Distant stare into the distance,
Locked inside my thoughts,
Thoughts whirl about.
My name is called,
snapping to attention,
fake smile pasted on.
Push feelings back,
Show happy lightness,
Push feelings back.
Later in the dark,
The tears freely flow,
No hiding here.
Written by Bardouble29 5/20/09
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Almost Free
I asked, you denied,
I asked again, you began to see.
You wanted to hold on tighter.
To try to be what you can not.
Don't hold me back.
I need to spread my wings.
You unlocked the cage,
I tentively stepped out.
"If you love something,
set it free...."
Don't hold your breathe,
I am not coming back.
Please understand...
Know where my heart lies.
Written by Bardouble29
I asked again, you began to see.
You wanted to hold on tighter.
To try to be what you can not.
Don't hold me back.
I need to spread my wings.
You unlocked the cage,
I tentively stepped out.
"If you love something,
set it free...."
Don't hold your breathe,
I am not coming back.
Please understand...
Know where my heart lies.
Written by Bardouble29
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
soaked
i hear the universe ~
softly and steadily
she breathes
thoughts
into my soul.
softly ~
like the glistening petals
of a rain-drenched flower.
steadily ~
like the unceasing energy
of the rich torrents
that cascade
from the heavens.
i feel the universe ~
she infuses me,
soaking me ~
like the heavens
permeating
the deep, red earth.
~written by the.red.mantissa~
softly and steadily
she breathes
thoughts
into my soul.
softly ~
like the glistening petals
of a rain-drenched flower.
steadily ~
like the unceasing energy
of the rich torrents
that cascade
from the heavens.
i feel the universe ~
she infuses me,
soaking me ~
like the heavens
permeating
the deep, red earth.
~written by the.red.mantissa~
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Wishing Well
Wishing Well
Saturday night begat Sunday fire,
the morning bloodroses in the clouds
each one the chariot of an angry pagan god
chased out by one true passion.
This sunrise is only a decoration
unlike the one before
which may have meant life or death
--we've all woke up dead
in time for the fire to burn
it's mark of one more day alive.
this one sunrise is for your eyes only,
enchanted and drunken as they are
by love's
shot glass whiskey barfloor dance.
The sun sets us to burn.
The floors are on fire--
we are drunken well-wishers
casting pennies into darkness
you threw them for luck--
I threw them
for one endless weekend
Sundayrise tells us to try again
very soon
Written By Eric Bachman
Saturday night begat Sunday fire,
the morning bloodroses in the clouds
each one the chariot of an angry pagan god
chased out by one true passion.
This sunrise is only a decoration
unlike the one before
which may have meant life or death
--we've all woke up dead
in time for the fire to burn
it's mark of one more day alive.
this one sunrise is for your eyes only,
enchanted and drunken as they are
by love's
shot glass whiskey barfloor dance.
The sun sets us to burn.
The floors are on fire--
we are drunken well-wishers
casting pennies into darkness
you threw them for luck--
I threw them
for one endless weekend
Sundayrise tells us to try again
very soon
Written By Eric Bachman
Monday, July 30, 2007
golden apple
his soul sings silently,
threaded
in gauzy and golden light
my heart impales itself
on this melody
my soul cleaves
to his lyrical luminescence
his great, flowing essence
quenches my thirst ~
this scorching yen
that scars
of successive past lives
have woven
into my very essence
he washes me
away from myself
leaving me bare,
somewhat macerated and bare
exposed ~
for all my frailties and wounds
... he sees ... he knows ...
he hears the whispers of the universe, too
that sacred light
of his core
flickers softly,
and with each flash,
he carves
another spark
into my weak, low-burning ember
in the glow of his mantle
his innocent generosity cascades
endlessly,
scented with divine wisdom
the beauty of him
touches that raw, pulsing
and forbidden corner of my heart
which eats fire
cherished ~
the grace of his movements ~
cherished ~
the gentle contemplation
of his speech
cherished ~
my golden apple
~the.red.mantissa~
threaded
in gauzy and golden light
my heart impales itself
on this melody
my soul cleaves
to his lyrical luminescence
his great, flowing essence
quenches my thirst ~
this scorching yen
that scars
of successive past lives
have woven
into my very essence
he washes me
away from myself
leaving me bare,
somewhat macerated and bare
exposed ~
for all my frailties and wounds
... he sees ... he knows ...
he hears the whispers of the universe, too
that sacred light
of his core
flickers softly,
and with each flash,
he carves
another spark
into my weak, low-burning ember
in the glow of his mantle
his innocent generosity cascades
endlessly,
scented with divine wisdom
the beauty of him
touches that raw, pulsing
and forbidden corner of my heart
which eats fire
cherished ~
the grace of his movements ~
cherished ~
the gentle contemplation
of his speech
cherished ~
my golden apple
~the.red.mantissa~
Thursday, July 26, 2007
velvet rapture
skin
against skin
surge, electrifying - i,
a vessel, felt him
inside me
throbbing, engorged
he filled my cavern
with his sweet, milky essence
holding my breath --
waiting to exhale
... rapture ...
folded into
slow, softly dancing
and infinitesmal
beadlets of sweat
panting. breathless. silent -
two glowing orbs
of glistening pulp
dangling,
from the barbs
of delicate carmine kisses
~written by the.red.mantissa~
against skin
surge, electrifying - i,
a vessel, felt him
inside me
throbbing, engorged
he filled my cavern
with his sweet, milky essence
holding my breath --
waiting to exhale
... rapture ...
folded into
slow, softly dancing
and infinitesmal
beadlets of sweat
panting. breathless. silent -
two glowing orbs
of glistening pulp
dangling,
from the barbs
of delicate carmine kisses
~written by the.red.mantissa~
Monday, July 23, 2007
Nightbirds
Past the dwindling twilight thread;
Flesh rose-tones and a hint of petculli
the only things that matter
are in very good hands,
or are covered by darkness
from the rest
Some find it easy to fly
by day, but some only sore
at night when the stars talk
about ancient stories still
lived out on the earth today;
Hydras and Dragons, the dogs run
everywhere.
Hunter and the Queen
impossibly meet because
at night they are alive,
above and below the stares
Nightbirds sing to bring the dawn back
We sing for the same reasons
Nightbirds fly seeking the safety of shadow
But we fly for the same reasons we sing,
shadows being only another layer
to shed, stories that peel away
cast on the floor,
like the anticipation of each new sunrise
an event foreshadowed
by so many love songs
heard whispered in the dark
Written by Eric Bachman
Flesh rose-tones and a hint of petculli
the only things that matter
are in very good hands,
or are covered by darkness
from the rest
Some find it easy to fly
by day, but some only sore
at night when the stars talk
about ancient stories still
lived out on the earth today;
Hydras and Dragons, the dogs run
everywhere.
Hunter and the Queen
impossibly meet because
at night they are alive,
above and below the stares
Nightbirds sing to bring the dawn back
We sing for the same reasons
Nightbirds fly seeking the safety of shadow
But we fly for the same reasons we sing,
shadows being only another layer
to shed, stories that peel away
cast on the floor,
like the anticipation of each new sunrise
an event foreshadowed
by so many love songs
heard whispered in the dark
Written by Eric Bachman
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