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Unsent Letter
Every day is a war, but I know I’m on the losing side;
A dead man walking in borrowed shoes.
Desolate and open, an outsider looking in,
In moments, in waves,
The pre-planned illusion of destiny;
To see a future lover, lost to propaganda,
The isolation of what was meant to be,
Lost in hazy, daydream possibility;
There’s a bleak, momentary gain,
In knowing there’s loyalty in-between the shade.
Pain is a refuge; impossible communication,
Intertwined blood brothers, coming out from the inside,
Scratching at each other’s skin; another addiction, another pill,
Forgetting the beauty they’ve clawed within.
An unresolved dominance; freedom with a gun,
A weapon replaces where there was once a tongue,
What was never said is now written in blood,
A myriad, labyrinthine mind swallowed up in cataclysm,
The moment is strangled in an everlasting hold.
Kiss the sky, cold peaks and a forest to lose each other in,
A man cannot be saved by his own futility,
Unloved, unwanted, undeniably yours;
When nothing presents itself, but you,
Endlessly waiting, nothing but hesitation,
Your lust for everything that is not me,
Does your love exist? Only the fantasy is preserved,
An epiphany formed from the evangelist’s son.
That was very beautiful.
This poem has been another one that caught my attention ever so greatly I couldn't stop reading...
I love how the words are easily understood, to me, maybe not to others... But, I mean the feelings in this and the emotion that flows threw it.
A very beautiful poem, that will catch eyes...
K.A.
And the part about
And the part about "intertwined blood brothers" speaks of the reasons why, because that in itself... a delusion. Flesh and blood turn to ashes... what is real is what is, not what others "think"is, which includes the poet, or of whom the poet speaks. Very very sad, but true.
So many delusions and false beliefs strewn from gluteal folds that somehow grow....tongues.
.....
...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."
"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "
The "lust for everything that
The "lust for everything that does not exist"...love those words because they are true and authentic prescence of what delusional is. As always...rivetting.
....
...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."
"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "