it is a fractured version of
fortitude that floats
to the surface;
neither bound nor held —
but ever straining
against the tides
my thoughts form pale flowers
born too soon —
not fated to survive
the cold Sun of March
one moment too long
is all it takes —
and then
you are gone.
a thin, red line hides |in|sanity —
just to paper-cut those strands of hope
when you stray too far.
never will you notice
the sharp sting of heartbreak
when you are used to the shards
& the echo of your footsteps
will not seem less hollow
on this side of the story.
silence surrenders
a maelstrom
truth’s deformity
all screams turn to glass
the bottom
of a shattered life
and every word tastes
like cat piss
swallowed greedily
_______________________________________
5-3-5 syllabic Kelly Lunes (the American Haiku)
come dusk,
feed and shelter
mind’s orphans ~
they may
grow up to be
near future’s
VIPs.
Total eclipse;
where lovers once embraced
darkness lingers;
ashes of vivid flames
still hot on soul’s naked surface
Ruin rages
bitterness gags reason,
passion turns on itself, reveals sharp fangs
and,
stirred by dire injury,
sets out
to cripple,
to maim
Undying love
they swore, voices steady;
once treasured memories
turned to gaping wounds;
tears dry
on hollow cheeks;
agony drips venom
on dull-edged hearts
Consciousness takes hold;
long, sleepless nights reveal
foolishness
of a battle fought
with teeth and nails;
anger fades
and fades
and fades…
with each day
comes an easier breath
Endings are never easy;
and if feelings were true,
under the watchful eye
of the hourglass
love
turns to hurt
turns to hate
turns to heartache
turns to indifference
turns to truce.
__________________________________________________________________
Over at dVerse Poets’ Pub, ManicDdaily has us writing about armistice/truce. This is what I came up with. Come join us at the bar!
photo credits: davidalbarron.blogspot.com
anger turns to sickness,
body feels its weight
but forgiveness… still a million miles away.
i am torn
between peace and chaos
rage tethered to my back
feet stuck
in rapid-hardening cement
while i try
to drag myself
towards relief…
and peace of mind.
it is never easy
to break free
and leave darkness behind.
a needle’s sting
can hurt as fiercely
as a deep cut.
it depends
on how much
you poke and prod.
how peaceful
it feels
to not torture oneself;
to not feel the sting of words linger.
if i had known,
truly known;
would i have started sooner?
i am
only human
after all.
sinful masters preach;
while delicate touch lingers
to wound and heal, both.
___________________________
photo credits: trueportraits.com
trapped
under the torn and dirty nails
of immortal’s hand –
splinters dig deep,
tear long gashes
into the blinded’s bloody eye
while pus and tears
make a paste
on soot-stained bodies.
when squirming
and crawling
isn’t sufficient,
it is time
to wake
the warrior within.
some say
i have
a certain way
to touch
the ones i meet.
empathic, they call it –
and say it with a smile.
for me
it has been
a curse –
encountered each day.
to be able
to touch
means to understand,
to open myself –
and once i do,
wounds
are easily obtained.
i never learnt
to be careful enough.
i hope i will…
the first step
is to be
aware.
I am pissed at someone.
royally pissed. (so pissed, that I will even use capital I’s for this post.)
since this is my cave, I decided to spray paint the walls black and red for a little while… because I really need to blow off some steam.
let’s call this person The Smurf.
the smurf and I went roller skating… for about 3 years. It was great in the beginning – and I mean GREAT… you can’t imagine how much fun we had.
Then came the time where the smurf faced a really steep hill – one, the smurf had no option but to go down. I made sure the 
smurf didn’t fall too hard, took care of the smurf’s boo boo’s, applied more than enough band-aids for a lifetime and basically tried everything to keep the smurf off the concrete. it was fine. it was a pleasure for me to take care of the smurf – because I always thought that the smurf would do the same for me. the smurf did in the beginning… and i was happy.
the hill really was steep, but the smurf mastered it – bravely.
the smurf stayed off the ground.
recently, I had to discover that the smurf also looking out for me wasn’t true… not anymore. I got unstable, took a tumble and fell right on my butt, while the smurf stood idly by… not offering a hand, not even a word. while I had a fresh wound that needed patching up, the smurf was still too busy licking his old wounds and wallowing in the pain they caused.
I do know that some of the wounds the smurf suffered needed stitching and they still need time to heal… but I honestly have no idea how the smurf got so self-centred… and now ignores – and insults – the ones who care about the smurf, whom the smurf once deeply cared about.
sadly, the once so wonderful, caring and friendly smurf now looks like this:
and I am simply sick and tired of looking like this:
I can only hope the smurf will come back around, because underneath, the smurf is beautiful. until then, I will stay away… and let the smurf be grouchy.
if the smurf never comes back… well, so be it. nothing I can – and want to – do about it.
rant over.
now, back to whitewashing my cave’s walls… maybe not white yet, but a brighter shade than black and red… until the storm clouds pass.
i will go now and tape my scowl away… hope i can find tape strong enough for that.
___________________
photo credits: internet
never trust
the face that weeps
for it may be a lie
never trust
the man behind
who soon will pass you by
never trust
the screaming soul
that clings to your distress
but go and trust
once in a while…
to feel trust’s sweet caress
push him to the brink
control
and aggression
|then|
apologies
guilt
“… I love you…”
are you ready for round two?
how long can you endure?
isn’t it nice to be
a ping-pong ball?
churn up
the prince’s image
while the adrenaline dries
on tar-spotted fingers
embrace
the filth of prosecution
and see
who will find
you guilty
after you raid
and rip
flesh from clattering bones.
Another Wandering Soul 