[x]

Under a Witches SkyAnd lo there he said: "I am darkness rising"
— ‘an apparition bleeding into a dreaming sky
Distilled in the timbre of windswept voices,
black feathers enchant earth in fevered-song
Magick ebbs & shimmers thru earthen veins,
seething like a migration of hungry wolves
Silvery eyes peer, drinking the ether of souls;
watching the spirit world fold into the mists
And where Shadows and Witches conjure,
— myriad talons beshrew Winter’s prayer

For eons I hath wandered in forgotten lore
— a sleep walker thru ash & fire, hunting ..
Beneath Moon solemn and drifting,
I covet thy ghostly figure velvet, undressing
Pools of

The Man and the MoonHer mouth corners hung themselves
and I began to wonder if that was the death of them.
A simple, quiet death;
without broken fingernails lining the walls
with the stripes of a despairing end.
I began to ache with the questioning in my heart
with the echoes reverberating in my capillaries
of her face scorching sunshine in her smile
right before it crumpled
and nothing was left but a frowning moon
set firm in its resignation to an upcoming eclipse.

Dandelion QueenI dream of the ocean;
that paper-thin line where
the current swallows the stars
and the water churns violet

(you tell me to be
quiet,

dandelion queen, we've
heard all these words before)

tonight
I will sleep heavy
and wake a few hours before dawn,
only to forget my name

my wave-weathered heart will cry,
I will cry (my biggest fear
is drowning in too many
of my own weighted words

you tell me to be
quiet
so I can hear the world breathe)

I want to go home

the scars on your shouldersthe scars on your shoulders
are braille to me, so that i
can read your skin, so that i
can know you better.

i like to listen to your heartbeat
and how it resounds differently
from mine, just so beautifully
like two songs played in tandem
to harmonise in rounds;

i like to hold your hands
and rub your back
so that maybe my love
can find its way through your pores
and seep into your blood
(never can i find the right words
to tell you just the way you feel to me)

and to think that and how i nearly missed you
makes me miss you more
every minute and mile we spend
elsewhere.
i can't sleep with another body
in my bed,
but sleeping without you
leav

Overgrown ColorsRed like blood on a rose.
White like bone and stars.
Black like reclusiveness.
Green like dead air.
Orange like the savage instinct.
Purity like a god's heart.
Red like thawing hatred.
White like a frozen, severe cry.
Black like the night's deprived shadows.
Green like the wind in the grass.
Orange like the light in the shadows.
Purity like the sun rising.
So discharging through the moon in a wheeze is like luminous white, dispersed red.

He doesn't write poetry anymore.He doesn’t write poetry anymore,
even if he still collects it, reads it, saves it, treasures
faded verses from his wife the way connoisseurs
savor vinyl over metallic rainbows on disc.
I don’t mind not knowing, but I can’t stand not asking.

The record needle hits the groove wrong;
he stumbles over words that aren’t there,
rummaging for an answer he doesn’t really have.
He doesn’t write poetry anymore
and his confusion is strangely endearing.

But there’s a lyricism to his words that I love,
poetic lines inserted between the daily grind
of character names and who said what;
voiceless boys in white a

PocketLeftover religion in the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
A key that unlocks nothing
A penny, a scrap of paper
With half of your name
Written in black ink

A song that is usually in my head
In the shriveled carcass
Of a long-dead dream
In the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
With the lint

WindowsHere am I, repeated,
and beyond waits everything
but everything is more
than I can bear.

I am not built for altitude
nor looking far afield;
groves and granite-sided mountains
stop my gaze

like rest for every tired wing;
a cover in the coldest time
snugged up beneath my chin.

Windows nothing more,
but safe lies there behind them
as the chambered hours pass;

safe sleeps there behind them
on the soft side of the glass.

Dry Spell I am immobilized by time.
by the idea that it is somehow slipping,
fleeting,
evaporating
through the cracks of
my fingers and high

above my head.
I am terrified by the incessant notion
that no combination of thoughts,
words,
silences,
or actions
could possibly satiate it.

I realize only now that it can never be filled:
all which is tossed into it is swallowed in haste
or stretched
so far
that it dissolves into non-being.
I find that I am caught within its furrows
much like the words it devo

with thanks to frosttwo roads diverged in a soulless dawn
and you pull over,
idling on the shoulder of route 50.
it's a polaroid morning and
the world is as grainy
and sleep-heavy
as your eyes,
and one million miles
is not far enough.
it plays back, filmstrip,
blurred along the length of
optic nerves,
and here you are:
facing a choice between
on
and
out.
and this?
this loosejointed, hollowbodied
weightless ache--
this is what
gone
feels like.

Pull Her Hair/Stare At The StarsThe ghosts have crashed their ship
on the other side of town,
you can see it from the second floor
all the way over here.
You can see the white clouds
rising from the wreck
and a nova of heat, a big bright
nova of warmth pulling the moths and wolves
out from the woods (with their noses up and searching).
You can smell the yearning like bees
leaving the hive, like the grizzly brown bears
on the jagged white mountains (concrete and imposing).
They call it fear,
but I see these ghosts
scrambling up into the sky
and I like to think it's
something different entirely.

Condemnedbeneath the beaten earth they lay,
their dreams condemned to ashes,
and our restless bodies stretch,
for forgiveness, for direction –

survivors of the abyss,
amidst wide-eye, silent soldiers –
so many dead, so many maimed,

how many graves are we standing on, today?

SisterSister

A sister is like a soul mate;
Someone who is always there
to guide me through fate.

A sister is,
a part of childhood that I cannot erase;
A sister like you,
is one that I would never replace
because you always know how to
put a smile on my face.

I know I can depend on you
to always be there for me;
This is one hundred percent guaranteed!

I've had great memories with you
in the past;
and I hope there are many more
to come,
in the future.

Life, Death And A Pork Chop SandwichAll tangled up, hard to breathe
This steel cloud day that swirls
With heat and pounding hammers
I shake in my boots and cough up
Blood, rust and damaged flesh
Waiting for the second coming
Maybe next time around there'll be
Some chance for more than this

A twisted barbed wire halo
Wrapped tight around my skull
Blinding white light aura
Swarming with flies I'm flying
To pieces, thousands of shards
Cannot be brought back together
But I will remember the summer
Of my first Chevrolet in each bit

Gleaming bits of glass in the desert
Each reflecting a different moment
Still, now, enduring until the waves
Of a new ocean sweep them away
No pain

A Night By the FireNo light,
The light sired by the night
All above whilst the day's delights
Now disappears from mortal sight.

Faded away is the sun's power,
Taking the stage now is night's sallow flower;
Now mortals may behold the stars and falling shower.

Set in a pit Nature's skyscraper ablaze
And revel in the emanating heat as you gaze,
Looking down on occasion when you hear a crack from the fire
And witness "fireflies" flying away from mother's blaze;
Dying shortly after but not lacking burning beauty do they desire!

I look out towards the teasing shore
And meditate as we sit upon her door,
Thinking on what my future has in store;
Who I am now and even

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tacenda.he's curled up at one end of the sofa, legs tucked underneath him, book in hand, glasses so low on his nose they're practically in his lap already.

she doesn't recognise the book, but it's tattered and worn, like he's already read it a thousand times. like he could probably recite whole passages from memory at his point.

his hair is a mess. there's a hole in his t-shirt, just below his right shoulder, and his jeans are split at the knee. his fingers are covered in what's probably paint, or maybe ink, and there's matching smudges on the bridge of his nose, from his apparently futile efforts to keep his glasses up. the bags under his eyes are

never, in fact, homelessyou are in a car, speeding down the highway
you don't know where you're going
but you're sure going fast

you are in a car
this car is your home
your childhood is trapped in the gap between the seats
amongst the sweet wrappers and loose change

you are in a car
you don't know where you're going
you're not the one driving
but you're sure going fast
you're sure it will be worth it

you are in a car
you have spent most of your life in a car
you are listening to the roar of the engine
you will probably sleep in the car
you will probably fall asleep to the roar of the engine
and dream of the way the seat judders when th

gonna love you 'till the seas run drywhen everything is dead
when even your bones are dust
when even the dust does not remember your names

yes, this will happen, and yes, you will die one day
you can not keep going forever
and soon, you will stop wanting to

when everything is dead,
he will still remember your names
he will still visit the places you stood
remember fondly the looks on your faces
and try to convince himself that
he is not the kind of being prone to tears

when everything is dead
when everything has crumbled into dust
yes, even your bones, and yes, even your souls
nothing lasts forever, nothing wants to last forever
except him
and whate

please take my handshe has been investigating all of the ways
that she is not and will never be an angel

1) her bones are not hollow
2) there is grace in the way she moves
not sitting deep inside of her, in place of her soul
3) her soul sits deep inside of her, weighing her down

4) she has no wings
5) she has no halo
6) she has need of sleep,
and she never dreams of heaven
7) the closest she gets to being part of the heavenly host
is when she hosts a dinner party

8) her faith is not ingrained into her bones
and her bones are not hollow and she has no wings,
regardless of how much her shoulder blades itch

9) she

the only thing we have to gainlet us convince ourselves
this is all we need

let's write lines of it across the walls
until we see it so often
it's engraved into
the backs of our eyelids

let's speak it into each other's mouths
until it's engraved into
the backs of our teeth

let's carve it into each other's skin
so when we catch glance of the scars
in the corner of our eyes
we are reminded of the pain
and let the pain remind us
that this is all we need

let's convince ourselves
this is all we need
until it's engraved
into the back of our skulls

let me help you forget
that you ever had a brother
who did not love you like you loved him
who

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all of your friends are dead

by ~scripturiency, Jan 25, 2013, 1:22:44 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

sorry, i can't make it in today.
i have come down with
a bad case of 'everyone i love is dead'.

side-effects include suicidal tendencies,
alcoholism, an inability to get out of bed
even when the house is on fire.
especially when the house is on fire.

symptoms include an acute lack of parents,
a wardrobe full of black suits,
a house full of empty and emptying whisky bottles,
too many worn photographs,
and not nearly enough visitors or phone calls.

so sorry, i can't make it in today.
i just can't face the idea of pretending
i am still fine, i am still fine, i am still fine,
when everyone i love is dead.
because everyone i love is dead.

all of your friends are deadby ~scripturiency

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

©2013 ~scripturiency

an autobiography. co-authored by the winchester brothers.

~little-supernova Jan 26, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Sigh. Damn life.

Reply

~scripturiency Jan 30, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

trudat.

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*Red-Oaks-Ranch Jan 25, 2013 Hobbyist Digital Artist

I love this, in that the narrator is so honest.
And the description made me smile, despite the depressing part. x)

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~scripturiency Jan 26, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

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