Wonder

With wonder in his eyes

and a snotty little nose,

leapt out of the wilderness

a little boy of hope.

gazing vastly at the horizons,

amazed at the unison of the skies and sea.

He felt a deep growing agony

a void within the stormy seas,

to  be filled with love and sanctity.

Then came the swivel,

of the cold winter breeze,

carrying with it a precious little snowflake,

a structure, from the infinitely unique.

The boy found excitement in the cold,

and shivered on to keep hold,

of this mesmerizing creature

that brought wonder in galore.

But the winds would not blow a lifetime

and the winter would soon ashore

the intricate structure slowly melting,

leaving only a moist reflection,

in the tears that wished for more.

Agony replaced the bowels of wonder

and the excitement was drowned in the flooded gloom.

A dire soul with a sulking head

raised up to the sky

to find a glimmer of hope.

The twinkles did earnestly respond

and an enlightened heart, brought up once more.

Stargazing in admiration,

the misery was swept by the glazing oars.

lit up by the infinite lights

a kindred soul chased a falling being once more.

With arms stretched to the horizon

glimpses of unison were finally abode.

But the skies were truly unreachable

and shooting stars much farther than ones arms could hope.

the light was never for the wondering

and the fascination was confined to the night light

leaving as soon as dawn kissed the edge-less hole.

the darkness lay siege once more

with a morning light of sorrow

cast upon the dreaming fool.

no wonder left to hope,

no skies to hold in dreams of ‘morrow.

Only then, came the burning feel.

A flickering splinter

struggling to keep its speed.

An admiration was found again,

as he chased the descending entity,

before it burnt up in whole.

A fire dimly burning

lit up in an ever colding heat.

As he felt the burn on his fingertips

it was fascination that grew anew.

Two damaged little flickers

burning each other out of gloom.

One with varying admiration

coupled with a struggling ray of hope.

They would surely burn up together.

A calming halcyon to be restored.

 

Empty Beds

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I miss the human warmth,

in all of these connections.

A soul laying weight besides,

un-tethered in its cryptic glory.

the feel of a gentle cheek,

on the hurting trembling chin.

A wave of flowing hair,

caressing the fingertips of sin.

When exactly did I stumble this far beyond?

Seeking warmth in an ocean of glacial spawn.

Where exactly does my rest belong?

Searching aethers for the ever-gone.

All Souls

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All souls taste death.

But death comes before life itself.

We reap together in sorrow,

each soul in its agony.

Writhing away in the pain,

the unending pledge of misery.

All souls light up in courage,

the boys get beaten,

the girls get raped.

We are never truly let go,

a hellish existence constricting

every sentence of the story,

ending with periodic failure.

We can slither together,

huddle up in the warmth,

but the cold is ever lasting,

it picks us off one by one.

All souls cower at the hands of fear

where lust wears emotion

and we are conquered by the journeyed few.

they end our dreamless love

in a fathomed experienced blow.

All souls taste death,

but all souls live through death.

Mirthless

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Life, was a mirthless tremor of agony,

filled with hopes left only to despair,

a sour glooming destiny.

Anger was all that wept

from the eyes in tear-less tyranny.

Love, was a fruitful ambition.

With no remorse,

and a reach-less goal,

countered only with hail and dusk

to end with fruitless remedy.

Osiris Rose

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Petals of the crescent

lay bloom a heartless glow.

Shivers through the lone-some,

red tips to light the soul.

Each heavy with the sorrow,

burning inward with its grim.

Osiris smiles upon thee

in a hollow shaken whim.

The Cases of Life

this is a response to a daily prompt here

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Black leather covering, etched in silver sides, filled with paper, legal documents and a hint of vodka. The first suitcase I ever came across was my father’s. Only saw it a few times though, the same can be said of its owner.

Large, brown, torn up and stitched together with patchy holes filled with memories and love. A perfect storage for the day, a comfy bed and blanket for the night. The suitcase we lived out of in a spark of homelessness.

Pink, linen edges, sparkly glittering overlay with, layered with stickers and pictures. My travel companion, a little piece of satisfaction as I headed off to college.

Stripes, red and blue with purple shades, stringy sides and a patchy blend. A portion for all your hip new needs and a laptop side for the business package. My shelter in the bustling life of youthful employment.

Wooden, jet black, a comfy soft interior, fit for a life well lived. The final suitcase I acquired. A coffin with its own storage desire.

The Rites of May

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The rites of May

bring the tides of envious change.

When lovers seek another’s gaze,

hearts crumble in dismay.

The hands of ease

tremble in the glee of yester-yields.

The harvests come, the shadows undone.

Plead forth the righteous words.

May your sorrow end,

May the justice come.

Plead forth your right of love.

May the sorrows end,

may the heart-falls come.