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Literature Text
My heart is swollen by cicadas' songs;
A moment filled by agape persists
'It turns pearlescent, almost fantastical at the sight of moonrise'
I am uttering your famous words, beloved
How poetic of you, beloved-
Truly wondrous how you uncover hymns and find limericks even in my grief
It speaks of us in volumes
If only the now barren tears I shed at every slivering of moonbeam
Could shudder the ground they fell upon with their might-
As if clashes of shield and sword
I am quipped with no other battle gear
Maybe then I'd have your attention,
Perhaps then I could wake you, quaver you, and finally seize you out of the dulling mire
Let me unearth your sullen solid symphony
Croon for me and pluck on my heart strings once more
You are the only musician who clasps me right and oh how we make enchanting music together
To the grand entity proclaiming this cosmos (if you exist)
Hear this crippled spirit's plea:
Make of my beloved a secret gathering in the sky,
My own Andromedae that I may seek out as often times as my heart would yearn
I am learning you forever
Prithee, allow Gaia and Chronus to their charms as they
Make my bed of cinder
above
your diminished dermis
below
your constant constellation
Only there on that specific point in plane,
On that end-piece would I ever find my never-ending peace
Let agape and her cicadas orchestrate the encore without us
Literature
bed
It's a stabbing sight
Letting in the morning with a crack of the shades
And you forget you could page-turn horizons
Waft through free territory
Where acres are just beds
Made of fresh land
Wrinkles in the river
Tell remembered times
About old languages that could make you cry
About soft beds that carve away canyons
A speaking voice lifted from the earth
Begging you to remember
Literature
Second Sphere
I found part of me by accident
in a Parisian cardboard box
with satin rags; purple ink
depicting people and clouds.
Tungsten from the wires
of lightbulb husks.
He kicked my hand when I pulled him out,
my fingers caught up in the blonde.
Here there are boys who count
the golden rings of Saturn,
and retinas that lick up the sunset.
Pictures of Japanese lanterns on the sea-crest
and swarms of orange fireflies.
Girls who do not dot
their I's with hearts,
and wait for iodine skies
with slow, dripping
thunder.
Literature
Sleeping Souls Never Lie
they buried you
with stars in your palms, because
they thought it was a crime
you'd never made a wish in your life
the dirt and darkness
was enough to extinguish
their dying lights
(it's okay, your silent skin
said, softly, I always wanted
the sky to bring me to sleep)
the priest begged, believing you
might rise from the hole
you'd dug for yourself
he wanted to let you know
there was something bigger than all of us,
someplace farther than 6 feet under
(I'm alright, your stony eyes
swore, sometimes falling
feels enough like flying)
their voices all filled with tears
even though you said you weren't worth
their worries, the
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My soul weeps at the sight of your haunting moon rays
You creep
I cry
We linger
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I'm not really sure whether to classify this as prose or poetry simply because I believe it to be prosetry
---------------------------------------------------------------
Whatever comment, suggestion or scribble you would accommodate this piece with I would be ever so grateful for
Comments are always always always loved
---------------------------------------------------------------
Critiques:
Which line did you like the least?
Which line did you like the most?
Was there real impact at any instance?
---------------------------------------------------------------
EDITED APRIL 02, 2012
You creep
I cry
We linger
---------------------------------------------------------------
I'm not really sure whether to classify this as prose or poetry simply because I believe it to be prosetry
---------------------------------------------------------------
Whatever comment, suggestion or scribble you would accommodate this piece with I would be ever so grateful for
Comments are always always always loved
---------------------------------------------------------------
Critiques:
Which line did you like the least?
Which line did you like the most?
Was there real impact at any instance?
---------------------------------------------------------------
EDITED APRIL 02, 2012
Comments63
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Overall
Vision
Originality Technique Impactthis is a fantastic piece of work! it's so intricate - there are so many layers for me to explore!
which line did you like the least? asfhkdslga too hard. there's nothing that i look at and say "oh dear i really don't like this!" it's great!
which line did you like the most? "let me unearth your sullen solid symphony"
wooooow. just wow. wow.
was there real impact at any instance? yes! throughout the whole piece! in fact, my only real criticism about this piece is that perhaps there is too much of the flowery language? for me personally, it's just sitting the line between enough and too much. but then again, it's your poem, and other people (yourself included?) may not agree!
wonderful work dear <3