I wanted it to end
the pain of thought as my only companion
trapped in this cocoon of self preservation
caught in the caterpillar phase of existence
unaware of the manifestation ahead
moth or butterfly?
I draw her portrait on this blank canvas
with words cast in rainbow colors
as the sun rises through her bedroom window
casting silhouette shadows of drying paint
the image of her visage, smile on her face
adding radiance to the rays of light through
these silk curtains.
She lies naked covered only by the white sheet
stained with romance, sweat from sessions of love making
in the journey through celestial bodies
to dance with angels, tramp on demons
with music in sync with our beating hearts
rhymes written in moans and groans
fullstops and commas of orgasmic rhythm.
We were more than alive
souls intertwined with unseen strings
purple kisses on her neck
gentle caress on her breast
the stroking of the artist’s brush on her skin
staring deep in her sparkling eyes
diamonds in a ruff
tears of joy
like clear springs on a green meadow
the garden of Eden
I found my missing rib.
The poet never gets the girl
like a sad sarcastic tune on a violin string
the sound of his breaking heart
echoes in the persona of his poem.
Her water broke
and mother nature rained tears of bitterness
as if in sync with the pain of her son
pen in hand
he sought to depict the image of the crash
when he fell in love
but not to a bed of roses
but down to this valley with jagged cliffs
and sharp edges.
The trees danced a furious trance
in the winds that wailed
the death of his loving heart
killed by the sharp point of Cupid’s arrow.
The storm brewed
that hell hath no fury…
droplets of water
hitting the earth with the force
of an army of gods
sounding the battle cry
the war has just began.
The dark clouds hover in the sky
to hide the radiance of her smile.
Dear Miss Sunshine,
after spring must come winter
the coldness of your shoulders
freezing the pools that we once swam in
to seek freedom like the constellation of stars
in a dark November night
wake me up when September ends
for in the rush of August
you put out the sun.
Every saint has a past, every sinner a future.
The Grim Reaper
She leads me to the guillotine
down this golden path laced with silver
linings of dark clouds heavy with blood
red droplets of tears from the skies
falling like libations to fallen ancestors
sacrifice to these demons that eat our souls
predating on our spirits
that the weak seem strong, the strong seen as weak.
Dressed in black, she has a mask for a face
black mascara, eye shadow and red lipstick
she has me in a trance, eyes set on the movement of her ass
hands held firmly on her chest, heart beaten
on her knees looking up to me with eyes deep like
the shadow of the valley of death.
I am high, she is my drug
infused in fumes like burning herbs at the altar
I touch clouds, speaking with angels in
tongues only we understand.
Secondary brain in action
blood drained from my head
I cum knocking at her door
look through her window to see if anybody’s home
she lets me in
stare deep into her hallway
pictures on her wall, portraits of men long gone
lost in the maze of her charm
somebody pinch me, wake me
from this trance, dance of death with she
The Grim Reaper.
This Dark Maze of Thoughts
conjured memories of past lives
present times marred by broken clocks
stars rain down in the night
the ire of the gods
when mortals considered immortal
and immortals cursed mortal
fine lines in morality
good and evil polarity
that never sleeps