Post by victoria on Dec 1, 2009 2:25:46 GMT -5
I wrote this a few months ago, and thought I'd share, since some of you seem to enjoy my writing ^^
Swan Song of the Vulture:
Her skin is like porcelain, a mind like a garden, a spirit like a sea.
My desire, a wish, a black hole of reliability
and in the middle of all, there remains a void, a void ever expanding
what dead poets call a ‘great divide’
is what I call a death sentence of the flesh
a nail in the hand of the soul
and the alien bonds are the cross of this whole masterpiece
a masterpiece thrown away and discarded for so long
like a painting collecting dust and mold in the attic of denial
life is too short, and this one becomes shorter by the second
I know it is all lost, and by now I see nothing in my crystal ball
her breath escapes me
that porcelain is something I want to crack open
the garden I want to devour like a swarm of locusts
and the sea I want to pollute with my blood
I feel the cold steel against my skin as the dull edge of the blade presses against my flesh
the smokey air fills my lungs with memories of the dust and cobwebs that decorate my soul
my mind, and the deepest corners of my heart
I masochistically long for the taste of those days long gone
but instead I sadistically move forward and away from the memorabilia of disease
and this wound festers in the cornea of my spirit
yet I let it grow, until my eye is milky white snow
Let me bleed once more for the porcelain
let me long once more for the garden
let me swim one last time in the sea
for this will be the last time
the last time I look for the stars in the sky of the Void
the last time I breathe my smoke into the face of contemptment.
I’ll let go of this feather, and may the wind carry it away
I wish I could keep it forever
but forever can’t wait...
I will now sail in the oceans I’ve claimed as my own
and caress the porcelain of the moon
while sitting in the garden of Eden’s woe
and someday I’ll look back and smile as the breeze kisses my lips
but for now I’ll drink the mercury out of my blood
and tend the bruises of practicing alchemy
Swan Song of the Vulture:
Her skin is like porcelain, a mind like a garden, a spirit like a sea.
My desire, a wish, a black hole of reliability
and in the middle of all, there remains a void, a void ever expanding
what dead poets call a ‘great divide’
is what I call a death sentence of the flesh
a nail in the hand of the soul
and the alien bonds are the cross of this whole masterpiece
a masterpiece thrown away and discarded for so long
like a painting collecting dust and mold in the attic of denial
life is too short, and this one becomes shorter by the second
I know it is all lost, and by now I see nothing in my crystal ball
her breath escapes me
that porcelain is something I want to crack open
the garden I want to devour like a swarm of locusts
and the sea I want to pollute with my blood
I feel the cold steel against my skin as the dull edge of the blade presses against my flesh
the smokey air fills my lungs with memories of the dust and cobwebs that decorate my soul
my mind, and the deepest corners of my heart
I masochistically long for the taste of those days long gone
but instead I sadistically move forward and away from the memorabilia of disease
and this wound festers in the cornea of my spirit
yet I let it grow, until my eye is milky white snow
Let me bleed once more for the porcelain
let me long once more for the garden
let me swim one last time in the sea
for this will be the last time
the last time I look for the stars in the sky of the Void
the last time I breathe my smoke into the face of contemptment.
I’ll let go of this feather, and may the wind carry it away
I wish I could keep it forever
but forever can’t wait...
I will now sail in the oceans I’ve claimed as my own
and caress the porcelain of the moon
while sitting in the garden of Eden’s woe
and someday I’ll look back and smile as the breeze kisses my lips
but for now I’ll drink the mercury out of my blood
and tend the bruises of practicing alchemy