Barren

scene

Old Poem

mindlovemisery

balloon

Underneath a grim sky

Fluid with specks of dust

And the rapture of a fertile moon

I wonder will it always be thus?

*

My face pale and wane

My eyes dull and lifeless like a sharks

A mouth that speaks of trivial things

With a high timid voice

That understands nothing of words

*

The tender dialect of lovers

Will it ever move past my lips again?

Tiny shards of wisdom

That linger and endow me

With strange enchantments

Will I ever be inspired again?

=

My hands occupy my time with work

Daily I labor

For nothing in particular

Like a barren woman

Who tracks her ovulation

Even knowing she shall never bare any fruit

I am empty like that woman

And just as insatiable

=

Each night I fall into consecrated bliss

Yet even my dreams are ashen and uninspired

Silence gives me hope

With its ominous…

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Rupture

Surreal-1

The eyes

Of lost friends,

Recoil on assembly

A bony outline

Devoid of luminance

Greetings spent

Without abandonment

Conversations worn

As a mendicant’s knees

This censorious womb

Within which no life

Wrought could thrive

Births the end

Of all possibility

=

fictional