second sonnet I ever wrote

-

when dreams felt like showers of stars
and we beyond ourselves move on ahead.
we count the days and try to hide our scars.
when what is left is better left unsaid.

your to much a angel and I a sin.
to corrupt for friendship so I bleed.
to share the world with what has begin.
to be a poor actor in a good scene.

so last of all to share, to dream, to hope.
a tenderness that pushes me alone
to play with the truth and rely on tropes.
you can drag out the past with lies unknown.

but only we know what is the truth
your friends as fans ready the noose.



Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Wayward Bound Or: a warped piano accompanying an epic f@%king poem. (Cluster one, of five.)

-
Image
        an Opera in D-Minor (Call me little horn!)   I wish I was a poet... Looking up at the Spun Sugar (The shade of clouds of the near dark) Whistling some bluegrass tune, as my sweetheart cooks our supper (Some slow cooker chili with jalapenos and banana peppers shore would hit the spot).   I wish I was a catfish swimming through the outer dark of space eating the light and swimming in the abyss. While space pirates dance in their shuttle craft with the naked women they have "liberated" as the carrier they attacked is set ablaze from the inside.   ...The maidens are never to be seen again...   I wish my bones to be picked clean by some prehistoric critter... that I may be devoured... that the loss of my life (through one hell of a struggle) would leave me content despite the meaninglessness of the pain. Because I know in my heart that things worked out.   I'm too tired to be optimistic But lived enough to know It's a thin line between b
Read more

On the potential distance of other worlds. (revision)

-
“My mission in life is to make everybody as uneasy as possible. I think we should all be as uneasy as possible, because that's what the world is like.”                                 - Edrward Gorey                             1          (A prelude and epilogue) "the ravens fly with quickening lines, dreams of mine but gets goodbyes." where shadows move, confused as signs and our lessons fall as loose as rhymes. Where the plague crow follows the storm yet, we are all so busy with our dream. The sign broken still stands alone, maggots also are fond of quivering my nightmare youth or sanity cries "Dreams of mine, remember" he sighs. of "give it your best please you must try." but in spite of the poetry still we die.                               2 Whenever the words escape or are said, "you deserve to get what you get." I feel as if I paraphrase the dead, "are we to believe miseries gift?" A gnostic with zen
Read more

Impractical weapons. part 2

-
Image
Impractical weapons. Or, my evening shadow in the sun. Part-two of Dharma-Discharge. -------Introduction.------- Glistening with honey is that rust all over the evening sun, or, some nostalgic projection on my last if not final of deaths. Oh-well long sighs for summer days and goodbyes. Where's the truth in all these lies! But alas, this is an autobiography; no one expects the truth. So, for this reason, I will not write the story of my life imagined as I remember it. But as I remember imagining it. /v\/ Part 1 - Breathing Dead--- As far as I can tell, I was never born. Though I did wake up from whatever void I was not born into. The reality was cold and did not want me anymore; then I wanted it to be something more. In this grew an abyss and from this abyss an absence. And its fundamental hunger is as much the protagonist of this book as I. Only she was born or, at least, that is how I imagined it. I didn't know her
Read more