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Literature Text
The night throws its light
on your face,
your breath catches and takes
in the glow from the moonbeams
as my love streams
over you.
In your slumber you remember
the memories of a past never lived
but imagined a million times
in the recesses of your mind,
more real than reality
now enjoyed in drowsy serenity.
As I watch your twin commas flicker
your lips gently quiver
with the weight of tonight's kiss,
your cool brown fringe
casting shadows tinged
with our union's bliss.
on your face,
your breath catches and takes
in the glow from the moonbeams
as my love streams
over you.
In your slumber you remember
the memories of a past never lived
but imagined a million times
in the recesses of your mind,
more real than reality
now enjoyed in drowsy serenity.
As I watch your twin commas flicker
your lips gently quiver
with the weight of tonight's kiss,
your cool brown fringe
casting shadows tinged
with our union's bliss.
Literature
Nocte
Hiding from the beast,
From tree to tree,
Running in the dark,
I tell myself such things,
Slow- so it won't find you,
Breath.
These fires have scorched far and wide,
Leaving the scent of my former cinders to linger in my head,
Like some bad bender,
Warped memories encircling grey,
The ground is made of shattered glass,
Broken dreams.
No lilies remain,
To any kingdom I run,
In mirrors of liquid glass,
Surrealist battles are won,
And like fear,
The spider crawled from my mouth.
They are sedating everything,
Brush pixilated,
Focus changing,
Leaving me to run in the dark,
Caught in the eye of the storm,
Hiding in the calm.
Literature
The Wanderer
There was only the sun, and the thirst. For a while it hadn't been so bad, more of a nagging sensation than anything else but as the miles passed and one by the one the others who'd followed in the dark skinned woman's wake collapsed it had changed. From a quiet nagging it grew to be all consuming; blotting out everything else. Now there was just it and the ever more irregular rhythm of her steps as one followed the other, each one harder than the last. But still she staggered onwards beneath the sun's heat, following the woman who'd set out so boldly who knew how long ago. As others gave up and collapsed, never to move again, she carried on,
Literature
Breaking the Schedual
Wake up, Shower, brush teeth, get dressed, make breakfast, bring mom food; she won't get up, wake up Sophie, feed her, get her ready (be quiet, we don't want to wake up dad), pack our lunches, take the back door (dad was hung-over in the front room), take Sophie to grade school, go to high school, Math, Science, Religion (what a bunch of crap), Lunch, Art, leave as fast as possible, pick up Sophie; mom never will, take her home (we can use the front door, dad's already at the bar), make supper, help Sophie with her homework, put her to bed, do own homework (in my room; dad comes home at eleven), go to bed, let Sophie crawl into my bed (anothe
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I wrote a poem with the same title last year here: carmennge.deviantart.com/art/M… but the circumstances were entirely different then. So this year, I am reprising the original poem with a new twist and a very different context in mind but the person inspiring both poems remains the same love of my life 
© 2014 - 2024 carmennge
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