It is a forest, ageless and eternal
this perceived afterlife within the living day breathing in amid the cold pines slower and colder harsh inside my lungs as I imagine the taste of my final breath.
We were arboreal
children of this verdant womb within its living green birthed amid the rain painted leaves but slower and older we have forgotten our mothers and our last breaths will taste of stone.
there is no movement
save that of meaningless flags over the battlefield
damn these sober lines
give me absinthe tinted songs and dancing verses
sculpted from shadows
that scatter into the light a murder of crows
haiku, poem, poetry, prose, short poems, format and tagged Quote birds, haiku, poem, poetry, prose on .
November 30, 2022
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he could taste his dreams
heroin and caramel and long held regrets
a moorland bird calls
melancholic arias the sky has turned dark
the half dark wakes me
tides of ebbing night retreat I gaze on dawn’s shore
between your covers
you allow my fingers range until the last page
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November 27, 2022
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repealing façades of peace
such an ignominious ending to the great experiments of hope filled brutalism, now the hollow grey Burgomasters of indifferent decades sharpen pitchforks and hold aloft the torches leading, like dark shepherds their willing flocks toward a final charnel house.
sing the songs in silence
ayrs to slay the noise that which sears the clear thoughts
pray on a single breath
appealing to the heavens to drown the gasping, misted days
wake to discordant choruses
of the darkest feathered angels winging dread cares to hell
face the end with open jaws
a cry to deny perdition’s bid to own all who have a heart
scream that you would stay
inside the noise, within the havoc to curse the need for silent song