Words Much Like Poetry

a starburst does not forget, no matter how bright its flame; it does not burn away the thread of memory. it consciousness, of brilliant orange spectrum, can still envision, with fiery inner eye, scenes of wrenching pain; its feverish epidermis can still sustain hurts; its seething auricles can still drink in insults, murmured in the barest of whispers, insults which echo timelessly in loud orbits, artificial satellites that resist destruction, close as they are to the devouring element.

NOTE: This is a previously published work (Mom Writer's Literary Magazine - Online Issue, Spring 2007). It was written a number of years ago, at perhaps the lowest point in my life. I would like to share it, though (as it was my first publication, I'm quite proud of it). It was written in a style which is completely varied from the tone I now use in my poetry, so please forgive the few revisions I have made. To view the poem as it was originally published, please visit... http://www.momwriterslitmag.com/Archives/MagazineIssues/Spring2007/Poem8.htm Thank you! is this the price of passion, a life filled with remorse, needless struggle and all-consuming pain a life filled with self-pity, self-loathing and never-ending strife? I grieve for what never was and what shall never be. what has my life become? a river of tears that scathe my face with their heat, their constancy, I am alone in my fears, alone in my pain, alone in my strife he caused it, little one. caused the stres...

passion is no more than a bygone sentiment, our ardor long extinguished itself, and I've only vague impressions of being as a fiercely lit conflagration within your arms. I sift constantly through the ashes of that emotion, in desperate search of an ember that might spark and reignite the flame, only to come away with nothing, fingers gray. no, instead I have become as a black hole, once the epitome of supernal magnificence turned nova, then super, o cataclysm, o crux, o nervous breakdown, and insanity won, becomes the epitome of nothingness, an inky void which begins to draw from everything that surrounds it. laughter, the elixir of ages, drained. memories, of what sweet, small splendor there was, lost. tears, the outcome of heartache, siphoned dry. nothing is spared the inexorable pull, the irresistible dark force, not even the light.

I think on recent events, all that has happened to the place once called the home of my soul, and despair. the long years have brought on homesickness and a nearly desperate need to return, even more so now, when my heart is crying out for those perishing in abominable fashion. I watch the censured scenes on news broadcasts, browse internet pages full of gore, but, both are nothing more to me than electronic nonsense. no, I want to see for myself the rage, convince my mind that my heart is not breaking in vain, that the people that I long to belong to have truly turned to murder and hate and insensible cruelty. for my mind remains irrationally logical and dismisses that such notions of chaos can occur where splendor lives. and what of those who stand between? children born half of one and half of the other? will they be slashed down the middle so that each corresponding half can fight for whom it belongs? what a tragic legacy shall be left to those who by the Almighty's grace survi...

I say to you, ask me at the end of life's road, if I love you, do not ask me now when there is so much of you I have yet to learn.

there are places within myself I no longer go, dark, murk filled bogs waiting to sink me in old miseries old, not new those that are new rise before me desert dunes the height of Everest feet grasping, never let go sand hills...

there was once a time, when I moved through the world like a sleeper whose mind was filled with constant dreams, fairy tale lands, happy endings, and a sun that never set. then, came the awakening, like that of ice water upon skin that burns hot with fever, and my eyes flew open and have since never shut. the constant dreams came to an end and, instead of the bright, shining light of my make belief world, there’s darkness about my soul, a dark misery caused by love, or is rather the harsh consequence of love. o why, dear love, did this rude awakening have to come about so soon? o why, dear love, have you gone? the stench of my misery overwhelms my senses, and the walls reverberate with emptiness, echoing loudly my loneliness. all that is left is the pain, such pain, such pain! it floods the chambers of my heart and constricts my lungs ‘til I can hardly breathe, and the fear. I fear I am inept at that thing called love. and, so fearing, I embrace the dark misery, the despair; yet, even ...