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Literature Text
leaves paint auburn
against grey hues
onto a canvas of
horse drawn carriages
as looming rainclouds
of watercolour nightmares
etch poetry across
the countryside
into scriptures embedded
in stone
with broken quills
and sparse ink
stormy nights
lull dejected souls to slumber
with dayglo dreams
as the only lustre against darkness
awaiting the smell
of pine to
drown night in dawn
while shrivelling shadows fall through
serpentine gardens
of microburst baptisms
and travel across flowing
riversides of sanctified sins
each breath of air
they inhale
another injection
of solemnity
woodland paths lead to gates
of autumn entombed
as words of weight are discarded
to live in the snow
where frosty air freezes over
the lock to infernal suffering
trapping outside life
in rhapsody's prose of redemption
a purity that can only be written about
in a journal
kept by nowhere
against grey hues
onto a canvas of
horse drawn carriages
as looming rainclouds
of watercolour nightmares
etch poetry across
the countryside
into scriptures embedded
in stone
with broken quills
and sparse ink
stormy nights
lull dejected souls to slumber
with dayglo dreams
as the only lustre against darkness
awaiting the smell
of pine to
drown night in dawn
while shrivelling shadows fall through
serpentine gardens
of microburst baptisms
and travel across flowing
riversides of sanctified sins
each breath of air
they inhale
another injection
of solemnity
woodland paths lead to gates
of autumn entombed
as words of weight are discarded
to live in the snow
where frosty air freezes over
the lock to infernal suffering
trapping outside life
in rhapsody's prose of redemption
a purity that can only be written about
in a journal
kept by nowhere
Literature
consecrate
authenticity an arsenic
in morning coffee, in the smiles
pressed like ironed laundry,
because I feel like one wrong breath,
one wrong kiss between glossed lips and soft jaws
and I will be nailed to a cross
deception a shame rising like steam,
where teeth grind against each other
like clockwork gears, tick tick ticking
while the tongue kisses the roof of its cathedral
like a prayer to gods yet to be named
because her face is a mosaic window
shining the sin out of love
Literature
Forging Foundations
there is part of me that knows these walls
in the same ways I know
unrequited was the dream I used to tie my strings to,
unrequited was the hope I used to fill myself up,
unrequited is just a word I used to be friends with
because you've crooked your fingers
into the hooks of my jeans
and you've hooked my heart,
dangling, a stranger to safety
learning how to let someone lead--
there is a piece of me that fears these feelings
like I fear insects that sting, like I fear wildfires that rage,
like I fear porcelain dolls
with cracked faces and scarred chests
because so far in this life,
all the beautiful things I've ever held
have come to me brok
Literature
In the Syllable
...then there is a way in diswaiting.
Dust some yellow sand covers,
here uncover bare bedding.
...suffusing red planes, blushed dunes,
under incidentally quilted blanket
wet as arid curves, as sounds.
...in a persistent pavement,
in a solemn unsuited promise,
some written words erase
some letters drip and soak
unto a perfuse miracle,
a dislocated split,
a letting go of...
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For 
, Duke of Nowhere.
Thank you for murdering me with inspiration, I only hope that the feeble words I leave behind are enough to cleanse the blood that tarnishes your hands. ♥
© Helena
, Duke of Nowhere.Thank you for murdering me with inspiration, I only hope that the feeble words I leave behind are enough to cleanse the blood that tarnishes your hands. ♥
© Helena
© 2011 - 2024 MusicIsMyHeartBeat
Comments18
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Such sadness, such beauty, Oh it leaves me with a dreamy feeling~