Armor of Impotence

Sitting under the spell of mist,

Amplified by the luminescent light of cresent moon,

We debated the half told lies,

And we advocated the teaching of pride,

And to bolster our fragile argument

Of moulded glass,

We wielded the flaming sword of icy desires,

And the armor of impotence.

And when the silent watcher

Wished to illuminate the one thing we didn’t desire,

The flesh ashened.

The flesh ashened,

Yet we were immune to raw truth,

The flame of all that we seek,

Drifted through the air like a dandelion.

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Why So Much Pride My Son?

Why so much pride?
Is your heart full of hatred,
For the sunshine, and the shade?
Why the pause in-between?
Is your heart in rage, against the dirt, and the water?
Why the middle ground?
I know you are a man of few words.
I know you have a storm brewing inside you.
But why fuel it by suppressing your pain?

Continue reading “Why So Much Pride My Son?”

A Tale Whispered Beneath Raggedy Breathes

There is a tale,

Of weaved words,

That died,

Before reaching my trembling lips.

A cold tale that creeps,

Through the faint open doors,

Of my eyes.

A tale, suppressed,

Begging me, sometimes you.

A tale, crippled,

In dire need for its voice.

A tale of dancing words,

Embracing each other,

In their open arms.

A tale,

Stripped of words,

Yet filled to brim,

With confused affection.

A tale,

Diffusing through the air,

Like a faint scent,

Of spring morning.

The scent,

Without words,

But with pleasure,

That creeps through the pores,

Of our open skin.

A tale of wonders,

Of secrets that can’t be hid,

Despite persistent cloaking.

A tale of unyielding storm,

A tale,

Whispered,

Beneath raggedy breathes,

By you,

And,

By me.

**

Via Daily Prompt: Explore

Questionable Sanity

On certain days,

It is easier to be,

To exist, burning hopes

To the scintillating life.

But their exists a vacancy,

Or maybe a forever lingering presence,

Of fleeting moments,

Of questionable sanity,

When it is the equivalent

Of swallowing sharp stones.

The days when looking at your own reflection

In the mirror, becomes evident

Of staring in the eyes of a stranger.

Those days,

They are just too much for some,

And for some,

It is the chaos in which they exist,

The questionable sanity

In which their fluttering heart

Stays still.

The Moist Dirt

The moist dirt imbibing its tale,

Through pores of tired skin,

The smoke of decay diluting the air,

Of red hours of morning sunrise.

In hours of confusion,

And inefficient light,

the April moon bids goodbye,

Only to be reborn again.

The whirling sounds of human greatness

Ripping apart the harmonious silence

Of lush green.

Here I sit,

Among the wrinkled earth,

In a patch of green

That’s almost obsolete

In this jungle of concrete.

Cliff Of Light

We weave the tales, and rationalize,

And all the evil,

We romanticize.

We all tread the hero’s path,

And yet we fall from the,

Cliff of light.

We sympathize, trotting through,

The overflowing river,

Holding a candle of ignorance.

None of us true to illumination,

We preach the lessons of light.

And then we rationalize,

And we weave the tales of divinity,

And by little pieces, we stitch,

The romantic river of heaven.

A river on the bedrock,

Of broken stones of humanity.

**

Via Daily Prompt: Swallow

The Man Who Created His Own Purgatory

From an ancestry long forgotten,
Into the land of his own scorched earth,
The one he burned himself,
Behind the mountains of his own terror,
There stands a man.

With his blades high,
And terror storming in his mind,
There he screams.

nightmare-1699071_1280 (1)

And with each swing of the blade,
And with each thrashing of the soul,
And with his splatter of blood,
Swirling in the air from his blade,
He stands, frozen, and yet agile.

There he stands, the man we call
Unreal.
The man who creates his own purgatory,
The man who carves his own heaven,
The man who fuels his own hell.
The man who fights the proverbial truth
Etched in grooves of his palms.

When the dust settles,
There he stands,
Under the sunken sky,
An epitome of you,
And me.

skull-782385_1280 (1)

**

via Daily Prompt: Talisman