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like every other cometI believe in enduring love
for other people
I believe in bridges that don't burn
as long as I'm not one of two points
I believe in meteor showers
I have learned about entropy
through intangible pain
I think the most difficult part of growing up
is realizing how much
and how little
I know that I contradict myself constantly
the high wireyou traverse tight rope words with ease
avoid the tangle of spiders' webs
touch the snagged threads of water
as the tide rises and ebbs
you weave the symbols from your wrists
place variable lengths in place
your mind dances nimble as your feet
when you catch equations to erase
there are functions with no solutions
yet you resiliently press against entropy
all this logical movement toward conclusion
that defies analogy
you've spoken diamonds from the river
shaped the banks into tangible ground
as water washes away pigment
your voice explains the sky with sound
there are finite oases of harmonics
between which dissonance abounds
yet it is the simple act of breathing
that breaks the monotonous silent mounds
the sepulchers so many whose frustrations
have been ignored
you bring a tender association
with which you heal the greater world
whether in effort or mere existence
your breath gives life and hope
there are pieces of this poem
that were once confined with rope
but the knots were undone
the patchwork quiltI forgot to wake with the sunrise
I walked through half the day
and thirty two miles
with my eyes closed
like the petals of a youthful rose
timid of the intangible emotions
too complex to disentangle
cutting my leaves upon my own thorns
and then in realization
I found myself 32 years older
and hundreds of miles away
from where I started out
a squiggle on a map
a dead pixel on the screen
life ain't a chorestrung like the guitar of the sky
I will sing the songs of concern
that give rise to creases upon my face
and as taut as the steel
that sings harmonic chords
I will weather change
upon every shore
sailing through life
as it is a pleasure
and not a chore.
gods of the guillotinewe all wander like gods
after the guillotine
surgery to circumspect
any external aspect.
we are all the nines
out of a scale of ten
peer pressure of the angelic kind
we starve like saints
and bleed like sinners
threaded through the eyes
needle after needle
woven by our c
would that I could listenI prefer guard rails to god
stairs to elevators
stars to light bulbs
and knives to guns
would that I could listen
to all of our sons
their hopes and fears
encourage their screams
and stifled tears
lessons that would
blot out the light of day
I offer you a pulse
without an attempt at sway
convincing was never a pressure point
I cared to place a finger upon
trading a queen for shorter chess pieces
life to which we must
constantly renew leases.
would that I could write down
and record the pain
offer comfort in place of disdain
I prefer love like a flame
that burns eternal
fed from within
by connections beyond material
I would not wish to be other than I amafter the nightmare of forgetting to breathe
I had a wish that these embers
beneath my skin
would simply leave
but I can no more quench my burning
than stop my heart
nor leave this body behind
for all that I am apart
or a part
of the earth and the air
and the water
and the flame
I choose these words
chose freedom and affection
love and loss
after the nightmare
and its subsequent dross
I would not wish to be
other than I am
merely presenting these scars
upon open hands.
a spark of internal beliefstudying the rising sun
and the bullet holes through my shirt
sleeping upon a sepulcher
with a knife
and dreams to knit
I am whole
beneath the moon
with nothing left to fit
the pieces that were pushed out
by projectiles from afar
I have gathered back from enemies
by following an internal star
studying the setting sun
the red rays of firelight
finite miraclesthin words stretch forth slowly forth
emerging from my mouth
letters in the haze of smoke
escaping my cerebral pouch
I have the moonlight
to which I etch the glass
several sequences of symbols
twenty three pairs in a single splash
thin words that spell out the complexity
of my path
a phone call at the witching hour
devoid of wr
Slivers of light(French version below)
The most dreadful winter of my life came.
I abandoned the idea of a blossoming future,
Fled the misery of my own motherland,
For a woman I have far too often dreamt of.
Among the singing buds of the Shinto shrine
A white plum caresses my back,
Its petals lull me, my eyes are sealed, sweet reverie,
A convent of grass
The junk of my thoughts
Send me to Amaterasu.
Blushing Lotus, enticing Lilacs, panting Azaleas,
So many mistresses!
Enough perfumes to be drunk from them.
Why, my promise, have I been waiting so long to join you?
Your hair like Sakura flowers
Your laughters sound like Shamisen.
Over the pond, a dragonfly sits down and begins to dream
Masquerading FlowersPink and white ruffles
bend and sway as
green leaves and thick stalks
waltz their blooms
through a balmy breeze.
taste-test the air,
sweeping for danger;
faux petals move
an inch at a time
high above the forest floor.
A vibrant orchid mantis
plays it cool
and takes it slow,
masquerading as a still-life
in a mobile world.
FireThe fiery warmth.
The sparks of red and orange.
Destructive, passionate, yet mesmerizing.
In an instant, it can take away a life through its destructive ways.
But yet, it can save a life with its warm embrace.
The fire spreads.
The tongues of flame licking at the fuel,
Its light throwing shadows dancing across your face.
Dangerous, yet safe.
Angry, but calm.
Harmless, until one spark lets loose.
Then the fire is free.
The master of chaos,
Hidden beneath a façade.
Wait until the veil crumbles,
To reveal its true power
Monarch MorningsMistress Monarch spreads
over white-capped mountains,
a new dawn seen through
thin antennae masks
and yellow-trimmed lace.
I have a bouquet of light
of shattered sunrays
that shun those
whose rose is not as rubicund
or whose cerulean is only slightly sea-green-stained.
Slice up the white
and imprison it in sardine cans
and push the plungers home.
But no matter how much you may try
the result is death;
for you've frayed the perfect threads
And only dried minerals and plasma
some darker version of the cosmic latte concentrated.
My heart is a prism.
All that's around me
some hibernating humming
frozen beneath the winter's coat.
I must be a time machine,
because I cannot abide this monochrome much longer.
And I've sprung forward to spring.
I'm seizing the icicles
that drip from the pallid clouds
and stripping them
and cutting them
and setting them
and in my heart they are transcribed
and flowers bloom
in the rumination of the sunlight.
a host to the aquatic fermentation
and I sip this bouquet
an imitation of the future,
In a momentary fall
Prodding the air
Crushed with the rest
Melt like your brethren
I never liked you anyway
The Blue CurseIn the fit of rage,
At the stupidity of mankind,
The rain was fiercely angry,
And in her anger,
Long ago, in the storm,
The rain cursed mankind.
The curse burned deeper
Than the brightest red,
Not bringing about senseless anger,
But instead a heartbreaking sadness
That broke them,
But left them alive.
It was blue tears,
And those blue feelings,
That ruined them.
From blue gave birth to the other colors.
For what comes from sadness but change?
So blue became sadness.
Each generation of mankind,
Turned bluer, and with each lifetime
The sky turned grayer.
Until it was but a pitch black.
And the rain was satisfied
With her work.
And the Blue Curse
Both Sides of Her HeartI didn't ask for this to be thrown at me
I didn't ask for this role.
I was chosen to lead a pack,
But I can't lead myself.
I didn't ask to fall in love with two
And be torn apart by both.
I could never kill either,
Yet I know I must.
I didn't ask for pups
Or the life that I live.
I don't know if I would've chosen it
If I had the choice to.
I didn't ask for this,
But I have it none the less;
So I should spend what little time I have
Joyously with those I love.
For I love two males,
And I know both are great;
For I am told
From both sides of my heart.
the composite solitudea bleached bone whale canoe
woke from crossing the sky
to find itself
buried beneath the sand
the hills were ruined
cathedral trees gone
leaving only burnt bones in the soil
like everything else unfeeling
it cannot harness memory
the anthropomorphic entity
but never more
than a concept
so you wear needles
along your inner thighs
an olive branch bridge across
hear it snap
just like a dove's neck
a peace symbol
the solemn psalm
but syllables blossom
with the voice of the bone whale
harmonizing baleen with stained glass
orphaned tears of the summer
falling across your barren back
I'd cleanse you this one time
kissing away the dust
till you were innocent of time
filaments of whale marrow
and your body merges
with the shifting of cloud
swiftly the bone becomes a limb
the motion of fingers
from index to palm
You're Not A PoetYou’re not a poet because of strung words
Together on row upon row again
Of blank verse or perhaps liberal rhyme.
‘Slam’ all you want, other poets wonder;
Your ignorance of couplets a blunder?
Yes! I speak harshly, but it’s no gross crime,
To point with honesty failed verse of thine.
No real poet discards upper case words;
Lets prose crawl on paper like listless worms.
You seek to free verse of those stern letters,
Sever away bleak capital fetters,
But it doesn’t sing of great speech sublime,
Rather, it sneaks of writing in spare time.
Wait! before you throw me in the icy Rhine;
It’s hard to put verse together in rhyme,
To make our dull words sound great all the time,
Hear them ring out loud, like a clear clock’s chime,
Heralding a poet’s summer prime.
Yet the sacred muses weep at your crime;
Your pentameter mangled thick like slime,
The subject not gilded in raiment fine;
Your bold ink font, crystal waters divine
Tastes bitter to the ton
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More