Imminent Mortality –

“I want to tell you what it was really like to think death is imminent, but I can’t. It’s a taste in your mouth. And an emptiness.” – Aaron Huey

 

 

 Sneaking thing this black specter, writhing in my brain,
Coloring my bright light with shades of never
Bringing the death of my flesh
In the missing of your gray eyes, pushing in my stomach,
grabbing solitary and smearing me with earnest
Bringing the death of my heart
Swirling decisions in red clouds, failing in my heart,
a tempting success erased in a hurried smudge

Bringing the death of my work
Jumping off castles of white cliffs,
flapping frantically in the forest of the unknown
Bringing the death of my belief

First published in Opinionsofeye.com

Nemesis – Stalked From My Youth –

This poem depicts the spiritual entity that from my childhood, stalks me. I know him, he knows me, and the battle continues. I have one refuge, that of prayer. Wouldn’t you pray after seeing that the enemy’s power is far greater than your own? 


xbloodxforgottenx
Prowling, eyes alert, glowing red’s the sign 

That what stalks me, is a spiritual kind

All it’s attentions, frothing tongue a tell
 
With growls preaching, at me from hell
 
When it comes, the dark is it’s lair,
 
No matter where I go, it finds me there
 
Words of religion, it does completely despise
 
I’m never away, from those deep red eyes.

Related Post: Hour of the Wolf – Wrestling With 3 A.M.
012412 

Red trails – (Poem of the cutter)

“In case you didn’t know, dead people don’t bleed. If you can bleed-see it, feel it-then you know you’re alive. It’s irrefutable, undeniable proof. Sometimes I just need a little reminder.” – Amy Efaw, After 

  

“A razor drawn, through the colors of my life

Red trails follow, enough to spite
Angles deep and narrow channel
Direct the flow, excite the annals
Now I’m left with the tint of life
Spreading quickly toward a light
I yield again to the cutting’s peace
Nothing left not even speech.” – DMW

“People always want to know what it feels like, so I’ll tell you: there’s a sting when you first slice, and then your heart speeds up when you see the blood, because you know you’ve done something you shouldn’t have, and yet you’ve gotten away with it. Then you sort of go into a trance, because it’s truly dazzling—that bright red line, like a highway route on a map that you want to follow to see where it leads. And—God—the sweet release, that’s the best way I can describe it, kind of like a balloon that’s tied to a little kid’s hand, which somehow breaks free and floats into the sky. You just know that balloon is thinking, Ha, I don’t belong to you after all; and at the same time, Do they have any idea how beautiful the view is from up here? And then the balloon remembers, after the fact, that it has a wicked fear of heights.
When reality kicks in, you grab some toilet paper or a paper towel (better than a washcloth, because the stains don’t ever come out 100 percent) and you press hard against the cut. You can feel your embarrassment; it’s a backbeat underneath your pulse. Whatever relief there was a minute ago congeals, like cold gravy, into a fist in the pit of your stomach. You literally make yourself sick, because you promised yourself last time would be the last time, and once again, you’ve let yourself down. So you hide the evidence of your weakness under layers of clothes long enough to cover the cuts, even if it’s summertime and no one is wearing jeans or long sleeves. You throw the bloody tissues into the toilet and watch the water go pink before you flush them into oblivion, and you wish it were really that easy.” – Jodi Picoult, Handle With Care

Also published in Broowaha
01042012 

Harmony of Red

“I hear the question upon your lips: What is it to be a colour? 
Colour is the touch of the eye, music to the deaf, a word out of the darkness…
I’m so fortunate to be red! I’m fiery. I’m strong. I know men take notice of me and that I cannot be resisted.” – Orhan Pamuk,
My Name is Red

 

Mceklips
I hear the harmony of red, the sound coloring
the morning and evening blanket of night.
Tactile hallucinations of reality, melody of tints
bringing peace to spinning clouds.
Expressions of earths fiery embers, born in my soul,
songs of red seas to greet the darkened sky.
Eyes of primal mystery, songs of the black forest
redvisions of night reflected in searching eyes.
A harmonious melody, red repossesses
the land of my aching soul.
Be still now swirling colors of misty confusion
Red brings rest in her arms….

Also published in Wingposse, October 2012 

08162012

 

Harmony of Red

“I hear the question upon your lips: What is it to be a colour? 
Colour is the touch of the eye, music to the deaf, a word out of the darkness…
I’m so fortunate to be red! I’m fiery. I’m strong. I know men take notice of me and that I cannot be resisted.” – Orhan Pamuk,
My Name is Red

 

Mceklips
I hear the harmony of red, the sound coloring
the morning and evening blanket of night.
Tactile hallucinations of reality, melody of tints
bringing peace to spinning clouds.
Expressions of earths fiery embers, born in my soul,
songs of red seas to greet the darkened sky.
Eyes of primal mystery, songs of the black forest
redvisions of night reflected in searching eyes.
A harmonious melody, red repossesses
the land of my aching soul.
Be still now swirling colors of misty confusion
Red brings rest in her arms….

Also published in Wingposse, October 2012 

08162012