated
the arteries of midnight?
2:22 ~ angel omen ~
do with this what you will,
I overwrite to outrun the emotions,
refusing to be overtaken
by disillusionment.
I speak not to lure the stars across
your cerulean seclusion,
but to heal as I seal the envelope
of unanswered thoughts,
wishing the pulse of p a t i e n c e
would no longer
push and pull the string
of my weakness
like ice-hot estuaries
rushing against the ache of want...
O detached desires,
forgive my need to release.
I am not restless,
I am not reactionary,
I am merely reminiscing in resilience,
to rise again
as the seamstress
of scarless sonnets….
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