Vines, wires, distant hills
Within that stillness.
That sheep regarded me
Composed with shadows
Shuffle through the aisles.
Morning leaves its breath
On the tip of the autumn leaves
Before the brightness became apparent.
My face embraced by
The damp delight
In the break of a May day.
While the sheep in fog
Brought me to this fairy land.
The empty space you left permeates,
Infectious, hollows mind.
A world vast and warmthless
I’m still breathing with corrupted lungs,
Chocked by the ashes that fall
As the winter comes.
The lover that went wrong,
My name forgotten, blurry and gone.
I was the reckless, the only youth (between us)
Falling for that youthful dream that drowned in your leaden truth.
I knew you were bleeding (before all this),
But you are the lucky one.
Because the dying is the one that you think went wrong.
I am the one naïve youth that you will soon forget,
Left in the far field
With the blade still deep
Bury under the skin.
Missing the hand that
Once hold the grip.
I’m still missing.
After Daughter, Elena Tonra “Youth”
The morning mist is famous to the musing gaze of the wondering soul,
Whiteness hooves across the fields,
Taking away the breath
Of the leaving train.
We disappointed her,
Letting her through to that stillness.
Her skin bright as a lampshade.
She is famous
While loneliness is famous to
After Naomi Shihab Nye “Famous”
And Sylvia Plath “Sheep in Fog” and “Lady Lazarus”
You will lose your one true love,
And it would be so painful that you truly understand how death is so peaceful.
You would know that void is nothing more than
A wishful state
As hollow swallows you
While agony permeate the once empty space.
“To live in this world
you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it
against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.”
– from “In Blackwater Woods” by Mary Oliver, 1983
How unfortunate –
a detached fetus,
yet an unborn,
fragmented with still lukewarm
A lump like a lemon,
That greyish red tissue.
A cake marinated with cold jelly,
Your warm affection
No more into the heart.
I hold (on to) it,
Clutch our unborn
of rosy future.
A grief, that is.
Alone in the room
A dead silence
Sing with the drifted weep.
Where is the mother?
Love, “I am ill.”
I’ve been prescribed a pill to bury
do(es)n’t leave me.
The stain on your
Misty and mistaken and when
Agitate your heart
Change your dark
Room of wound
How you depart –
Mother without birth.
*Recomposed from Cut by Sylvia Plath
‘’And in the night’’
With a drunken man lying down stairs
Conversation flied through the twigs as if there were only us
And she hooked me onto this thing called romance
In front of her friends’ house, used to.
I was dreaming,
It was sweet.
The voice so bright the moon lights between the lips
I felt the warmth of blood through my vein
Drifting off to love.
I promised myself that I would never lose her
My timid desire for a delicate she,
I’m scarred with fragile affection,
I thought of that sometimes.
Romance is now dead and done.
And it cut into my rib cage deep and sound
The breath of baby dead silent
And it cut into me between flesh and soul.
‘’I could begin to open up and risk desire
For I move slower and
Quieter than most’’
I’ve gone too deep too soon I still forget too slow
I wish it wasn’t that way but at least it’s you.
Touch me here
Dance to me
‘’I don’t care
If’’ it repeated
I want to be where you are
For all that I desired humble as it can be but last a bit further
Than that of a cut flower
So when I look at the stuff there still you are not gone
Flesh and soul
Deep and sound
*Recomposed from Ex:Re – Romance by Elena Tonra