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Wildflowers, Imperfect BirdsI breathed your name like wildflowers under vast broken skies, in wide-open spaces. The wind blowing through them spoke of dew and dirt and petrichor, and there was sunlight on the ground like a mosaic patterned by god's own hands.

I said it like a monarch claiming new land: a declaration, a butterfly breath over old earth; like it was coffee on a warm morning with the sun in my eyes, interlacing with my lashes; like it was a dream; like it was a prayer like it was a miracle wrought of air and bone and body: you, in, out, in, out, in and in and in.

I cried it out like an earthquake between lip and lip, continents that don't quite fit: your

Selkie There is a fisherman sitting on a rock by the shore; his forlorn grey eyes watching grey clouds rolling over apathetic grey waves, and beyond, a grey horizon.
He sits with empty hooks, empty nets, empty stomach, wrapped in layers of clothes like broken shutters that do not keep the chill out. Young and tan, he is, skin chapped by the wind, broad shouldered and well muscled from breaking his back dawn to dusk.
That must be all he knows, a grey life of work and water.

Fisherman, fisherman
come to the shore,
and I will meet you there.
I am velvet,
I am smooth.
Oh fisherman,
come down to the water.

Slinky
Silky
Selkie.

Fisherman, fisherm

AbsenceLifeless inside the void - -
part of me is missing:
bereft, stolen;
forever lost,
forever gone.

Though I died long ago,
the moment I lost you,
your absence kills
the part of me
that's still living.

And I wonder
on cold, gray days
at the ticking of clocks;

they know nothing of time.

I wonder how long now
'till I become
absent like you.

The Sea for a SailorYou are the waves that rock this ship,

wildly pitching,

careening,

careless of its cargo.

Poseidon has nothing on you.

You break against me,

and break, and break, and b r e a k your ego.

My decks flood,

the rain falls heavy as hail stones

from clouds as dark as those that hang upon your brow.

The storm winds scream,

they sound like you,

but far away

and barely human,

and they threaten to snatch away my sails

with hungry, ghosting fingers.

How I l

Addicted to HeroinesHe was addicted to heroines:
those golden queens from screens of silver
that lined his shelves in plastic boxes
showcasing their greatest deeds;
and painted whores,
those sirens and saviors,
who stood half naked on shady streets.

They were steel wrapped in petals,
and petals draped in lace,
in their arms lay warmth,
in their hearts lay escape.

He prayed for strong women
that were not so far,
devastatingly far out of reach.
Though still small,
and grateful,
he would shun the sun
and bask in their blessed shadows.

He prayed for someone to stay
whom he could not,
would not,
use up,

not again,
not again.

He vowed not to

...But Not Your NameI remember us, but not your name -
No,
names, that felt legion,
but none the same.
They fell into the slipstream
with whoever you are now.

But I remember your face:
unshaven;
how the hairs scratched
my chin and cheeks when we kissed;
chocolate brown eyes
that lingered, searched,
and looked for all the world
like love themselves.
You looked for all the world like you loved me,
didn't you?

I have memories of words spoken,
and of times that we had;
I will always remember us together.

I remember our song, but not the words,
you said you'd write them eventually
didn't you?
I remember the melody,
sweet, slow, delicate, romantic,
and haun

Mermaid Bones - a beat poemTRIGGER WARNING: Sexual assault and eating disorders

Mermaid Bones - a beat poem.

I'm hiding an ocean of teeth under my scales
it's in the forbidden taste of salt on my tongue
the weight of the measuring tape,
of those numbers pushing bubbles through my blood and through my gums.
It's written on the circumference of my waist.
In the words cursing the ghost ship of my shape being plundered against my will.
It's spoken by the fish telling me that I have no right to fill my gills with oxygen
underneath a sea bed of regret laid heavy with the shape of a tail.
You are a whale they said
and they made me push my bones out to see the fish bones t

CosmologyShe left galaxies on his pillowcase
where she slept the night before
of make up colors,
shimmer, shadow,
smudged and smeared,
blurred by silent tears
- alive...
the stars leaked out with the saline –
along with the residue of dreams
that she never meant to have.
Chips of polish decorate his bed sheets,
rogue satellites
from her chewed and broken nails,
after scratching at the too-low ceiling
and his too-close back
while she slept fitfully,
searching desperately for space.

Hunter: First to FallYou were first to fall, a broken hunter,
Immobilized, love caught you in its net,
Though some who gave chase, chased without ardor,
Fire burns and consumes those most passionate.

I wear no collar of silver or gold,
Noli me tangere, I am my own.
Your loyal eyes say you think me not cold,
Soon I will flee, like a bird I'll have flown.

Of my heart and life I am my master,
You fancied a game that you could not play.
See, I stay free because I am faster,
Better to leave than lose all, now away.

All in the dark, every would-be lover,
That I am prize, prey, and perfumed hunter.

NovemberWe are ephemeral:
Whispers in a windstorm,
Torches of fireflies that flicker and fade.

Death loves a freeze,
Implacably reaping all that we sow,
Leaving us bare, brittle and cold.

Winter's winds rise,
Blowing right through,
Cutting deep into the heart of me.

November,
Your knife wounds
Lets out the carbon monoxide.

What a pity.
November,
You always let me down.

Deconstructing HeartsDeconstructing hearts,
Hot hands stem the bleeding
That hot hands made.

Driven,
We clockmakers work,
Taking these mechanical,
Off beat,
Sick
Ticktick
Tick
Tickings;
Unmaking
With drunken precision
And muscle memory.

These are familiar grounds.

We reek of apathy
In the moment,
So we tell ourselves,
Or some similar [non]feelings.
It's the smell of winter winds,
And distance in the air.
But we are dog-eared,
And beneath it all
We smell of mothballs.

With winter winds we watch
As we take them apart,
Deconstructing hearts --
No Novocaine,
No,
We are purists.
Dissecting:
Searching through secrets;
Dark grains
Grinding against gear

A Winter Only WorldWinter has sharp teeth and a wicked bite,
The greatest wounds given in the silence at night.

Find your loved ones, grandma's quilt, and hold on tight,
Huddle under hand sewn patches to quell the fright.

Death roams the land in its starkest white;
Lock your doors against its awesome might.

Children labor, ruddy-cheeked, while the sun is high and bright
Making cold men and angel armies who can not fight.

There will be no summer, no temperature height,
No more spring with life to bloom and delight.

There will be no autumn, no red leaves in sight,
There have been no seasons since the sudden blight.

The haloed moon hangs low as a vigi

Guilt-riddenPandora shatters her looking glass
to kill the soul in its reflection.

Her glassy eyes can't stand the sight;
she has become a coffin

for everyone except herself—
she craves the nail to seal her in.

Self destructing in an alleyway
with demons in her skin

and guilt tripping with backward eyes
swapping dirty needles and sin.

Pandora raves in the streets about cures
but it all gets lost amongst the din.

"Man must take care of one another.
Link heart and hope and we shall win."

No one hears her and she begins to sober,
so she goes home with a faceless savior
to lose another night and destroy herself again,
trying for oblivi

Elegy     The oracle gave me a fortune cookie that was as stale as her smile when she wished me good luck with the rest of my life. I came here for answers, but the words on the paper read, "Get used to disappointment."

Oh, I am. Bitterly.

     I am writing you an elegy, but the trammels of grief have caught me too well and my words are all stutters.
Answers are needed. I stepped in melancholy somewhere along the way, it's still stuck to my shoes and I don't even know who I am anymore.

I can't forget the pain and I can't remember how to live.

     Mnemosyne, I brought

MelancholiaSoothe and subdue me,
overthrow the ferocity
that harrows me nightly,
and all through the day,
when I should be
happy with you.
Say you will slay
all of my fears
and the forces that drive me
always to tears,
or this intensity
will surely devour me.
You won't escape its teeth, dear,
because you love me so.
You stand by your woman,
even when the wind is blowin',
threatening to tear our house down.
And the colder the winter,
you just hold me tighter,
vowing nothing
will tear us asunder.
Golden-hearted you,
bravest of lovers,
have withstood all the tempests I bring,
but together we will drown,
stuck in its

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More from ~TheLunaLily

The Science of LivingWe are water and ichor,
we are air and memoirs,
we are fire and ore
and clay struck by stars.
This is the science of living.

We are arsenic and porphyry,
we are helium and spirit,
we are mercury and malady
and neon and kismet.
This is the science of living.

We are roses and riot,
we are daisies and sanguine,
we are bracken and velvet
and amaranth and omen.
This is the science of living.

She Is DeathShe is Death,
but not Release.

She is Madness,
but with Purpose.

She is Malady,

She is Plague,

and her dance card is never as full
as the posies in your pocket,
or the stars in your eyes

[or the ashes in her hands.]

La Femme Fatale Joyeux           Vamp for the worlds ending
  with gilt lashes sharpened for the killing.

   Traipse drunkenly in steel-toed slippers,
     inhale spring and exhale winter.

         Trace epigrams upon the man,
        draw epitaphs into the sand;

            all hail your scarlet fever.

LureMy lizard brain eats orchids, because I crave perfume, to open up your eyelidswhen I stalk into the room.

Beautiful BoyI. The day he was born they all said to her, "oh my what a beautiful boy. You can see his bright soul in the spark in his eyes!" However, his father said absolutely nothing; for no one knows where he's been since he went out for matches shortly after conception.

II. As the boy grew and looked around, he saw the world as the enemy city of Troy, set unfairly on a tilt-a-whirl, and he was too dizzy to fight, and had no horse to win; but by God he would not stand to be forever damned as fate's own whipping boy.

III. That beautiful boy is older now, and he struck the world with all that he had, and the boy born with the spark in his eyes began l

Self-portraitDrowning -
she sees nothing but the reflection of her thoughts.

Resigned to drown -
she is lachrymose and beautifully detached.

Her limbs stay in a state of inaction
as she sinks below the surface.

There are no hurried movements,
no flurried movements;

there is no hurry to save herself.

Through eyes of melancholic apathy
she can see nothing.

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Origami

by ~TheLunaLily, Feb 19, 2013, 5:42:35 PM
Literature / Poetry / Romantic / General / Free Verse

You made me paper cranes,
gave me birds that couldn't fly.
I tried to teach you origami,
but your hands were clumsy
and you preferred to cut than fold.

You stapled together pieces
with glaring metal stitches;
it wasn't art, but surgery
on something we both knew was dead.

Your signature,
ligature marks
in bleeding ink
scratched in the corners,
nearly indecipherable;
the words "hate" and "love,"
they always read the same to me
(however it was written.)

I tried to teach you how to fold a heart
to place your love inside.
"I love you" (deep) inside...
But your hands were clumsy,
and they crumpled each attempt.

So you made me birds to set me free,
but they couldnt fly.
They relied upon your love,
and like origami,
it was a sense, a skill,
an art you never learned - -
but not for lack of trying.

That flock I never dared to count,
oh, you would have made me more,
(one for every day we were together)
but I was running out of sky.

They were ugly and unlucky,
misshapen, crooked, broken,
but I hung them from my ceiling,
every patchwork crane you made me
out of loyalty and love,
though they made me cry at night.

I left them looming there
out of misplaced nostalgia
and a fear that gripped me
like I imagined the claws
of a giant crane could do;
strangled by the fear
that they would only be replaced
by a twisted wire cage
hanging like a noose above my bed,
crafted by hands
more skillful
and dangerous than yours.