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Under a Witches SkyAnd lo there he said: "I am darkness rising"
— ‘an apparition bleeding into a dreaming sky
Distilled in the timbre of windswept voices,
black feathers enchant earth in fevered-song
Magick ebbs & shimmers thru earthen veins,
seething like a migration of hungry wolves
Silvery eyes peer, drinking the ether of souls;
watching the spirit world fold into the mists
And where Shadows and Witches conjure,
— myriad talons beshrew Winter’s prayer

For eons I hath wandered in forgotten lore
— a sleep walker thru ash & fire, hunting ..
Beneath Moon solemn and drifting,
I covet thy ghostly figure velvet, undressing
Pools of

The Man and the MoonHer mouth corners hung themselves
and I began to wonder if that was the death of them.
A simple, quiet death;
without broken fingernails lining the walls
with the stripes of a despairing end.
I began to ache with the questioning in my heart
with the echoes reverberating in my capillaries
of her face scorching sunshine in her smile
right before it crumpled
and nothing was left but a frowning moon
set firm in its resignation to an upcoming eclipse.

Dandelion QueenI dream of the ocean;
that paper-thin line where
the current swallows the stars
and the water churns violet

(you tell me to be
quiet,

dandelion queen, we've
heard all these words before)

tonight
I will sleep heavy
and wake a few hours before dawn,
only to forget my name

my wave-weathered heart will cry,
I will cry (my biggest fear
is drowning in too many
of my own weighted words

you tell me to be
quiet
so I can hear the world breathe)

I want to go home

SpeakeasyI can feel you like a phantom,
sensation without touch,
like breath in winter
or a misty mountain morning
that stays with me
until the stars fall in evening.

Your eyes contain the secrets
your lips would dare to betray,
but your body tells the story
and I am trying
to read between the lines
of your paperback smiles.

A grazing touch, a covert glance,
the memories remain
as skin grows warm and red
beneath lying fingertips
that claim incidental contact
a thousand times a day.

Of course,
it's not the kind of thing we say
when we are speaking
without talking and feeling
without touching
and thinking without knowing...

all of the things

Overgrown ColorsRed like blood on a rose.
White like bone and stars.
Black like reclusiveness.
Green like dead air.
Orange like the savage instinct.
Purity like a god's heart.
Red like thawing hatred.
White like a frozen, severe cry.
Black like the night's deprived shadows.
Green like the wind in the grass.
Orange like the light in the shadows.
Purity like the sun rising.
So discharging through the moon in a wheeze is like luminous white, dispersed red.

We Can't Be Together.Every kiss you plant on my lips,
Takes a little bit of my soul away.

You're stealing the passion,
You're invading my heart,
And killing what emotion I've left untouched.
Stop this.
I can't love you.

I've tried to before,
Oh my god,
Have I tried.

Tried to unlock the doors to myself,
Tried to open up,
And let you in.
But as soon as I took one look,
Negativity took it's opportunity,
And struck the hot iron I'd been molding.

Every word you mutter
My knees falter under
You're killing me

You're my kryptonite
I'm your paradise
But in this odd peace that seems to be approaching
I can't find happiness.

We aren't meant to be together
But this

Poet as PainterThe world
Your dusty palette,
The pen
Your muddied paintbrush:

Dip into
The impossible
Colour
Of imagination

And stain
The pristine slate
With an
Image distilled.

WindowsHere am I, repeated,
and beyond waits everything
but everything is more
than I can bear.

I am not built for altitude
nor looking far afield;
groves and granite-sided mountains
stop my gaze

like rest for every tired wing;
a cover in the coldest time
snugged up beneath my chin.

Windows nothing more,
but safe lies there behind them
as the chambered hours pass;

safe sleeps there behind them
on the soft side of the glass.

with thanks to frosttwo roads diverged in a soulless dawn
and you pull over,
idling on the shoulder of route 50.
it's a polaroid morning and
the world is as grainy
and sleep-heavy
as your eyes,
and one million miles
is not far enough.
it plays back, filmstrip,
blurred along the length of
optic nerves,
and here you are:
facing a choice between
on
and
out.
and this?
this loosejointed, hollowbodied
weightless ache--
this is what
gone
feels like.

Dry Spell I am immobilized by time.
by the idea that it is somehow slipping,
fleeting,
evaporating
through the cracks of
my fingers and high

above my head.
I am terrified by the incessant notion
that no combination of thoughts,
words,
silences,
or actions
could possibly satiate it.

I realize only now that it can never be filled:
all which is tossed into it is swallowed in haste
or stretched
so far
that it dissolves into non-being.
I find that I am caught within its furrows
much like the words it devo

BoyfriendI thought you were good.

You WERE good.

You played with my hair.

You held me when I cried.

You were a gentleman.

You made me laugh.

You kissed me.

You loved me.

I loved you.

It was then that I learned the truth.

The dirty, rotten, stinking truth.

About you!

You cheated.

You played with her hair.

You kissed her.

You loved her.

You made her laugh.

I saw you – don’t you dare deny it.

I saw you giving her that love.

That same love you gave me.

I break up with you.

You don’t even seem to care.

Did you ever love me at all?

Or was it only ever her?

Much later, you’ll realize what a mistake you made.

I

He doesn't write poetry anymore.He doesn’t write poetry anymore,
even if he still collects it, reads it, saves it, treasures
faded verses from his wife the way connoisseurs
savor vinyl over metallic rainbows on disc.
I don’t mind not knowing, but I can’t stand not asking.

The record needle hits the groove wrong;
he stumbles over words that aren’t there,
rummaging for an answer he doesn’t really have.
He doesn’t write poetry anymore
and his confusion is strangely endearing.

But there’s a lyricism to his words that I love,
poetic lines inserted between the daily grind
of character names and who said what;
voiceless boys in white a

You Don't Know ItYou don't know it, but you kept me sane
I nearly went over the edge
With a knife in one hand and a gun in the other
But you grabbed me
Pulled me back on my own two feet
Emptied my hands
And when you realized that I couldn't stand on my own
You hugged me
Like a mother would do for her child
Like a friend would do for, dare I say, another friend

You don't know it, but when you saved me
I felt free
I felt wanted
I felt needed
I felt, dare I say, loved

You don't know it, but when you showed me kindness
I fell in love
In love with your kindness
That same sweet kindness you saved me with
It felt like I found a new home
One that I could be, dare

Pull Her Hair/Stare At The StarsThe ghosts have crashed their ship
on the other side of town,
you can see it from the second floor
all the way over here.
You can see the white clouds
rising from the wreck
and a nova of heat, a big bright
nova of warmth pulling the moths and wolves
out from the woods (with their noses up and searching).
You can smell the yearning like bees
leaving the hive, like the grizzly brown bears
on the jagged white mountains (concrete and imposing).
They call it fear,
but I see these ghosts
scrambling up into the sky
and I like to think it's
something different entirely.

PocketLeftover religion in the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
A key that unlocks nothing
A penny, a scrap of paper
With half of your name
Written in black ink

A song that is usually in my head
In the shriveled carcass
Of a long-dead dream
In the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
With the lint

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More from ~Aborro

An Hour A MinuteAn hour a minute
Here, time is still
I am only sound
I do everything on my will
See someone, shoot
I stand behind, close by
and I am only sound
So I move like I want to
Everything I did
will be redone
It could be something
I felt once
but then I thought
never so far...

Surely it was only luck
There is something in my throat
Surely it was only luck
No, that is not correct
I'm behind close by
And I have a contract with god
So now I do whatever I like
Everything I did
will be redone
It could be something
All felt once
but then I never thought so far

10 minutes, -for myself-What if we would wake
without lips
with our mouths full of dirt
no voice behind my word
What if I would wake
being danger
My mouth filled with blood
I bit my tounge when you smiled

All I wanted to say
I forgot tonight
All I wanted I kept
forever to myself...

What if we woke, not breathing
Our lungs with no air
just like if we got pushed
It feels like if someone
cut of our feet
and the bed is filled with blood
and the floor filled with shoes

All I wanted to say
I forgot tonight
All I wanted I kept
forever to myself...

RealityI play with fire
Razor and desire
Hurt myself to feel
What it's like being real

Can I handle this
Truth of glass
It's so frail
I can see myself

Reality!
Reflection of insanity
Reality!
A mirror of oblivion
Reality!
Can't take much more...
Can't take much more at all!

I'm a compulsive liar
Just to get higher
I do actually believe
That I am who I claim to be

From the other side
Window in the night
He's peering back
Who I really am

Reality!
Reflection of insanity
Reality!
A mirror of oblivion
Reality!
Can't take much more...
Can't take much more at all!

I'm dying to die
A tasteless lie
But we've been hurled
Into

Heads or TailsTo me,
Life's a game
And I play,
Every day
Lose the battle,
but I'll win the war!

Do I love you?
Or do I love loving
The question is easy
The answer's far too hard

I can't handle myself
I can't deprive of this pain
It's not an easy task
Hating yourself

If I wake up
like this one more day
I might not wake up
Ever again!

Cut here
Make me bleed
I don't know if I feel
Cut here
Beside the fire
My life is burning down

Life is,
like a phone call
I feel like hanging up
Another line,
is ringing
I won't pick up!

Do I hate me
Or do I love hating
I know the question
To all my answers

I can't wish this
I can't come true

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X-miss Present

by ~Aborro, Dec 28, 2012, 4:36:09 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

The strangest gift:
that of sadness
concealed as a memory
Suddenly realizing that
you've missed someone
for so long now
it's already accepted
and when they went
you end up grieving
not themselves
but the faint hope
that they'd return
to who they were
the one you miss.

X-miss Presentby ~Aborro

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

©2012-2013 ~Aborro

My grandpa recently died...

I guess that's all.

~~love 0 0~~

~~joy 0 0~~

~~wow 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

Mood: Sympathy

~Horsegirl636 Dec 28, 2012

My mom died a few years ago, this really captures how I felt Christmas day. It's hard, but missing those you've lost feels better than forgetting.

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~Aborro Dec 28, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

*nods*

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~YourEveryDayPrincess Dec 28, 2012 Student Writer

*hugs*

Reply

~Aborro Dec 28, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

thanks, I don't think there will be much more poetry on the subject, somehow, it was drained almost before it hit me.

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~YourEveryDayPrincess Dec 28, 2012 Student Writer

*nods* of course and that makes sense

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