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Literature
Anathema
This is a transduction of
Minute f-fl-flickering electrical storms
Betwixt my temple's synapses to
Soft, subtle sillage of an
After
           thought
Into 1s
and 0s.
My mind is a species of its own,
Gnawing and clawing at the fabric
Of reality,
Neutrinos mistaking themselves for meteor showers
(stellar steam clinging to the ceiling
as though afraid of
Gravity [am I?
were you?])
Phosphophyllite lagoons flaked with shards of sun
Luna maria rippling over dilapidated bombed-out megacities
(noun
a very large city, typically one with a population of over ten million people.)
Whenever I close my eyes I see it--
Concrete crumbling
Pipes leaking
Sidewalks fracturing
Bulbs burning out
Rust dripping
Neon signs sizzling
And they all
fall
down
--
In truth there is nothing poetic about me.
Leaky intravenous fluid and scrambled electrocardiography are
What I bury my eyes in. Passerby pick their way
Through melting pedestrian paths, diffusing
:iconRipplingwaves:Ripplingwaves
:iconripplingwaves:Ripplingwaves 0 0
Literature
dilapidated - I
A heart rotting from the inside out;
Bruises and scrapes and incisions -
Maggots gnawing away at me (white speckles
And I can see my white bones), I'm begging
And crying for them to stop even though
I know I'll be cleansed like a soul in
Heaven's fire (slobbering and sobbing like
The pathetic mongrel I am), clutching at fraying
Scraps of me, drifting petals in the wind
And rippling the river.
I sit in a viscous cerise lake, ankle-deep.
The pool keeps encroaching on the starless
Shores, and the night is thick with
The scent of blood. When I close my salt-
Crusted lids I can see the aurora I dream
Of, can taste the boreal winds caressing
My tear-stained cheeks, promising it
Won't be long now.
What have I done?
Did I deserve this?
(But deep inside I know, the voice whispering;
Wraiths from ancient wells rising and
Cloaking me in chilled mossy prophecies)
But nobody can save me now.
I am so so so scared, peering into the dark
Like the answers are folded within creases
Of shadows. Bu
:iconRipplingwaves:Ripplingwaves
:iconripplingwaves:Ripplingwaves 1 2
Literature
thalassophile
Silver light upon the sea
Sharp as scales, they slit the
Morning sun open -
Like a yolk it bleeds, ichor
Spilled thoughtlessly;
Smearing the fish belly white
Morning with a splatter of life.
Golden light upon the sea
Warm as palms, they stroke the
Turbulent blue -
Like a cat it purrs, star-chilled waves
Licking shores;
Tabby pelt flecked with shell white
And the gulls sing once more.
:iconRipplingwaves:Ripplingwaves
:iconripplingwaves:Ripplingwaves 56 12
Literature
shalom
The sillage of a late June day,
Afloat in the stillness -
A broken grandfather clock with
Echoing chimes still gathering
From the clefts of this house.
This house worn yellow with memories.
We learn to molt out of our old shells,
Learn to forget the disturbances we leave
In the golden motes that were once part of us,
Same as the memories that moulded our bones.
We angled those bright-eyed smiles to
That rainbow-dotted sky together, do you remember?
100+ balloons escaping small fingers, 1
Blinding sun -
1
Moment in time, everlasting.
But even we aren't evergreen, despite
What we try to believe. We learn to
Acquiesce with the gravity, having heads
Pulled out of clouds, still wet and wondering.
We learn that there's nothing sidereal about the space
Encapsulated in a classroom, where I
Can still see scuff marks on the floor
Broken ceilings
Chalked boards
Black shoes worn threadbare
16 degree air with my own shadow
Until you shouted through the window saying
Something I can't remember but
I
:iconRipplingwaves:Ripplingwaves
:iconripplingwaves:Ripplingwaves 5 0
Literature
whisper (of the heart)
i)
She does not wear concealer.
Other girls clad in black, faces
Dusted white like porcelain,
Cherry-lip plastered countenances.
She thinks they looked more beautiful
With(in and out); now she cannot see
Them behind their masks, all angled
Towards her, owl-like and silent.
She prefers to keep her dark semi-circles,
Far sides of the moon. War trophies of
Witching hours where she did not cave in to
The back-breaking calls of sons of wolves, summoning
Her to come home, lifting off from
The 17th floor.
She does not know how to smile
(For the lightning-flash, almost a
Galaxy-worth of stars falling before
Her foggy-pane eyes, too dazzling and
She forgets how to breathe, too).
ii)
She hates her own dog-breath and
How she regurgitates fresh-killed prose,
A limp hare on the dew-laden grass,
Blood staining the soil black.
She picks apart her spilled guts,
Unimpressed by their bland pink,
The very color she detests.
She hates the too-loud sound of her
Paws slapping wet cement, she wants
That feli
:iconRipplingwaves:Ripplingwaves
:iconripplingwaves:Ripplingwaves 3 0
Literature
Saudade
Even the anonymous, the faceless
Sketched on the corners of your
Story have families, have people
Who love them. They might not have
Your well-outlined laugh or
Eyes that hold flecks of stars or
Murmuring words bubbled out between breaths,
But they have people
Who love them. People who'd hold
Funerals for them and weep
(Flora blossoming in their empty chests,
Yellow chrysanthemums for sorrow
Red poppies for peaceful slumber
White roses for remembrance
Marigolds to light their way home)
Why did you believe no one loved you
Enough to miss you?
But when you spin around and flash
That saccharine smile, my gaze does not
Meet yours across the flurry of sakura
Petal showers, I cannot see you and the
Air is sickly sweet, and I am gagging,
Dry-heaving half-drafted apologies and
I'm so sorry I could not remember
The flower we saw that day.
Tell me again?
Even if I'm just another passerby
In your plotline, dear protagonist,
Yours sincerely.
I'm so sorry I could not remember
The details of your co
:iconRipplingwaves:Ripplingwaves
:iconripplingwaves:Ripplingwaves 3 0
Literature
a valentine's poem
Love and I are strangers.
Storge, Philia, Eros and Agape -
Sisters of the same name;
I've shaken hands with them and
Smiled, saying let's meet again
When I don't mean it at all.
I don't.
I
Will dedicate this one to you instead.
Someone I (maybe) loved until you
Looked me in the soul and I remembered
We're strangers too.
I
Am one day late, but you won't mind,
Will you? Since there's been 300+
In between and you're accelerating away,
And I know you won't come swinging back
Like Pluto will, even if it takes 200+
Years.
Youerror
Asked me to write you a poem and
I keep on error pouring 0s & 1s onto
Paper after the deadline, atomic error clock
Heartbeat -errorerror - - -404 - -
What_is_thereerror_to_say?
You
Are on the platform and I on the train,
Hurling into landscapes yet to be
Created, a wor(l)d lodged in my throat,
Tears dripping in reverse.
I
Am not like those girls who
Paint poetry or shape songs or
Mirror movements or fall-in-love with fuckboys.
I
Just want to go home, where t
:iconRipplingwaves:Ripplingwaves
:iconripplingwaves:Ripplingwaves 3 0
Literature
I am a lost boy from Neverland
I move forward, cold and bare(footed)
Like running water
Flowing over the lichen-carpeted
Moors (with fog hung over her,
A moonlit shawl)
I am a white rabbit, wide-eyed
And silent so the
Owl with his cotton wings
Will never descend upon me
(That snowy reaper, claws sharp
As scythes, I'll welcome him
In one day I promise)
Maybe I was an ugly duckling, midflight
I feel the frozen breeze brush
Her soft fingers across my gray
Cheeks, ruffling my black locks.
My monochrome eyes reflect a
Snapshot of skies, the clouds
Blinding me (the Sun is asleep in
The monochrome, embedded in the
Pearly nest, a robin egg)
But that was for only a sliver of
Eternity, over by the time the light ends.
I am just still-life, captured
In hard corners above the mantelpiece,
Next to my jar of ashen hearts.
:iconRipplingwaves:Ripplingwaves
:iconripplingwaves:Ripplingwaves 7 0
Literature
Nepenthe
The sound of diamond
Shattering --
I suppose that's how stars
Die out.
A wolf grin under sheep's skin,
Green glare glowing, an augury
Of things yet to come, cloaked in
Shadows.
A taste of quixotic dreams
On the cusp of February, flowers
Blooming in reverse, eyes open wide
But not seeing. Like those fish lined
On ice, mouths agape, frozen
(Snapshot in time).
When I listen through the stethoscope
On my chest, all I hear is
Muted (underwater)
Static.
Everything seems to be playing in
Slow-motion, even the air is sluggish
And viscous, clinging to me like ghosts.
(When are they going to let go?)
Bruises that take weeks to fade -
Something with the shade of ripened fruit.
Turquoise to puce, rippling out
Like a nebula, finally dispersing into
Nothingness.
(The bells are really loud today.
It's a church. Maybe a wedding--
Or a funeral.)
:iconRipplingwaves:Ripplingwaves
:iconripplingwaves:Ripplingwaves 2 0
Literature
Aidenn
A censer smoldering, the
Faintest perfume of something,
Lingering on the tip of tongues yet
Have quietly escaped pinpointing.
She had her ablution last night,
Pale skin almost aglow with rose water.
Clad in the purest of whites, she was
Almost ethereal in the church lights,
Filtered and faded through drooping
Colored glass. As though the dead-water
Air had weighed them down through the
Centuries, soft sighs falling deaf
On mortals who've passed by, passed on.
Doves nested in the bell's shadow,
Peals long muted by wind and rain.
Father looks at her and smiles, wistful.
Her eyes were blue as the sky, winter-esque,
But nevermore would they shimmer like freshly
Fallen snow.
Innocence was never meant to last,
But maybe hers could, preserved in the
Liquid amber of memory.
This will be the last time he'll walk beside her.
If only she'd been old enough to learn
How to love.
Waiting at the altar was a silhouetted figure,
Clad in the purest of onyx.
Shrouded and silent, a face veiled
Like
:iconRipplingwaves:Ripplingwaves
:iconripplingwaves:Ripplingwaves 1 0
Atsushi Nakajima by Ripplingwaves Atsushi Nakajima :iconripplingwaves:Ripplingwaves 5 0
Literature
Untitled
The lights are on
To stay
(Burning
Through my mind)
:iconRipplingwaves:Ripplingwaves
:iconripplingwaves:Ripplingwaves 2 4
Literature
sunset in reverse
I am Pangea, made
To fall apart. I stopped
Trying to hold myself together
Because what's the point?
It was never meant to last, but
We always realize it once we're
Past the point of no return.
I am held down by the sky
With a finite loneliness;
Even submerged in the brackish
Water of this ancient well
(That seems to extend miles below
The crust into the lukewarm white
Core of the swollen planet) I can still
Blink through the grit of my
Red-washed eyes, dark shadows
Hung up neatly below them to
Dry, just to see your fleeting
Smile burned into my lids once
Again.
There's a solid emptiness in the
Shape of you somewhere, lingering like
The negative space between winter
Boughs and branches, antlers of the
Earth (a weighty crown of cartilage),
And the fallen leaves listen.
I delight in hearing the crunch beneath
My soles, something that might be an
Echo of your bones crackling in the flames.
That heat against your coffin, blazing like
The late-summer sun from when we used
To laugh without a
:iconRipplingwaves:Ripplingwaves
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Literature
lotus
When she was a seed, she
Struggled to find a foothold
Among the slippery river mud,
Murky water veiling her eyes and
She longed to breathe in the
Sun-laden air.
So up she reached, learning how
Not to drown. She paid no heed to
The sneers of gray carp, jeering at
Her dreams to become something different.
"You belong in the dark like us. The
Sky will forever be beyond your reach.
Give up while you can,"
But she nourished her dream and it
Grew as a pearl does, a crystallization
Of pain. She would not let the blackness
Taint her soul, even though she was born
From it. She was aglow from the inside, and
She grew her own colors from shadow.
Finally the day came.
In the wreaths of morning mist she emerged
Into the light. Blindingly white, she could
Hear her pulse thundering like a waterfall's
Cascade.
For the first time she saw her full,
Pink lips. For the first time felt something
Other than heavy silt pooled at her feet. She unfurled
Her emerald leaves, basking in warmth.
Warmth that brough
:iconRipplingwaves:Ripplingwaves
:iconripplingwaves:Ripplingwaves 2 0
Literature
between the devil and the deep blue sea
Plunging, roiling gray above -
A veil drawn across the
Heavens' grief, and heathens
Chant fervently to the
Thunderbeat.
A quickening pulse.
Tantalizingly close was
Salvation (Wait a little
Longer, it'll be over soon
).
An arc of polarizing blue
Snaps blindly through;
The clouds can feel that
They're on fire inside,
Flames threatening to
Burn them alive and the
Only thing that can save
Them is the very water
They're built of.
Riotous winds pick up
Forgetting to let go.
Immersed in her mind, she places a
Clammy palm on her cheek; these days
She feels like cumulonimbus,
Dense and sculpted by invisible
Fingers (a griping choke-hold,
But she's used to bruising and
Will only stare back with empty contempt -
As if mocking you, spitting
Is that the best you can do?)
Counting the shadows, her body thrums in harmony
With skysong. She no longer thinks she's drowning
When she is part of the ocean. Her father,
His hairline receding like the tide,
His wrinkles still as
:iconRipplingwaves:Ripplingwaves
:iconripplingwaves:Ripplingwaves 9 3
Literature
-
It's been 3.5 months and
I confess I'm already starting
To forget -
The way your hands moved, the
Joints of your slender fingers,
The tone of your skin
(I stare at photographs to
Remember, hoping to burn the
Images into the back of my eyes
And mind, so I'd carry you with
Me always).
I'd try to imagine what you'd do
If you sat right next to me now.
Maybe half a smirk, brush back those
Stray strands from your face, pulling
Out your phone and...
But I'm scared I didn't know you well
Enough to have the right to imagine what
You'd say.
I know I'll never get your words right,
Those soaked in the night-long melancholy
Of your eclipse.
I've known you for nearly a decade but
Still I feel like a stranger. And I'm
Losing you everyday, everyday my cells
Live and multiply and die but you,
What are you now?
Just
Memories?
Your life made me feel like the times
When the vacation was over and I'm
Down beside a half-unpacked suitcase
And wondering was it ever real at all
And by god, that went by fast.
Y
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:iconripplingwaves:Ripplingwaves 2 2

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Literature
diagnosis
It's not arrhythmia but heart sobbing. 
:iconAlessiah:Alessiah
:iconalessiah:Alessiah 25 5
Literature
Greyscale Paper
Everything is beautiful.
Clouds with leaves.
Oceans with flames;
Burning seas.
Rock of gases.
Wood and steel.
Cements over ashes.
Animals of inferiority.
Plants need no sun.
Lists of no end.
Starlight always born
Anew and of sinew.
Technology in prehistory.
Intermingling ghosts.
Dinner parties without hosts
And fathers with no children.
Women seldom weep.
In fact, tears erode plastic
In fantastic factories
That make nothing
Except blank paper now.
Before, we had trees with leaves
And clouds of air.
Seas of water and algae.
Earth of mineral and stone.
Animals ruled
And plants were horrendous.
Blooms and blossoms;
Bright colors.
Fucking hideous.
Dead people stayed hidden;
Shy fools.
Emotion and reason.
Emotions like fear and hate.
Emotions like envy and chemical love.
Reasons like relations.
Reasons put untrue premises above all else.
Tell me,
Isn't that paper more exciting with lead?
Can't the dead frolic with the living?
Aren't the oceans and skies and ground
Free to be what they were
:iconPoeticAlpha:PoeticAlpha
:iconpoeticalpha:PoeticAlpha 9 0
Literature
testimony
copper torches.
gasoline taste.
overthrown gods,
cast my bones
blessed.
relieve Sisyphus;
trade boulders
for ashes.
birdsong perishes
extinct,
dramatic.
oracles rumble,
chronicles shiver.
questions from
steel lips
protrude
unforgiven.
:iconPolarAnemone:PolarAnemone
:iconpolaranemone:PolarAnemone 17 3
Literature
shells shocked
there is afterlife
for lost places -
deep down
in Atlantis
you look through
distorted mirrors
and don't sense the earth
trembling.
you remember bullets ripping with rage
through the crystal shelter -
the moment you understood
no-one bears a sword
anymore.
the muses went silent
near the azure shore;
sunken lungs of yours
sound hollow,
l
  o
    w.
(hello?)
rippling waves
do not absolve
from insane dreams
and delirious hope.
bitter words
slowly dissolved,
soaring chords
reached the last edge -
the waves bent
and you waved
away.
:iconPolarAnemone:PolarAnemone
:iconpolaranemone:PolarAnemone 60 21
Literature
to wake the dead.
would it be terribly insensitive
for me to say “good morning”
in a cemetery?
the sun lifts up slowly,
and the dead sleep in late,
as usual.
:iconlittleblueraccoon:littleblueraccoon
:iconlittleblueraccoon:littleblueraccoon 202 26
Literature
Scoliosis
There is a poem within the curvature of your spine, that I know.
Somewhere within the scoliosis S of your back there are words,
   but for now I cannot even find your muscles,
                  (asymmetrical along your shoulders
                   and wound up in knots that sailors would marvel at,
                    buried between and above the bones of your ribs
                       haphazardly like treasure, or mines, or pinched muscles
                  defying all conceptual knowledge of human anatomy
              and thus my every effort to ease their tension,)
 and it is making this back massage really unsuccessful,
but I keep searching anyway
if only because I love the feel of yo
:iconBeItLacking:BeItLacking
:iconbeitlacking:BeItLacking 72 16
Literature
3 in the Afternoon
Happiness is when the door clicks shut
at 3 in the afternoon and sunlight
stalks in uninvited through the blinds,
making a sepia mess of the room, and you
are waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting
in the sunken sofa cushion like a lost
nickel looking to be found. The truth is
you found me, standing just inside
the doorway like a stray animal brought
home for the first time, imbalanced
ragged and confused. I stumbled on myself
that first time, making more contact
with the floor, tables and walls than I
did with you. In some respects, that
hasn't changed. I trip on my feet,
walk into walls and door frames still,
but every now and then I bump into you
and remember what makes this home, what
makes you home.
:iconikazon:ikazon
:iconikazon:ikazon 40 71
Literature
Kyoto
Traveling to Japan taught me nothing, except
for the fear of missing flights, stranding myself
in places where I can't read signs, and taking
the wrong escalator off a train platform into
a department store.
The land did the teaching, rolling hills that became
mountains in the blink of an eye, rushing past fast
as crowds of salarymen filled every vacant seat
in every train car, in every city bus, in every
office visible to the naked eye or otherwise—
hills that became mountains covered in trees
and buildings and both, the earth that came to terms
with the creatures living on it that came to terms
with the earth. The Kamogawa, a lesson
in patience, cut through both—a leader flanked
by concrete soldiers, situated between ume trees
that cast long shadows at sunset.
There are 1,600 temples in Kyoto, some
older than the city itself. Even there, the land
did the teaching, proving permanence
that has outlived the salarymen, that has
outlived the buildings, that has outlived
human
:iconikazon:ikazon
:iconikazon:ikazon 64 29
Literature
for a vagabond (iii)
it took you so long to realize
i had asked you a question
three hundred years and then some,
and i wonder how long
it will take before you
formulate an answer:
ten centuries or a second?
but after that, let us
seek our fortunes,
let us find the holy grail
in run-down taverns, let us
chat to old men who have
lived on mountains for
decades, let us lay with
strangers and one another,
let us see the sky in the
ocean and the ocean in lakes,
let us clothe ourselves in
silk and marvels.
come, let us
find ourselves in each
other.
:iconknownrecidivist:knownrecidivist
:iconknownrecidivist:knownrecidivist 7 0
Literature
but would a scientist look at this and call it joy
let the ashes fall to the ground;
in its wake we will build a stronger Rome,
with a pantheon like upturned palms.
seagulls' road roars, warns of
a storm to come, and we drag our boats
to the shore, not a second spilled on
idle chatter. let the waves explode,
because we have nothing to lose now
that our angels have fallen and our
demons ascended. God is hiding in
his bomb shelter.
i once built a chariot from the remains
of Dante's coffin, with wheels carved from
limestone desperation, but it could not
carry me further than the next gas station
where you waited to drag me back.
don't let the wings on my shoes
deceive you, i can be devilish, i am
demonic in surprising ways, i told you, and you
said nothing.
in hindsight the horns on your helmet
should have been answer enough.
but my chariot is being smashed
by the waves by now, and there is no way
to fulfill the dream of vagabonds
these days.
so come to me, friend, and we
will play a nocturne with nothing
but the wind and the rocks, we
wi
:iconknownrecidivist:knownrecidivist
:iconknownrecidivist:knownrecidivist 59 27
Literature
bornstill
the bird is just a
melancholic ghost
of its egg
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:iconphotosynthetichuman:photosynthetichuman 15 2
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932 deviations
This is a transduction of
Minute f-fl-flickering electrical storms
Betwixt my temple's synapses to
Soft, subtle sillage of an
After
           thought


Into 1s
and 0s.


My mind is a species of its own,
Gnawing and clawing at the fabric
Of reality,
  1. Neutrinos mistaking themselves for meteor showers
    (stellar steam clinging to the ceiling
    as though afraid of
    Gravity [am I?
    were you?])
  2. Phosphophyllite lagoons flaked with shards of sun
  3. Luna maria rippling over dilapidated bombed-out megacities
    (noun
    a very large city, typically one with a population of over ten million people.)


Whenever I close my eyes I see it--
Concrete crumbling
Pipes leaking
Sidewalks fracturing
Bulbs burning out
Rust dripping
Neon signs sizzling
And they all

fall

down

--



In truth there is nothing poetic about me.
Leaky intravenous fluid and scrambled electrocardiography are
What I bury my eyes in. Passerby pick their way
Through melting pedestrian paths, diffusing at the
Boundaries (isn't that all we are, particles constantly
Losing themselves) through the cold misted-over
Glass panel of a night bus.
Anathema
a person or thing accursed or consigned to damnation or destruction.
Loading...
A heart rotting from the inside out;
Bruises and scrapes and incisions -
Maggots gnawing away at me (white speckles
And I can see my white bones), I'm begging
And crying for them to stop even though
I know I'll be cleansed like a soul in
Heaven's fire (slobbering and sobbing like
The pathetic mongrel I am), clutching at fraying
Scraps of me, drifting petals in the wind
And rippling the river.

I sit in a viscous cerise lake, ankle-deep.
The pool keeps encroaching on the starless
Shores, and the night is thick with
The scent of blood. When I close my salt-
Crusted lids I can see the aurora I dream
Of, can taste the boreal winds caressing
My tear-stained cheeks, promising it
Won't be long now.

What have I done?
Did I deserve this?
(But deep inside I know, the voice whispering;
Wraiths from ancient wells rising and
Cloaking me in chilled mossy prophecies)

But nobody can save me now.

I am so so so scared, peering into the dark
Like the answers are folded within creases
Of shadows. But a flicker of light beckons,
And I fight against the gravity of a thousand
Suns, leaning into the grasping tendrils
Of hope.
i) The wraith of a sun floats
Above the horizon, phosphenes 
In the eyes of god(s). Astral lights
Exhale; the dawn zephyr reaches 
Down from the new-born heavens
(Reincarnated every morning)
And kisses the soil, and you shrouded
In your bud decides to unfurl - 
Breathing to synodic rhythms. 

ii) Perhaps you were the rose the
Nightingale decided to pierce it's throat
On, all for the sake of love.
You were a romantic, an idealist, a
Dreamer. The world would turn slower
For you when you believed; fireflies 
Flitting in the shadowy spaces between your 
Fingers, and we'd watch the night turn
Robin-blue as the moonlight bathed you
In a halo. You were a goddess with nebulae
In your wake, but in your own reflection
You only saw incandescence that hurt your
Retina, and you shied away. 

iii) We are all born with fire in our 
Lungs and stars in our eyes; yet
Senescence is woven into our bones
And subject to entropy's ceaseless 
Current, the same way the corners
Of the pelagic expanse swallows
Our footprints, murmuring ancient
Hymns from the deep, as old as Time,
Yet ephemeral as tides. 

iv) Perhaps you were the rose the
Prince fell madly for, but you didn't need
A prince, just someone to treat you like
A princess. You lived together in a small
Hiding-place within the woods, your
Own planet, a tryst that could fit in the palms
Of your hands. But you cut yourself on 
Your thorns, and you wondered whether
The wounds would fester and poison you
From the inside out. 
(You were afraid of falling, you were afraid
Of rotting from the inside out.)


v) You were a bairn of mornings,
Your petals soaked with the spectrum 
Of the arching skies. We are inborn
Nephologists, with a curiosity that
Overflows the boundaries of the backyard,
Finding universes in the minutiae. But
Nothing gold can stay, and your gold
Beckoned to dragons. You found monsters
Not under your bed, but making a den in 
Your head. 

vi) Efflorescent. You'd drift into a sloom,
Boreal cirrus your nest. I don't know
How many nights you cried yourself to 
Sleep, not wanting to see the day you
Wilt, the sepia-tinged memories encroaching
Like rust, and you can't run from the
Shadows cast by your own light. 

vii) Remember the story I told you about 
Icarus? Maybe then did you decide 
Gravity was your ally and you mused about
What your eulogies would be like. But
All I saw were your rose-colored atmospheres;
I couldn't see your desinences behind your
Radiant smiles. You wandered alone in the
Wilderness of your mind, beaten by 
Roaring waves that threatened to swallow
You alive, the brine blinding you. 

viii) Perhaps you were the rose that thought
She was negligible, only one of millions of 
Those cold specks of light, too far away
To mean anything anymore. You told me 
The worst things in life come free to us,
You whispered if you love me let me go,
So from cloud 9 you decided to plummet
As a shooting star - 
The seconds froze as you shed your final
Layers in a supernova, and like a phoenix
You blinked out into naught but ashes.

ix) That's when your pulse flickered
And faded
(It's too cold outside
For angels to fly,
For angels to die). 

x) And now I'm left alone by myself
Watching cerulean light diffusing from the
Witching hours, wondering why couldn't
I've talked you down. I don't know how
To save a life, so this posthumous
Cenotaph falls only on deaf ears
(Can you hear me?
You don't gain a single thing from misery)
I wish I could've been the lighthouse
To guide you home from the dark
Waters, to tell you that it doesn't matter
If you lost your crown to shipwrecks,
Because you can always be king again.

In my eyes you were euthanized by
Your own hands, the same hands
That let ink flow across paper like
Blossoms.

In my eyes you smile, your breath
Drifting into the ripened harvest moon
Like a flock of birds, using the stars
As their guide.

In my eyes you are sempiternal, 
In the way you lived and laughed and
Loved, and I am blessed to have been
Able to stand in your radiance, albeit
Only for a fleeting moment, but 
I'm grateful for our little infinity.



Thank you.

May lights guide you wherever you wander.



for an eccedentesiastO diaphanous dawn;
The stars birth cerulean li(ght/fe),
Sun rises, carpe diem.

deviantID

Ripplingwaves's Profile Picture
Ripplingwaves
Hong Kong
If I could catch the falling stars
I'd place them in a glassed jar
Sing them lullabies of paper cranes
Painted by luminous nebulae,
And hand them to you, with your
Gaze igniting comets drifted ashore.

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:iconcomatose-comet:
comatose-comet Featured By Owner May 5, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
thanks for the fave :rose:
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zanderman18 Featured By Owner Mar 11, 2017  Hobbyist
You write really pretty poems. I hope you have a wonderful day~
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blanketings Featured By Owner Feb 17, 2017   Writer
thank you so much for the favorites, i hope you have an amazing day! <3
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:iconhopeburnsblue:
hopeburnsblue Featured By Owner Apr 20, 2016  Professional Writer
Hi! Thanks for :+fav:ing my poem, "I Shall Compare Thee to a Sunshower." :iconheartdarkgreenplz:
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:iconbleedingprophecies:
BleedingProphecies Featured By Owner Mar 13, 2016  Student Writer
Thank you for the favorite! :D 
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dreamsinstatic Featured By Owner Mar 4, 2016
Thanks for the :+fav:
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angelserum Featured By Owner Feb 27, 2016  Student Writer
Oh my, I feel truly loved after all your attention to my gallery, thank you~ :heart::hug:
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dynax700si Featured By Owner Jan 31, 2016  Professional Photographer
Thanks for stopping by at my gallery and for all the faves! :D
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:iconcomatose-comet:
comatose-comet Featured By Owner Jan 17, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
thanks for the fave :rose:
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dietcocaine Featured By Owner Jan 17, 2016   Writer
Thank you so much for the favorite, I really appreciate it. :)
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