Mourning Beloveth - The Sullen Sulcus
The Words that Crawled
Lie in endless wait behind some cold shadow for a stream of stars that have long since died.
Their burnt cinders fall upon my heaped corpse and seep into my open pores.
With the deadened silence of my exiled mind shattered a torturous word crawled to the darkest cavern of my being where a dim glow resonated from the eyes of my dead dream and tore a hole in my lachrymal sleep.
'Twas as if I had motioned the skies to part, and a piece of heaven to tumble past my hungry eyes when a single lonely drop fell to the inviting earth and buried unending furrows to carve me open.
An absurd drop of pain within such a vast ocean of disease
presented a dismal glimmer of searing bliss that passedin such a blinking moment
that it might have slipped unnoticed but for the piercing cries in my heart
The dismal moments have now passed to flounder between the sea
and disease and lay waste to your bubbling pores.
The soft murmurs poured forgiving
and with envious assault laid waste my breath
In fleeting moments of joy a knock betrayed the vigilant ear and drowned in vastness.
You see through the dream, behind the vacant smile of the dead
And cut the seams, that held together my breath
Lifeless I lie, thoughts tear my mind and you fly
Your sharpened breath, echoes these halls for life
Slip the warm knife through my searing flesh
Nefarious agony slips inside my smile
As the swallow lands and bleeds, to suck the light and with it weave, dark veils of strangling gloom to cover this silent room.
A fragment of shuddering light appeared and began to bite at the air, so thick with deceit, that all stood still, all was weak
to echo through your soft, murmurous heart
and pierce your every word.
The dreaming veil strangles your shortening breath
as oceans of pain wash through your open veins and pour to the inviting earth.
To leave not a trace of those moments
that filled the empty halls and cold
would be to close the shutters on the day(and to dream behind a veil).
The word that crawled around inside falls away.
It Almost Looked Human
With raiment bedecked by the grey, cloudfilled sky and the larks song pouring
on the dying day the chain upon my limbs, groping the fleshless wounds,
devoured the yearning bowels of compassion from foetal darkness.
Sleep derived from falling to escape breathless depths
where the dreamless pursuit is shattered, fused by contrivance
from stained womb, drowning in the air so thick with deceit
that the vapours of passion drop to your feet.
ďFrom this angle it almost looked human
But the hole in the ocean just swallowed me upĒ
Down here you may hear a sharpened scream
forming featureless, enfettered states
that have me tearing the walls of danger
down here all is dark and dazzling
Slain by bliss and grief I kissed the raindrop on your taut, wooden cheek to reveal an empty cry that passed in the swaying of the breeze.
The Insolent Caul
In possession of a celestial object the obtrusive fatigue lay still in a corner.
The vivid, shuddering emotion let loose on the flawed pursuit returned bare.
To walk among intricate ordeals, to survive the artifical heaven that turned the marble monuments pale is
a cold effigy to the dulcet murmurings of loneliness.
The insolent caul spoke of forgetfulness and the glittering air that tends the limpid seasons. The sea of reason clawed its way to a height and came crashing down, while the blazing thoughts lay vunerable beneath the elusive gaze.
The distance is not a door but a silent, black wall to which we are committed. The moon is gone but my lidless sleep remembers its traces like fingerless hands crawling on my back.
The sinister duel between waking and torture rages on as the dour hours slowly fall.
Opened my veins yesterday and poured in the twilight
with its dead promises. Nothing makes sense in an imaginary
world that no one can touch. In the strange hours I dream of evenings
under moonrise and of fashioned ideals before they could turn
and go, had seeped their treachery into my widowed summers. Is this my lover, this face of death? I recoil to the unmoving view.
The soft, voiceless emotions escape the exhausted frame to assail
tomorrows empty heaven. The dawn, with its dull smell, fills my nostrils
and the stench of a burning sun separates the hope from silent lips.
There is something painful in the first spring bud of life, it tears at the insides and claws at the doors of tenderness
that riseth in black forms from an obsolete graveyard.
To cast my eyes on the horrors you have created or to turn and gaze
at the clouds? It remains cold and dark and the painless times revel in
a distant memory that only seem to trespass when the night is clear.
The bitterness tastes sweet and it conjures up images
of a narcissistic funeral
that injure my dreams
The wordless world bleeds to the point of despair and the failed attempts to move end in quiet massacres. The lurid calm is a stalking mountain that eludes the perceptive eye but eventually overwhelms to send us cowering.
My Sullen Sulcus
Through a mirror of silver my sullen sulcus portrays some dark anger.
For the grey lights wrapped their chaotic shape round my tired,hungry eyes.
Fractaled rancour bleeds through the lifeless mirror within which
all hope sprawls, dangling from the cool draught of air to amuse us all.
The black and white frames which flash unerringly, bend
they bend to an end, touched by scorching sunlight and this self induced madness
Where I see the world explode into miniscule droplets of unnerving sadness
But to stop would be to blunt the very stars that shine from behind a threatening stone.
The yellow beams, touched by starlight, delve the shrieking
tortured air, to founder in a sea of ether and a planet of fools.
Idle minutes devour
Open space, seething nebula
takes hold and strangles
dripping torment. Bright and lucid
design that seem to dip and swerve
to fathomless depths, where eyes can drink
the sights of dreams.
It is in these moments of ponderous nausea that the scattered
The cruel, silver portrait swallowed by time itself had uttered nothing
but truth through the separated darkness.
With morningfall, emptied
itís aching particles into the reaches of my furrows.
Angerís Steaming Arrows
From the window the sky empties to nothing
and the murder of crows, with their ravished beaks,
groan for the hollowed inhabitants of the passing day.
Insatiable sorrow, with its draughty halls, sent a gleaming sword to consume the passing madness only to be plunged into a diminishing perspective.
Inside I trawl the motionless ravines, a twisting hatred that bubbles from under the steaming, scarlet brook while the incessant rain washes away the gnawing of your imprisoned eyes.
Anger, with itís steaming arrows, cuts through the dank air
dissecting the worn out guilt of Octoberís echoes that drip sadly
from the dead branches.
but before they cold leave
they spent a cold summers eve
tending the knotted despair
of a ravaged corpse.
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