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Literature Text
Beneath a hollow Sky I lie far below,
cold under the sleeping daisies, colder
under my silent gravestone, as the
Fire stirs up from the ashes of old,
what is dead in the world I can see-
whispering through the velvet velour
of my mind, I feel the secrets that
slumber in the dusky gaze of Forever,
they speak to me in the Moonlight wine
I drink, brewed by the beasts who walk
the landscape of visions only I can
see, I see them even on a Moonless
Eve for I exist in the celebration
between Dusk and Dawn, in the heart-
beat every spirit hears between Death
and Rebirth-there I will be, I exist
in the rays of the Midnight Sun that
illuminates the subconscious, in the
mist that separates the Known from
the Unknown, though others may not
see me-I live, I breathe, I dream-
not cold in my crypt of Solitude,
but warmed by the Wisdom tumbling
down on me from Stars long dead.
By NocturneJewel
Copyright: April 11, 2009
cold under the sleeping daisies, colder
under my silent gravestone, as the
Fire stirs up from the ashes of old,
what is dead in the world I can see-
whispering through the velvet velour
of my mind, I feel the secrets that
slumber in the dusky gaze of Forever,
they speak to me in the Moonlight wine
I drink, brewed by the beasts who walk
the landscape of visions only I can
see, I see them even on a Moonless
Eve for I exist in the celebration
between Dusk and Dawn, in the heart-
beat every spirit hears between Death
and Rebirth-there I will be, I exist
in the rays of the Midnight Sun that
illuminates the subconscious, in the
mist that separates the Known from
the Unknown, though others may not
see me-I live, I breathe, I dream-
not cold in my crypt of Solitude,
but warmed by the Wisdom tumbling
down on me from Stars long dead.
By NocturneJewel
Copyright: April 11, 2009
Literature
Ghost
Every night
there's a ghost
licking the floor boards
and you can't help
but love the sound
of weird thoughts waking
flowers rotting in their vase
completely forgotten
that sickly sweet smell
is a whole new level of affection
Chatting with the cracks in the ceiling
old stories gather at the bottom
of your glass
And there's still many more to share
The night is young
we have plenty of time
Our taste on your lips
It's this kind of company
you enjoy the most
Literature
She who destroys the light
first seed
Darling, you and I both know
in a better world I could be your Lethe
wrap around you, drown you
erode everything
that ever tried to bring your fate down on you.
Still if I picked up the pieces
I'd hear their soft hum
the one shells moan for the sea
for even then there would be places in you
still not free.
second seed
Surely women must have learned by now
never to trust fruit.
A garden is a prison earned
and there is nothing satanic, nothing sacred
about hunger.
Yet when your body curls in on itself
seduced by not-seeds that need only thirst to root
you find your lips wet
and what might be blood or j
Literature
Dishevel
I slept the length
of ten thousand
slumbers and
woke to feel
no younger;
dreaming a
dream of fire
to quench the
thirst of havoc
that dwells in
my chaotic heart.
-Brian Shuffett
March 7th, 2011
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This poem tells of what I think it would be like to be a ghost. I guess I kind of have a morbid muse...
If you wish to read more of my poetry, please go to my website, www.midnight-muse.webs.com
Comments are welcome.
If you wish to read more of my poetry, please go to my website, www.midnight-muse.webs.com
Comments are welcome.
© 2009 - 2024 Heather-Chrysalis
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