Revelations in ink

I have defaced your pristine white pages

With ash from my sulfurous pen

Piercing my scars with heavy black ink

I have carved nightmares

Across your naked skin

Sins of a wretched life

And you have tasted the saline

Of my excised tears

Stains, nestled safely within your sanctuary

=

Pressed into countless volumes

My existence unfolds

Secrets unraveling

Beneath tortured hands

I come to know myself

Through the act of writing

=

(I read two poems lately about journals and I was inspired  so I wanted to try my hand at writing one too)

 

 

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Human Debris

We used to walk the streets at night

Picturesque in the warm glow of streetlights

Ambivalent wind mingled with snow

The moon are only confidant

Our secrets became a little more dramatic

Under her gravity.

We crossed by the river

Its floods filled with suicides

Sins deep beneath

The churning surface

A force of nature rampant in despair

Sometimes I thought it would be easier

To be enveloped

Along with bodies and shopping carts

Drug through the silt and torn apart by debris

A death tailored to my sentiment

=

I remember the smell

Of damp asphalt

The touch of your hand

Pressed together with mine

Young and romantic

In those heady moments

We forgot the warnings

Imposed on us

We were rebellious under the stars

Tragic in those aching winter nights

All the greys of our collective sorrows

Concrete hardened in the crevice of our veins

We were already broken, when we met

Travelers in the dark halls of Depression

=

Swedish nights are bitterly cold in winter

Frost spread her wretched fingers

Into the heart-shaped hole

Yawing in my chest

Knotting me up with doubts

Insecure in the face of new love

Every aberrant word

A storm

Our voices the thunder

Heavy with pain

We exchanged tears

Took turns drowning

Adrift in emotional floods

I know you saw my face

Distorted by lightening

I wonder if you ever saw me

Transformed after the tempest?

=

Back then we questioned everything

Made war with society

We were anarchists

Passion-driven

We had the force of conviction

Now that we are older

We drift aimlessly

Caught up in the atmosphere

Restless but not reckless

Enough to pursue these dreams

Which fall-apart held in the iron grip of logic

We exchanged doubts

Solid in our love

We now question

The nature of our ambitions

Never quite happy it seems

=

(When my husband and I first met we both had an enormous amount of baggage. I don’t think either of us really believed we deserved or even could be loved given our painful pasts.)

Dreamscape

These parcels

From the heart

Transcend embodiment

The voice of reason

They are mirages

Beyond place and time

Inverted reflections

Of faculty

For which no

Impartial translations exist

*

In the depths

Of my unconscious mind

Darkness knows no precinct

But nightmares do not disparage

They are a lustrative inkstone

Mitigating horror

Through expression

Ambrosia for the muse

*

I would stray indefinitely

In these metanoic visions

Creating maelstroms

From subterfuge

A brilliant oasis

The thrill of exotic idols

In my dreams I can be anyone

Unbound by convention

For once, a paragon of beauty