Prints

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graffiti of time, so layered with grime

lost is her luster, accustomed eyes’ crime

 

scatter some white, the powder on her rind

cloak of cellophane tape to wrap and bind

 

stiff is the nude, her transparency chastised

scrape off, such scarred impressions she hide

 

testimony of love, lust and of dying stars

fingerprints of lost lovers, the skin so marred

 

embossed in such doleful memoir is her skin

the recital of handprints she was cradled in

 

gather the latent, dust off these remains

off memory, off complaint, so free of stains

 

weep, weep, let her weep all she needs

scrub it off, wipe it off, score her skin till it bleeds

 

behold her blank wall, o the artists enthralled

an exotic art awaits her to cherish and own

 

she deserves

 

© Written Frames, 2018

Image Source: Pinterest

 

Lost and found

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inebriated

the bones shrouded by silence

head discoes to the drum roll

of inner swell that bangs

 

numbness, this numbness

eyes know not how to blink

shred and scrap from the red roof falls

a heart with a limp is dragged

 

destruction, destruction

thumps and thuds of caustic silence

the bod swings on a blue tide so high

unleash the eruption within, gush out

 

deafening disquietude

these cues of un-spelled languages

sear the tongue succumbed to smoky distaste

dry cough of doubt with finesse

 

welcome, o welcome

leak from a faucet so worn out drips

ticking clock and creak of closing doors

shift of focus relieves

 

submissive invasion

into nothingness, escape from oneself

everything to find where one would be self

the noise shushed by intruders

 

sleep now

 

Written Frames, 2018

Dreams of avarice

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Buoyant with brilliant eyes

She sails on the stream of time

Her aquatic heart, the amphibian mind

Suspended in distant waters

Her gaze settled above the saline

 

Pebbled path there she sees

Ready to take her through wild trees

Her sight skips the footprints that lead

And she ceased,

‘Dreams of peace are not welcome’, she reads.

 

O she rushes back before she is pulled in

Into a routine, a duty to fulfill

Of worldly matters

Of monetary gains

Of sick craze

To tramp the others on the path you chase

 

Flapping her limbs, succumbed to angst

She runs, she drops, she crawls

Into the bedaubed shrine so crystal mossed

She sinks deep and so her innocence within

Her Heart creased with those latent dreams

Submerged along, O she screams

 

She screams,

 

Bewildered

 

Unnoticed

 

Strangest silence

 

Smothered

 

Hands pressed against her vocals.

 

O my, she is afraid

What if the dormant demons inside appreciate the scene

Her eyes have seen in the land beyond

Of leg-cuffed deadweights dragging the dreams of avarice?

 

© Written Frames, 2017