PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Pains apart, life is same
between man and beast. I renounce
my friendship with death.

The greed takes home.
This side of the moon becomes hot but
suddenly love dies in my arms.

Ah, into the temple of
prayers go blood soaked swords
to arrange the hymns of the future.

You forget to remember,
you were spinning very fast. The
sun was becoming black.

In moon-rise ritual the-
attitude slumps. It was difficult
to catch the fireflies.

You have a terrible mind.
Your mirror does not reflect. It
bribes the light not to come near.

I watched...

while silent tears, of one-sided grief,

slowly ran in rivulets down my cheeks.

Last rights were spoken, but did nothing

to undo the wrongs.

DNR, written in blood red, screamed from off

the charted page of an empty file.

Life support was removed and helplessly I stood,

watching, waiting,

until the colors drained, a last breath was drawn

and all that remained, was white-sheeted regret.

~~~

No mourners, save for myself,

cared to view or grieve, or even offer comfort

to this bereaved soul.

I sat alone, in a high-backed, burgundy upholstered chair,

while somber music wafted past my ears

and parlor scents permeated my senses.

I eulogized out loud,

speaking of wasted time,

unmet goals, long-held regrets,

and unhealed scars,

but my words only echoed back, in taunt,

in the hollowness of the vacant chairs.

~~~

I, the lone mourner,

in single-filed procession,

marched,

unaccompanied,

past the weathered stones of others. 

I said my 'goodbye' graveside,

as a soft rain fell, in a mingling of tears, and dirt, to mud...

Tossing one red rose

and a handful of rich, brown soil,

There...right there,

I buried my dreams,

a mere six feet below

my hopes.

Very difficult to go into
the tomb. Full of flowers. Impartially
waiting for the resurrection of truth.

Are you really gone?
I don't see. I don't hear. Something
happened. I would cover the door to bury the pain?

Will you say something?
What was the mystery? Only modicum
will matter? Am I ready for holocaust?

Such a playful synergy 

Your heart strings and mine 

Thrumming on our frequencies 

Drawing fourth sacred energy 

Running on light beams 

Dipping our toes into notes 

And hands wafting in melodies 

Dizzying highs and resounding lows 

Shattering boredom 

Stepping on apathy 

And plucking joy from the air  

A glorious spiritual liturgy 

How beautiful now since we've learned to pray 

Drawing such sublime adventures 

Going this way and that 

Shuffling the order of truths and mystic mysteries 

Coming full circle where withall

then bounding off again.  

Such a lifting of feet 

a symphony of etherial musings 

The tethering of our minds eyes

innocent daydreams

Making a mockery of darkness 

Shining in the glory light beams

Bloated with gladness 

Soaring with hopes

Soul Edifying

And that's just the beginning 

Of our poetry.

I am angry with me,
by poem create-in absence of you.
O biopic I will not play your role.

The silent lips of
unspoken truth always scream to solve
your difficult persona in sunlight.

The angst narrates the
unseen rising of the violet moon, when
you held the shadow of my hand.

Adream dies today under
my foot like the butterfly. Were
you in secular age? Soul poem—

Goes in search of live wasp.
Your fawn eyes, like Cleopetra reading
Dante. I was dust around the moon.

No outsider will witness
the fire of Ganges. It's quiet flow of
lava carrying the corpse of love.

From the first encounter
to first kiss of black hole at precise
moment of spaghettification.

You will not accept the
sounds of micromoons. Tearful I want
to unsee the black light.

How much distance you
want to see between the jaws of white

My mouth burns.
I speak, because I don't want to
speak. It was the red rose, responsible.

I must start conversation
with death. It was enough to visit me
againand again. A kiss will silencethe voice.

Untold, the domain enlarges.
You would fight sexism. It was rising
like crimson flames. Do you know the real?