[x]

the scars on your shouldersthe scars on your shoulders
are braille to me, so that i
can read your skin, so that i
can know you better.

i like to listen to your heartbeat
and how it resounds differently
from mine, just so beautifully
like two songs played in tandem
to harmonise in rounds;

i like to hold your hands
and rub your back
so that maybe my love
can find its way through your pores
and seep into your blood
(never can i find the right words
to tell you just the way you feel to me)

and to think that and how i nearly missed you
makes me miss you more
every minute and mile we spend
elsewhere.
i can't sleep with another body
in my bed,
but sleeping without you
leav

we are not a fairytalewe are not a fairytale.

I am not the strong lead with a heart of fire,
bones of steel, and eyes of vapid curiosity;
motivation seeping through
my every last intended action because
I was written this way

(the heroine falls only to rise again:
proverbial phoenix, burning out
because it is the cycle of my
life) and you, you are not

the beautiful travesty, perfectly composed
to strike me where I’m weak and
[almost]human, delicately woven
like the tapestry of my dismantling—
a subtle irony where somewhere, a writer
chuckles softly, understanding

we are blinder than church mice, born
in a makeshift world of darkness where
I&rsquo

Onceyour beauty lies restless behind those
hills, where you fought valiantly. and
the man you once were was brave and kind,
but now you are possessed by a passenger
of darkness, whispering words of your
loneliness.

the man you once were is forgotten, and
the man you are today, is only a ghost, a
shadow, of what you were before.

SurelyIt was raining
when we kissed for the first time,
for the last time.

Thin rivulets
sunk into the shrunken space
between our bodies
and divided us
like nothing could before,
like everything will
from now
until that never again
when we will
see each other once more,
no more.

Your eyes were
that bewitching shade
of dull brown blue
with all of the light darkness
whirling
in a placid pond
around a pupil
overflowing with vacancy,
and me
and my frowning smile.

The winter heat
fell like a rising tide
and,
for our every breath
was another death
so black and full of life --
embracing our boiled ice skin
as we drew apart,
came together and broke free

Condemnedbeneath the beaten earth they lay,
their dreams condemned to ashes,
and our restless bodies stretch,
for forgiveness, for direction –

survivors of the abyss,
amidst wide-eye, silent soldiers –
so many dead, so many maimed,

how many graves are we standing on, today?

Prelude       Nocturne;
I conjure the moon
as dusk crests,
       a wave across the sky

       I am lovely and lonely in
       the night, shadow-
       shackled to the mountainside

and the moths
unfurl their hamsa-wings as
mama calls me in.

FossilizedLiving proof of fossils alive,
and no horseshoe-crab am I.

Nor, inhabitable harsh compression of plates,
residing under humid marsh-scapes.

I mold into the walls, as chalky old coal.
But I am no mineral, no era.
I am not, Mesozoic.

Through the ages
Iron
Bronze
silver, gold and heroic.

I remain a still-life; and no Iduna's apples would retain my youth
No magic fountains, or time devices, or wrist watches.
I am the machine of time.
The watcher, omnipotent, the wise.

But

no God am I

Somewhere, sweet tangy sap trolleys down cracked bark.
Somewhere, celestial bodies erupt unseen.
Somewhere, a abrupt breeze blows overturned bi-cycle tire

bookworm“there is no such thing
as reading too much.”
that is what I tell you
when you insist

that there is some danger of
becoming lost in the stuff—
mistaking seriphs for serpents,

swallowing a story so whole
that its hook
sticks in my throat.

“there is no such thing
as reading too much”
I tell you, bold-faced,
surrounded by snakes
with a line through my lip.

VaseA broken heart can be excavated.
Damaged tissue can be scrupulously removed
and the cracks can be sealed
with the molten trails of gold solidified.
The upturned cavity,
once proofed against further damage,
can become a pulsing vase for tulips,
because even though your heart has been broken
it is still valuable beyond comparison.

silver dreams.i won't say a single thing
about what you and i did that night.
it wasn't anything bad, we were
made to do it.
but the way your tears fell down
in the shape of a cloud
and the pounding on the doors
told us the stars were calling.
more like the gates of hell, but
you think stars make the most delicate
corpses.

HorsepowerHorsepower

There’s a knife turnin in my soft parts
And heat burnin my mind on hard starts
The motors runnin but I lost the wheel
Just want it to be numb don’t wanna feel
Take two steps back and put it in park
Before I leave scarred up black marks
I need a u-turn on this highway
But can’t go back on the by-way
So look ahead, the pavement goes on
Break the rear-view mirror it’s gone
Contemplate
Reiterate
Put it in drive
And say goodbye
Let’s see how fast this bitch can fly

-Cygam7

nightmarethe foxes are at your bedside and singing--
feversongs,
songs of boiling thoughts
and broken muscles.
their lullabyes.
they sneak so quiet, and
somehow,
you can't quite
dream
anymore.

Here and There, Now and ThenBurnt umber dawn, swaying electric trees
Thousands of souls chant in the summer wind
Journals of the dead are read by schoolchildren
They awake shaking someone else's dreams from their heads

Static electricity on the nape of your neck
In the television, on your phone, in your dinner
The calling of a murder of crows from the trees
You remember the view from the hospital room window

A smorgasbord of life and limb, death and decay
The antiseptic smell has an undercoating of rot and dirt
Talismans won't work any more than prayers and candles
Soldiers still fight lost wars, glory in the faded night

Tall fences are built to keep the worlds separ

Puppet My tears fall,

like invisible

diamonds.

My heart beats,

like soundless

drums.

Unwanted,

because of the

strings attached.

How To WriteHow to write:

Write a word.
Now write a sentence.
Write a paragraph.
A chapter.
A story.
The end. ♥

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A Streetlight Manifesto

by ~BK-Endeavors, Jan 25, 2013, 5:30:03 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

"A Streetlight Manifesto", BK Endeavors/Brett Kelley, 1/25/13, 8:07pm

As long as I can remember, from those old days where primary transportation were the rubber under my toes I can recall that at night I'd experience the strangest of phenomena, or so it seemed to me at the age of thirteen

The light bulbs draped over evening-shrouded streets always seem to flicker and pop on whenever I approached, as if they were so excited to see a weathered pedestrian to bathe in yellow luminescence, this was the essence of my dusk till dawn wanderings, it was so magical to me.

And for some bizarre, naive reason I led myself to believe that it was because the universe was telling me I was going in the right direction. As if the world were telling me "stay the course, I'm showing you the light so you'll continue maintaining sight, we will ignite ourselves in your positive presence!"

And over the years it became comforting... knowing that for whatever reason, be it universal energy or pure brilliant coincidence that nature was providing me a warm glow to know that I am on the right track.

But, these past few years as I've grown older, made compromises and seen the demise of my childhood, sacrificed for survival in the 1st World Order of existence, that these lights no longer light up in celebration whenever I walk or drive by them. Instead, they flicker, hum and dim into darkness.

To be specific there are two on my ride home from my job, do I see them burst into the worst kind of lackluster night, leaving me to navigate by my own headlights. And while that might not seem to be such a harsh development, in my head, my mind and soul, it always bores a hole into my sense of self,

Has the light betrayed me? When did I shift from giving light to snuffing it out? Am I still on the right path, or have I strayed, and the world is telling me to change my intended destination, or travels to get it. My manifesto, is to change, and see if I am bathed in light once more.

A Streetlight Manifestoby ~BK-Endeavors

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

©2013 ~BK-Endeavors

The first written work of 2013!

I have been working on this piece for some time, and finally got to hammer it out!

I'm very much looking forward to further developing this into a piece that I'd be more than happy to perform as well!

Hope you like.

Back to it,

BK

*MannequinxTheGrimFay Jan 25, 2013 Student Photographer

I think those streetlamps will start flickering to life again pretty soon.

Beautiful piece!

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~BK-Endeavors Jan 25, 2013 Professional General Artist

I feel as though I'm shifting in the right direction!

Thank you, so glad you like it!

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*MannequinxTheGrimFay Jan 25, 2013 Student Photographer

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~BK-Endeavors Jan 26, 2013 Professional General Artist

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