Trickle down my face
Like Sundays I wish to forget
Violate me with your words
You get the stones
I’ll get my sticks
Take away my brittled beauty
Uncover me abandoned inside
Face me till the days are dark
Leave me
Make your mark
Questions reappear from my childhood
Toys disappear
I wish that I could
Souls realign to be dismantled
Following the lights
I find only shadows
It’s getting old
I’m getting tired
Weary hopes to those who aspire
Walk me down your favorite isle
Lovely thorns sworn in denial
What’s 24 hours when I got 25
Only more seconds I shed inside
Trickle down my face like Sunday morning
I’d hide away
but no ones watching
Categories:
brittled, conflict,
Form: Rhyme
Through shoveled loam I glimpse pale light
Hands dare intrude into my burial crypt
Exposing the devastation of my decay
Dignity of this chamber has been stripped
Human eyes stare into my skeletal sockets
I feel the sun's warmth, but cannot spill tears
Lips, long ago stitched from laces of my soul
Loosed were the bindings of stygian spheres
Wormwood case and satin pillow, rotted
Lily's scent lingers, squandered their seed
Awakened without sight or sandals afoot
Penance in supplication for every misdeed
My rueful spirit, once clothed in silk shroud
has dwindled to dust and time brittled bone
I remember pleading in voice of reason
Cover my nakedness and inter me, face prone
*These verses do not reflect my religious
beliefs of life after death.
Categories:
brittled, death,
Form: Rhyme
Withered trees; their days end
Hidden beauty shown to the naked eye
Tattered and torn
Fickled, brittled and worn
Standing tall, they still do
Withered trees; their days end
Hidden beauty shown to the naked eye.
Categories:
brittled, change,
Form: Free verse
I awaken with languid eyes gazing at the passing dawn.
Strange light rays hover over ancient graves
Jestering- tormenting souls
Where spindled wildweeds grow
And sway over a dull domain, and
Under clouds with nimble fingers accusing...
pointing down. They pause to sit-
Brittled, splintered, to take a breath
Waiting to sweep unbright fields
Of rye and corn.
Now standing, they float away
With the rays sighing in blustery winds,
Gusting like torrents from the north
Spilling thorns and stems
Around the livestock- propped and tall
Like sentries who do not know nor care.
Horns lowered to eat what's left
Grazing, tails swishing, numb to silverdrops
And firebolts, blazing in the background.
The old woman turns in her tomb,
Facing downward- blind to the squalor above.
A twitch of finger
A thumb
A toe
Stretching, as the worms rest in soft shells
Inside sallowed orbs. Then in a flick- a flash-
Tumbleweeds hurry to leas now stitched
In rusted cathedrals, wrestling with directions-
Scurrying to settle in barbed wire, leaving
Old bones in yellow dust.
Categories:
brittled, dark, death, destiny, grave,
Form: Free verse
age is just a number years roll on
pages of thoughts n memories rest
wages of time like wheels move on
cages we live in make the best
glycation loss of fat face wrinkled
mind and soul still young dancing
plication loss of mass bones brittled
heart sprouts again love blossoming
we live in this home for people aged
fall stare talk fall in love again
push pull hug kiss and love aged
like a circle we regress or go round again
age is just a number years roll on
live love enjoy and celebrate
Categories:
brittled, beautiful,
Form: I do not know?
Of all the gift to human, conscience is the epitome
when it is clear, it will guide unto a right path
when brittled, the path becomes questionable
When it is alive, many will benefit
when it died, the loss abound.
Categories:
brittled, courage, encouraging, feelings,
Form: Free verse
Through the atypicalities of due process
I wrench my ever-rusted ribcage off it's
Hinges-
Sunlit paradigms,
Dust crusted smiles;
A gaping canyon, I cast toward you
A lightless cavity,
A nothing-prison of brittled bones
Which, caked with dried blood from when
My Heart imploded,
Roll and click against eachother like marbles
In the wicked mouth of fiction
Categories:
brittled, angst, art, depression, devotion,
Form: Free verse
Queen Anne's Lace, brittled brown
donned in snow instead of a crown
off the side of the tar, where the deer still roam
bent toward the wind on their freeway home
From their bird's eye view the cars blur air
They bend in a bow with elegant flair
Although they be broken, no speck of green
They know their own legacy, royalty preen
And once in a while, their subjects take note
as I did on last Sunday while using their road
As a passenger in one of the whooshing cars
Fogging up windows, under their stars
I noticed their caps and their grace and their strength
I swallowed my voice and gave pause at length
They've brushed by my legs in summer, bright green
Jeweled earrings of bees, crowing lace between
Royal Queen Anne's, brittled brown
wears fitting white ice as a noble crown.
Categories:
brittled, life, nature, seasons,
Form: Couplet