end

The Mad Sails

~ sixthsymph ~ 2 Comments

And the sea was the color of lead;

Old sails writhed,

Like trapped snakes,

In the storm;

/

The few sea miles between two sea shores

Was a distance

Much to great

For her;

/

And the voices inside of her head

Sang:

‘This time you’re

Not making it home’;

/

‘You have minutes

To laugh or to weep,

To feel pain

Or be joyful and strong’;

/

‘You can regret or be grateful for

Every time

You could break

The world’s rules’;

/

‘You can curse those who hurt you

Or thank

Them for gifting you

With the armor of light’;

/

‘What you love, you’ll never again

Hold;

What you dream of

Now will not come true’;

/

‘You are over, and as you let go

Of ‘you’,

Do not sink, like this boat,

In the ocean!’

/

And her breath grew as heavy as death,

And her eyes

Were mirrors

To the monsoon skies;

/

The waves swallowed at last

Her mad sails;

Tired screams slept

In the water’s arms;

/

The sea soon turned a glowing turquoise,

And in the open skies

There soared

A lone bird

Wonderland

~ sixthsymph ~ 6 Comments

A life in ruin,

With every founding brick

Crushed into crimson dust,

Again;

/

To start anew, where

In this frigid, barren land

Do I begin to look for

The strength?

/

Under the moon I

See but pale ghosts

Of what has been,

And miss

/

The things I loved

And thought I knew, but

It seems now like they never

Did exist

/

Under the sun I

See only silver whirlwinds

Of rising dust, and breathe

Them in:

/

I was the one,

Out of whose mind they have escaped,

And so to hide them in my chest

I shouldn’t fear

/

Under the spring rain

I’ll kneel and slowly wash myself

Of everything I used to dream of

And dread

/

So when the skies

Are clear, I can begin to build

Another beautiful but fragile

Wonderland

Start/Stop

~ sixthsymph ~ 6 Comments

I am not cold –

I am the cold:

The ice I touch

Is the heart hidden from me

/

I’m not in pain –

I am the pain,

And I devour me,

The sufferer turned suffering

/

I’m not alone –

I’m solitude itself,

Sitting in empty rooms,

Talking with her mouth closed

/

I am not dying –

I am being born;

I’m starting nothing –

I have never stopped