poetry

(TYIP) Iris

I am lost in her roars,
As she devours me,
Folds me inside her darkness,
entombs me in old echos, whole

She is not an evil thing, I know
Though I am haunted in her
black, yawning belly—
abandoned, grasping

And I yearn, so much that
She weeps for me, too
I yearn for the sun to ignite
once again— my sun, to rise

I am lost in a fever dream
of hope in droplets of color mending
my brokenness
For I am still living, breathing,

My strength is mine,
failing as it could be,
And I am not hers, but
She is mine

She is my days that pass,
She is my desperation and
My laughter, and she, with
Gentleness, unfolds—

and bears witness to My
Rise
To shore.

Flower prompt: Iris— hope

my gentle decimation

I fell in love with my sadness

With her primordial existence inside me

With her magic, ancient and devious

and raw

and maddening

Leaving me yearning to be abandoned

in a city of quiet ghosts

in the safety she promised,

where no other soul exists

where the day’s no longer

aglow, and the night’s calm

is no more

where I am stranded in an

eternal forlorn onset of darkness

that drapes forsaken buildings, ruins

I want it, that terrifying quiet

I want the desolate pleasure of

exploring it, scrutinizing its secrets

After the world has ended

and everyone’s gone,

and waiting for me

to follow suit.

(TYIP) Poppies

I lost myself

In the vast wonder of my mind

In the ethereal loneliness of

The folds of my dress

In colors of sunrises

And sunsets.

There’s no pain here, lining

the final whispers of joy

and cheer, of sorrow

But then I find myself

Growing

Prying peace from

the very end

Claiming it mine

Touching my dream

Barely, tenderly,

With fractions of the light.

Flower prompt: poppies— eternal dreams, sleep, peace, death.

I C A R U S

 

Speak to me

of the son of Daedalus

who tasted upon his lips

her freedom

and upon his eyelids

her warmth

Speak to me

of his wings that gave in

plunged him, watched his being

shatter as it struck sea

his delirious soul, drunk on innocence

on sin

Speak to me

of my pristine self

as my back meets the harness

and my new wings

as I stand on the edge,

as the Sun beckons

freedom

 

 

 

(don’t) Live

Run

What from? I would

Ask my dread

But instead it pried open

my ribs, crushed this heart

and, run

it planted into it

Run from what?

Run

until your lungs can carry air no longer

That was then,

be still

Now it tells,

very still

But why?

rest your back upon earth

let her claim you again

But how?

let her vegetate and grow her

life upon you, crush you

with fear, and the weight of your sins

I see,

be still

be earth

I see,

until your lungs carry air no longer