Rain Music

Clouds boil up

 

From the bowls of the mountains

 

Composing a symphony

 

Of rain

 

A fine condensation

 

Of melody

 

 

Pattering on the roof

 

Trickling through the leaves

 

 

Making music

 

Out of objects foreign to it

 

 

Making beauty

 

Out of city streets

 

Traces of fine art

 

Painted by hands without fingers

Twisted Flower

Dear Readers: Alas, here is another one of my little experimental pieces. If it amuses you at all, the title was gathered by using a random word generator : ) Hope you enjoy!

 

Iron backed

Sharp spiked

Deep seated

Efficient piercer

 

None fear

Like lovers

Flesh tender

Overly virginal

Not knowing

Beautiful pain

Painful beauty

 

Her name?

Mother earth.

Natures spirit.

Life’s blood.

Death’s maker.

Twisted flower.

The pseudo death

A little death in my soul

The mysteries of the blackness

Are opening up to me

A sky unfolding

 

Empty

 

So I shiver and moan

Holding up hand

To block out the city glare

But it pours through my fingers

 

Hopeless

 

One cannot simply taste the other side

Without risk

And the darkness I plunge into

Is only shallow

A sleep of necessity

A pseudo death of little levity

Trigger Finger

Life is a jester.

The card 0.

The ever shifting fragment.

 

So I crawl between the cruel sheets of bare existence,

Laughing madly, depraved, in too deep.

Trying to keep the sun

From tilting the sky

On its fire pinwheel.

Only succeeding in burning the ridges of my fingertips

To a solar crisp.

 

Curse the slow, glacial suicide

Decided upon eons ago.

A molten core raging into nonexistence.

 

But I wish,

That I was as trigger finger as that.

Sunset in My Eyes

Shattered vibrancy of the sky

Falling into my eyes

Shards of futures yet dreamt of

I Lift my chin high

Welcome the pain

Flowing into me

Fear that those futures will never come

And like the sunset clouds

Even now will slip from my grasp

Inreplicable, irreplaceable, uncaptured