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Read and Recite.Poetry is not
words
pushed from the mouth
like a race
to orgasm.
Poetry
is the sound of the mind
stripping its gears, measured
by the opening
and closing
of a cranial trap door.
Or,
a single drop
of blood
in an ocean of pomegranate juice
(the refined palette
tastes the salt) --
Who knew words
were heavier
than air?
Shipping Out.His eyes water, but never spill over.
My chest heaves, but never bursts.
The last time we say "I love you,"
is the time he says it first.
Down, But Not OutFeel free to forget
that which festers in places only reachable by trespass.
There is so little point to counting your blessings
when in dreaming you revel in things that have passed beyond resurrection
and into personal history.
And they have always loved "that story";
Even in a drunken stuper she remembers.
And in sleep...
beneath the turbid waters of a dark ocean the wounds are as fresh --
as tender and as bloodied --
as they were before the salt,
five years buried...

I wonder all the time if you remember it like I do.
Fondly, if with thorns.
But I miss that touch.
I miss the violence
of your selective intimacy.
You
SometimesSometimes
I wake up from my dreams smiling
Because I can feel your arms around me
Then I remember...

I wonder if you think about me too
If you miss talking and laughing with me
Holding me close and protecting me
But maybe that's selfish of me to think

Do specific songs you hear on the radio
Make you tear up? Remind you of when we
Were happy and things were going well?

I wonder what you feel when you hear my name
Or when you see a car that looks like mine
Does your stomach drop?
Mine does

Do you use your depression as an excuse
To hide that how you feel is because of how hurt
You are like I do? Too afraid to admit that you
L
Transatlantic.I know
there is no shame
in counting crows on bedposts.
Maybe if I had laughed you would
have stayed.

Fingers
drum on windows
like rain across shutters:
somebody knew, and nobody
spoke up.

Somewhere
man is a lake
and woman a river:
I knew the salt.  The ocean froze
again.

The lie
we told ourselves
was nothing to the distance.
It crushes dreams like so many
tin cans.

Give up.
God knows we tried.
But when that morning comes
there will be no brackish streams.  No;
just salt.
The False HeroI lean back against the door
As I watch him take a deep breath

For a moment or two it looks like he isn't sure anymore
But soon enough he steadies his breath

I have known for a long time I'd live to see this day -
The day I send him off to war

As a child, he kept telling me about how he wanted to become a "hero", like the ones in all of those glorious stories.
But as he grew up, he found out that those kinds of "heroes" didn't really exist.

Yet, he foolishly did not give up
He still wanted to be a "hero"

Instead of being someones knight in shining armor
He settled with being some nations` puppet solider.

I couldn't help but think
Playing AngelYou stare up at a strong, neutral being.
A being who cannot help but love without condition.
Your pure human tears run down your cheeks,
Splattering onto the cold stone floor on which you kneel.

She allows you to cling to her skirts,
Bury your face in them and sob.
She promises to take care of you.
She is only playing Angel.

Inside she breaks herself to show care in her eyes,
For those who demand it from her,
Who think she is safety.
No one could imagine she could hurt.

You think she is the strongest you have seen.
Her love is without condition.
She is forever generous.
She is only playing your Angel.

In secret, her heart lie
Lonely Gods"I wish my body to be a staircase

to heaven."  She said, "A conduit

of lonely Gods."—Swaying

pendulum hips, she, she

was made of stardust.- Scars sleeping

above a city of sweet bones, stirring

like sun-stricken scorpions during

hollow painkiller nights,

mistaking her redred burns

for Apollos kisses.

"Sadly, this body has whispered away
the last of my secrets."
why we cannot sleep at night.i.
we have grown so accustomed
to wearing our masks
and yet
we still wonder why
we feel
so
alone.

ii.
the night sky
is calling my name
and i find that
i cannot close my eyes
because
my corneas are stars
and i'm falling
like coins-
rusted and fading,
forever switching owners
forever out of place

iii.
(sometimes
i think,
loneliness is a disease
and
the world is infected.)
These Three WordsShe hears the words
But cannot accept them
That cherubic face
Those pearly eyes

Uncomprehending, disbelieving
So insecure of the blind truth
Why she can't see it, I wonder
I'm certain everyone else can

The mirror on her wall must lie
Jealous to the point of treachery
For how could it compare?
To that shining face, that flowing hair?

I whisper those three words
Slowly, deliberately
So that she may not doubt her senses
I whisper them so that she may know

I whisper them
And the blood thuds in her ears
What did he say?
It must not be true!

Each syllable rolls off my tongue
Sweet and innocent
As the morning dew
On a blade of
Os(Iris)Your eyes are like a city
filled with pedestrians and over-
grown footpaths;
Schoolboys hopping fences
as soldiers return from war.

There are tales of love
and loss to be found here,
between the Parisien cafés
and Dutch bicycle paths.

Down desolate alleyways
I found you again and again,
buried beneath the ruins
of old monuments;
I hear you sighing as you
rebuild them, piece by piece,
muttering only the word
'if'.

If only you could see this city
and the landscape that surrounds it,
the sprawling vistas and
hidden crawlspaces;

You would know the
heartache of being and
the beauty of living.

You are all that is known
TerminalYour memories lean against my doorframe
And I wonder what the turnaround is
For an injury such as mine
The ghost whispers

It's terminal

That's when I slide down the hall
Ragged jagged pillars of salt
Down the wall
Still I can't shake your lethal aura

Your pretty plague
Settles like dust
In the corner of perpetual tyranny
Where I'm bleeding and choking

Saccharine words
Wounds that won't heal
Because it's terminal

The memories told me so
Stepping StonesWe were both hurt, you and I
    Sadly...by each other
       (though I know I'm the one who started it)
You were the one who built the bridges I burned.
I guess I never realized they weren't just mine.

There is a river the size of the world between us
but it isn't deep.
I've crossed it in my mind a thousand times
    when all I needed to do was cross it in reality just once.

When I pushed you away,
I saw how strong you were on your own.
Without me
    in a way that I could never be strong.
And it scared me.
Why would someone as strong as you
    need a weak thing like me?

And I see you on your peak as I stand on my own.
Dear YouDear you,

The person I used to know.
I can't tell you how many times you stroll through my mind
leaving memories of younger days
     Sometimes happier days
     Sometimes days of sadness or anger
but always days of friendship, one way or another, in your wake.
Like a breadcrumb trail amidst a sea of ravens.
And I miss you even though I pretend I don't.

Black and white pictures make me think of you
because you were never so clear.
Just when I thought I had you figured out
You'd introduce a whole new spectrum.

We both grew up
and apart...
Our paths leading us places we never ima
But TodayYesterday
I made a promise to myself that I would never
let you control my thoughts again.
But today
I can't help but think of you.

Yesterday
I told you that I'd be strong enough
to keep these acid tears at bay.
But today
I am a mess of mascara and eyeliner.

And yesterday
I thought I was strong
Yesterday
I thought my heart had finally healed
Yesterday
I thought you didn't matter anymore.
But today
today, today
today...

I am wrong.

Yesterday
I erased the memory of those eyes
that always made me melt.
But today
my frosty resolve cracked.

Yesterday
I vowed not to wonder
if you ever think of me anymore.
But today,
no
Browse More Like This

More from ~xxDearOblivionxx

The Man That I Love.For the first time his hands
are wider than my hands.
The pads of his fingers tell stories across my wrists,
deeper lines than I've ever seen trap glittering minerals.
And despite his outward roughness,
he is softer still than the bunched fists that held me fast,
kept me for years in a harder bed than his.  
He tends a wider history,
kneels among the rows and breathes life into the tired soil.
In the absence of rain, he draws from a deeper narrative:
I borrow the ladle and drink.
If I could, I'd bring him the world while he sleeps,
the fondest victim of his midnight whisper --
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years spent harvesting the fruit of the seed w
Things That Burn.I remember this trap,
the familiar burn of the tightening snare.
Already I'm fingering the whitened scars of old ropes on my ankles,
tasting the metallic tang of words we can't take back,
of phrases I won't forget,
married mouths that will haunt my empty fingers.
Here another love, purer than the intervening years wasted chasing it,
swallowed by the Atlantic with its lapping, pitiless teeth.
But what of cool nights and empty cradles?
Hands left clutching at your coat tails, another five years
at the mercy of a phone line...
No boots on the hardwood,
no creaking shutters, no crunching gravel,
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and an empty dock.
How c
Leave Pending.I do not have words
for the wideness of the gap:
I just want you home.

Featured in Groups

:iconthewritingobsession: :icontruly-you-will-do: :icontower-artists:
×

Karma.

:iconxxdearoblivionxx:

The truth is
I have hoarded your words.
Made haphazard stacks on on the stairs,
on the grand piano
so I would not forget as well
or as thoroughly
as you have.

For now, new beds play host to the faded pages
of a notebook, the one I used to write letters to you
that I never sent, that spent so many years under the pillows.
Washed in the laundry, the ink leaves black stains on white sheets,
determined to exist,
Somewhere.

There are ghosts beyond the shadow of the fabric.
In that place where poetry comes from,
they're counting the threads of our histories.
They intersected, I know they did:
You read it.
I wrote it down.

Flames lick the edges of the bound volume.
Paper
is cheaper
than leather --
But you knew that.

It burns faster.
I suppose you knew that too.

70

9 4 1
:iconxxdearoblivionxx:

Karma.by ~xxDearOblivionxx

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Download HTML download, 1,011 bytes
No idea where this came from.

I struggled with the division of the last two stanzas...i tried them together and apart and couldn't make a decision, so I went with what sounded right out loud.

Comments and critiques much appreciated.
©2012-2013 ~xxDearOblivionxx
Category: Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

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November 27, 2012
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:iconcontaminatedlove:
~ContaminatedLove Dec 8, 2012  Student General Artist
Featured here: [link] c:
Reply
:iconebony-tiger:
~Ebony-Tiger Nov 28, 2012  Student General Artist
Wow. Another work that's a punch to the gut.

Beautiful. I'm too bound by emotion to look at this with constructive criticism in mind.
Reply
:iconxxdearoblivionxx:
~xxDearOblivionxx Nov 28, 2012
Thank you <3 This one was really organic, I'm pretty proud of it.
Reply
:iconebony-tiger:
~Ebony-Tiger Nov 28, 2012  Student General Artist
I really don't blame you for feeling pride. *grins*
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