Stains

Stained footsteps haunt these floors,

They litter and ache horribly at the door.

Despair, I scrubbed to clean your residue…

I scrubbed my skin so raw to rid the mildew.

Dusted away, covered, hid the tracks —

 

Of your well beaten path.

dirtroads

Explosive!

Destructive forces,

would have you stop

to track your dirt

Feast on snacks of withered

affection

dissection of adjectives

Paved ways to steer

the enslaved from

those Manics.

To the Sun -

Glorious are your incandescent beams and feral bursts. You permeate the feeble skins I’ve grown to halt your unearthly, lurid rays.  You are a blinding glare on my lenses, but most times, a gentle and warm whisper riding the cool Autumn breeze on my hair. Occasionally, I must shield my bareness from you for fear that you might scorch my inner flesh. I kept from you, well-guarded, my love of the obscure and shaded moon.

 

You smolder underneath, but deny to cast your brightness on my skin.

 

 

 

Streets of Gotham

On the streets of Gotham lies a pungent scent of death,

But also the reverberation of life and the lover’s manifest.

Autumn’s breath caress the skin to dry the dew of Summer,

And of course, I still can hear the neutral beat of Death’s drummer.

Illumination on those streets only show the truth at midnight,

The witching hour for Gotham and everyone gains clear sight.

Slumber on the crossroads

The weariness forces heavy slumber.
It tires so, that I can no longer keep a fixed gaze on the horizon. I lay my burdens to the earth and wish for sweet repose.

I sleep, a deep wounded sleep.
And in such slumber, I dream of dragons and red-skinned devils. I have visions of crossroads, and their guide who would see me tread on dark pits of serpents with a weak torch. She whispers in my ear:

“On the other side are treasures and a fused path made safe if you would only lay aside fear and haste.”

Kore’s Descent

Passage to the Underworld is
Granted to those who carry
The tokens for the ferryman.

Bribes for safe crossings in
A dark pool of lost festerings
To save the long-lost maiden.

He calls forth a powerful tempest
To bind her to her dark throne
Bids her to partake in his harvest.

Cunning entrapments to lure
The deaths of mortal feasts
And steal all but barren land.

First, Ventricular

It’s like a double-edged blade, the first kiss. Gently put your lips on that of another’s satisfying the childish need to touch curiosities with an adult expression.

As the Sun rises and sets; the Moon waxes and wanes… And life continues one explosive beat to the next. Nothing really changes much at all.