Poetically Profound

Sipping From Some Soma

I’m building an ark
Both for the victim, the vermin
I’m just a servant to purpose
Lipstick smears on my heart
Probably should signify that I’m hurting
Though I can’t be for certain
What if we all called it art?
Look at me like I’m perfect
Never did deserve this
I want to live forever
Sipping from some soma
Oh, so clever
This moment will never be over
Can you take in the aroma?
Oh, that’s quite the endeavor
What happens when you’re finally sober?
Your muse is a ruse
Trust me, its true
And tried in similar fashion
Wax poetic or paint it languid
What’s lacking is passion
And I don’t expect you to understand it
Or to improve
In accordance with Orpheus
All the miracles, I withdrew
But you say you want to live forever
Sipping from some soma
Oh, so clever
This moment will never be over
Take in the aroma
Oh, that’s quite the endeavor
What happens when you’re finally sober?
What if it all doesn’t end the way you want it to?

untranslated

thornpuller:

we love like poppies - a vibrant bursting
a process of remembrances
a repeated resurrection after a death
of sleep and life-like oceans ripped
in peace, eased into torment, waiting
for nothing - whole and parsed

we tear ourselves away, whipped
from ourselves, from each other
the pull of secret lives gorged on light.
we wrench misunderstood metaphors:
I am a river of sticks - I break into blaze
what is time if not a tortoise shell

we never sleep, rather seed thoughts
stringless, cuffless, chainless air
crammed into flesh - formidable
I used discourse without thinking
only with meaning, ravenous animus
needing this, wanting that, aching

Source: thornpuller

Morpheus’ Kiss

azraelwrites:

So weary, wrap’d in Somnus’ strong embrace;
Thus freed at last to nod, to sleep,—to dream!—
The kiss of Morpheus upon your face
More blest than any breath has ever seem’d!

Hold fast to blessed hope, dear one; cling tight
To all you might envision in this state,
And from the clutches of the cruel night,
Drag forth the dreams daylight can ne’er abate.

Sweet rapture swells where thoughts are free to race;
Where all the mind may conjure gleams as true.
Don’t watch dreams slip away from you—Give chase!—
Ere Sol’s ascent obscures them from your view!

Dream on, my precious child—God’s sake, dream on!
Let hope not wither with the breaking dawn.

Source: azraelwrites

Show Me

aubriestar:

Touch me
and make me feel
that you are real
not a silhouette
of woven thoughts
sewed to my heels
dancing along.

Show me
you want time
alone, together
focused on learning
the nuances of
my smile and
the taste of my words
whispered at midnight.

~Aubrie~2014

Source: aubriestar

Kisses of Consumption

evelyncait:

He met her like wine
from a sun drenched vineyard
instead of a dying thing
in a bed of misfortune and filth
He watched her drown
and loved her
for suffocating death so gracefully
Laid down his head
on the red stains she left
and vowed to die
with her her legs
wrapped around his waist
hips still round in his hands
and lips gone cold

Instead he lived
a life of death forever
in his lover’s farewell kiss

Source: evelyncait

Hours of sobriety

ladydragonslair:

The dust of heaven
Sinks into the west
Lost without your comfort.
One more set of hours
Skimmed past without
Your indelible presence.

Dry minutes sigh
without the moist kiss of your words.
Loneliness would hold me
But for the lines you lent
Spent caressing my bosom
And wandering ‘cross my thighs.

These gifts you bestowed
On my willing heart
(Naked to your requests)
Secure my skin and soul,
Bind me to you from within.

Source: ladydragonslair

hausderschwerter:

despondent panoramic
photograph on the floor,
stained with tears and smoke/
a picture less a thousand words,
not one of them you spoke

subservient recognition
the sink overflows,
stagnation breeds the unruly/
a turbid thalweg flowing through,
like a flood for you.

your word is righteous,
hypocrisy your agenda/
coated in sheep’s clothing,
it keeps you warm
this act of derision,
an invocation of tradition

anything is everything
and nothing is something

Source: hausderschwerter

Night moves

mason-rhett-ford:

Resting on a bed of roses, cauterised
inflection pierces the breadth of moon
and light, before eyes venture left
and right to see clearly—the demise
of indecisive fingers pressing forward,
each one pausing in the unforgivable
nuance of whispered words—indifference
spits cold against skin as parched lips
beg for a chance to speak,
—each
voice carries outward in the ides
kept close—as love tumbles into oblivion
and doom, ruin sings softly as lips lift
hard up against the crack of skin,
to taste, to feel one last kiss—
—but
from within the belly of the beast
the locus rise from the arid night,
—and
smoke rides up against the wind.
Equal reminders of that final touch,
—and
the bitter taste of letting go
finally begins 
to grow, as the hurt sets in,
—but
not before tongues coil back to retract
against the bitterness of this end,
and breath finds a way to choke
under the embers still burning hot
deep in their lungs, and love
still lingers around the heart
orbiting like a vulture eager
to depart, yes each of their
stories weave up in the spirals
of eddies and terminal ends
of stardust and denial. One last
belvedere to climb and cross,
one last hand to hold gripping tightly
with the bite of a lunar frost,
eyes let go to sift between the
giving and taking of the final last looks
—each
one leaves broken-hearted
fast and cold without a single
souvenir to take away this night
from this miserable endgame.

Source: mason-rhett-ford

& I Miss You The Most At Night

garnetportrait:

that promise of safety
invisible armour
pale like the moon
clad to tired bones
which couldn’t part with the last of the day’s light
i am a paladin
of everything i believe in
and cricket chirping balcony views
drum it through
that i’ll get through this
and see a new you

Source: garnetportrait

she seeks souls in the night

archonofdarkness:

she leaps
with no movement
save for the rhythms

of her eyes

crashing into
the freshness
of the walking

moon

playing Picasso
and undressing Kandinsky

with wild
retinas
dark with
poetic panic

her nights are allegories
painted with sufi poetry

and her arms
reach for me

but they shake a thousand miles away

in another dream

and
the skill
of her kisses
are experiments
for the pleasures
of the lusty gods …

i lie
awake
waiting for
her winds -

her screams deafen me
as her passion swells
from so far away
ripping the
folds
of
the
earth …

seeking
souls just
like her own.

Source: archonofdarkness