Mouldering My Mind

Nothing so coarse as that course

which will take my corpse to the morgue.

A rot in the roots where golden explosions grew,

sees that the soil masks my beauty completely

and my withered state must collect what it's due.

I have let this plant overgrow,

keen to reap the fruits of its embrace when they ripe-

but that comforting clutch is clenching too close

and the now blackening grass is past the graze of my grasp.

I won't be picking fruit again.

Rot

When I'm smothered by the soil

dress me in withering white.

Say a prayer for my soul

and watch me as it takes flight.

When I'm buried in the ground

drop a single pen.

Read to me a eulogy

for me to write again.

When I'm food for the worms

keep the Devil's jaw away.

Do not wish for me to go

but do not wish for me to stay.

When I'm only rotting flesh

let the rain tear me apart.

Cherish the splendor of life

and forget my dried-up heart.

Life is too Long

Contrary to the overused phrase,

life is too long.

Occupied mostly by menial mediocre makeweight moments--

fastidious fragments of filler;

the greater fraction spent feigning death,

a large proportion placed in grudging positions

and just a morsel used to actually live.

100000 pages describing a character

with pretentious pitter-patter

which provides no penetration to the underlying plot.

A perpetual instrumental track,

with unnoticeably subtle progresion

that offers no tying motif to the record's ambiance.

Give me something succinct, condensed

and stimulating--

I hope that I'm dead

by the time this is read.

The Grey Chess Piece

Darkness ultimately devours all,

and rather than shy from it

I wish to fuel it with the Devil's narcotics

and become the light;

a nemesis to the demon Night.

Bring me close to the end

so that I may breathe down the neck of Death,

observe it

understand it,

and defeat it.

He will learn to fear me.

Meaning Found, Meaning Lost

Last night,

fueled by some clear haze--

I discovered

the meaning of life.

I forgot it by morning.

Self-Prescription

My phantom footsteps

float along the filthy floor

of this foul forgotten town.

Slipping through the slime

of otiose citizens

swiftly squandering handouts.

Medicine music

drowns out society's dregs

and deadens my disgusted frown.

Doze

The moon-grazed sleepy poppy fields

lulled my plagued mind into a lucid calm.

The moon gazed at shadows he yields

but had no concern of potential harm.

The sun's sharp prick got me back up.

Rubbing my eyes, I was mad at the day.

No longer numb, I took a cup.

I sipped til the clouds drew the sun away.

My eyelids danced like shooting stars

and my head orbited my drowsy frame,

intending to ask the way to Mars

all I mustered was a mutter; "Who's to blame?".

Second-hand Love Notes

Musky margins with amorous musings

in my used hardback book passed along;

previous owner to lover's perusing

to my own eyes. So uncomfortably wrong,

for these faded fancies were not meant

for me yet fate should have it I read these lines:

"This reminds me of the time we have spent"...

such sweetness I could not hold as mine.

It sickens that such care is discarded

and that the calligraphy's charm isn't cherished,

when someone's read is so well regarded

that their love lives on when the page has perished.

So perhaps paper is the best thing to hold;

its meaning stays true when people's grow old.

Drive It All Over Me

Swimming in the salmon skies

on a Sunday afternoon.

Speeding to where softness lies

when conclusion comes too soon.

Shading in consonant sounds

to dissonant melody.

Sliding through the sun-kissed mounds

to valleys of strawberry.

Smiling upwards at the storm

with its purifying bliss.

Gazing towards my distant home

and the dreams of its soft kiss.

Renascenery

Low hanging wisps on a velvet fabric sky

falling into the ubiquitous wet,

illuminated by poppy flowers

with enough light to prevent the dew to set.

Sweet cinnamon moon brings the rain to rest

and the clouds all part to his potent glow,

dreams dancing sideways back into the day

float into the fire to feel afflictions slow.

She will bring song when such dreaming is done

her fingertips glancing my curtains ajar,

and rays will lead me to her glowing embrace

that which I have often admired from afar.

Sure, the skies shift with stuttered intensity

but I willfully trace her propensity.

Vacillating Vessel

Effulgent and effortless

yet so elusive to find.

Elegant and eloquent,

you are elevated in my mind.

Photographic Detail

I recount brief but concrete memories

when I return to those polaroids of you,

just as resplendent as I'd remembered

and your shining beauty radiates through.

But a photograph could never capture

the fine details that the awestruck eye sees,

like the way you try to fight back your smile

or how your soft hair dances in the breeze.

So that's why I keep on staring at pictures;

I'm afraid of losing the precise science

that blends itself to create a paragon,

an Angel cut from chemicals' compliance.

And though the film may keep some detail intact,

just like a photo, you'd never react.

Seeing/Waiting

You see me,

and I see you back

but we never exchange

much more than that.

A day goes by

where I wonder if I should say

hi,

but you are there

and I am nowhere.

It feels like,

you are beyond the shaded horizons of the globe

while I am starstruck on the Sun

and so I wait-

for the day when you see,

that I am waiting, and waiting

for you to see me.