The rooms remain empty:
Voices echo in the halls
from the lips of strangers.
Fairy tales into the night;
thoughts raising my spirit
from beneath its dreams.
Sleep eludes me again;
the new moon marks my heart,
condemning my wayward soul.
Clocks no longer ticking;
extinction hides in darkness
waiting for my eyes…to close.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged death, Demons, fairy tales, heart, Lilith, new moon, night, poem, Poetic, Poetry, soul, spirit, Succubus, Thoughts
The crisp chill of a late November evening;
leaves falling on the aging soil as I watch
the sun descend six feet below the horizon.
I stare beyond the astral plane hoping to see her;
my imaginations become infractions against decency.
Our secrets remain in these old pockets despite the demons
standing beside me. The taste of ginger lingers on my lips;
my hand bleeds from the tight grip on a rose that bears her name.
I miss the smell of her skin and the glimmer in her eyes;
I long to see her smile.
Darkness cracked by the beam of
my halogen lamp, the glow illuminates
the emptiness within the night.
The blood drips from the prick of
my fingertip, creating the shape of
a distorted rose on the dusty table.
The tip of my tongue stings
from the poignant taste of acrimony;
the depth of tender thoughts muted.
The words I desperately need remain
hidden within the convolution; speechless,
the silence wreaks havoc on my eardrums.
My pen is dry, the ink evaporated
from the inconsistent flow of diction;
these infatuations longing to touch the paper.
There is nothing so, I quietly wait.
She was a daughter of the Caribbean, a newborn star; she was the image of paradise before the fall. We met in the hallowed season, death haunted our days. Her mind vexed by the turmoil; her spirit reaching for closure within the downpour of tears. She touched me in ways unimaginable; this beautiful soul wishing I could see past her youth. A grown woman wanting to spend her days with an old man. I will never know what she saw in me; all I can remember is the joy of her hello and the absence of her goodbye.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged Caribbean, death, Eternity, goodbye, hallowed, Jamaican Diamond, Joy, love, mind, newborn star, Paradise, poem, Poetic, Poetry, Reflection, Romantic, Season, soul, spirit
The morning smells like rain…again.
There are some things that remain in question,
mostly bitter-sweet sentiments
masked as joy and happiness;
it is funny how the straight and narrow
road is really a circle,
the perceptions of progress are illusions
because the accompanying footprints are different.
Here I am taking steps back only to reach
the same plateau because hope kissed me
sensually on the lips;
different is not always better
just as love is not eternal
The moisture on the window;
the weekend huddled beneath the blankets,
the only thing separating what is real
and what is perceived.
The constant tapping against
the glass is a beautiful symphony within the psychology.
I followed my heart towards the pit,
staring into the opening and catching the glitter
from a fading light.
Sunlight breaks through these gray clouds…
The less we speak, the more we learn;
there is an unsettled situation
within the correlation.
Something is amiss,
I cannot put a finger on this
point of quiet contention.
To remain in this abandoned shelter,
this place of insanity,
is the only hope of weathering
these frigid temperatures.
My lips are numb and my heart is cold;
I can see the sun and that’s all that matters.