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Ekso Ekso Poem
what truth falls from these lips is gold,
and the truth is that I am pyrite,
and the lies are the aureate smiles
that beam sunshine to start your day
but in reality mark the end in glittering, golden twilight.
a travesty of the honesty,
$8 at the gift store,
praying you think you see
the sheen that befits a majesty,
and forget that lesson in science class
that labeled me as...
doppelganger,
wannabe,
imposter,
gold as much as quartz are diamonds...
but after the purchase, who cares?
Marvel at me and later recall
that you chose Fool's Gold
and thus you are a fool,
and thus I belong to you.
*I'm not sure about the rest of the poem starting from the second stanza. Does it fit? Does it feel right? Comment your feedback. Note that this comment will be taken down after a period of time.
Copyright © Ekso Ekso | Year Posted 2015
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Ekso Ekso Poem
I am a lullaby,
soft, silk sheets surrounding your ears,
such a lullaby
that sways the mind to halt its gears.
I am a lullaby,
the pill your heart swallows to fall asleep,
such a lullaby
that moves Death to sing when it comes to reap.
Copyright © Ekso Ekso | Year Posted 2014
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Ekso Ekso Poem
Hours in the day,
What for do they exist?
If only to be whittled away...
Copyright © Ekso Ekso | Year Posted 2014
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Ekso Ekso Poem
The days are water
trickling by,
dripping, dropping globules
falling from somewhere high,
past the clouds,
past the trees,
past the hands of the thirsty
trembling on their knees.
Copyright © Ekso Ekso | Year Posted 2014
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Ekso Ekso Poem
The curtains fly apart at 6;
the sunlight that knocks on my window
is like bird wings, knocking on the glass pane,
which flutter like
the fluttering of eyelids whose time has come to unfurl,
unfurl like the petals of flowers reborn the morning after winter.
Copyright © Ekso Ekso | Year Posted 2015
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Ekso Ekso Poem
Love is like an ocean,
one moment, a calm, liquid plain,
the next a torrent of mountains
that crash down
and tear themselves apart.
Copyright © Ekso Ekso | Year Posted 2014
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Ekso Ekso Poem
are half full of water
seasoned with a pinch of salt
extracted from abysmal oceans
residing behind faucets
built into our eyes.
Copyright © Ekso Ekso | Year Posted 2015
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Ekso Ekso Poem
You can blame the music,
although it earned the rare distinction of solace.
You can blame the message,
although it only ever filled me with courage.
But you won’t ever blame the dampness
nor the humidity of the oppressive air
that in combination formed the nursery
for the ugly thoughts I would come to bear.
You can blame my friends,
although of deaf ears, they lent me absolutely none.
You can blame their attitude,
although it shields them from the damage your kind has done.
But you won’t ever blame the abysmal fog
that shot to hell all nautical sense
to navigate the tempest of your temper
at the cost of my own confidence.
Eyes that gluttonize imperfection,
sate yourself on your owners.
Copyright © Ekso Ekso | Year Posted 2016
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Ekso Ekso Poem
Why is this blank paper staring at me?
It’s getting annoying, so I stare back,
but the winner of this contest is already decided.
Why is it getting under my skin?
Possibly because by the 6th line of this verse
I should be 4 stanzas in with its clean white face
tattooed with erase marks, cross-strikes, carrots,
every corner crammed with hastily scribbled paisleys
While I’m still in the past, let me
brandish my pencil, my sword, my key
to awe-inspiring quatrains that would gallantly sing
over the cacophony of world that ceaselessly screams
While I’m still in the past, let me
dive into my notebook after jumping off reality,
sink to the bottom of the pool residing in my reverie
and exhale bubbles of poems from a long gone memory
While I’m still in the past, let me
pen a letter on how flowers and paisleys and haphazard poetry
can reconstruct the architecture behind crumbling synapses
belonging to the nostalgia-devoted author of this eulogy
whose last farewell to herself is a vestige of her legacy
Copyright © Ekso Ekso | Year Posted 2016
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Ekso Ekso Poem
I inhale vapors spiced by Aurora’s deep tang and her sweet, rose kiss,
on such nameless mornings all my ghosts combine,
folding into neatly pressed layers of gossamer sheets
offering the refuge of a cocoon before a world that stares.
I stare back…
Deep within the ruins of my crumbling synapses
sleeps a once magnificent theatre, a retired smile generator.
but now on this nameless morning it awakens and starts rolling
a classical favorite, my sacred memories distorted on the big screen:
it was a mosaic yet an orchestra,
honey soaked melodies, the sweetest notes sparkled like gems embedded
in the stained glass wings of butterflies drifting up and down in the wind
like staircase symbols on classical sheet music
And I chased after the music,
pursued the butterflies to the end of the field
only to grasp the remnants of a dissolving symphony.
I inhale the vapors of a nameless morning,
wrapped in the robes of all my ghosts combined,
reflecting on how long until those ghosts leave me
to cross the grave disconnect between me and tinkling butterflies
to stand unblinkingly alongside a world that stares.
I stare back.
Copyright © Ekso Ekso | Year Posted 2016
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