Champagne Wings

Let us just lie there,
Deep in the honeysuckle hardness,
Burning souls in cigarette smoke,
In banshee fervor, that wild frenzy
Common to inhuman things,
Of which human sings, with eyes tossed into the sun.

Let us paint this pale world,
In color of our kisses,
Half stygian, half transparent,
Ashen; cinereal,
To mourn and cherish,
Each moment that perish,
Waiting to open the eye,
For the rhythm of our love,
Is no weeping butterfly,
It is the thunder of the pain, the echo of the end,
That aches, shudders, and passes,
Heavy and heartless; as magma under waves.

The shore sits silver,
Ocean dyed with nightfall,
And the bangle of moon, waiting upon the wall,
Whilst we of champagne wings,
We rise, flesh afire,
To melt into the wind,
And as rain inspire.

Author: TheHumanAnvil

I find poetry as a gentle reminder, a medium to relay and dwell upon all things considerate people find inconsiderate. Poetry as an art is akin to a lamp or a magnifying glass. It trails volumes of meaning behind obscure, vague words. I have been writing for a time now, and intend to do so for the time to come. And hopefully, hopefully, hope that one day, someday, a person stumbling across this veil of words, find it alluring enough to shift aside the curtain and peer, into the eyes of the naked truth which sways with the wind of reason. If you have any thoughts, it would be my pleasure to know them, if you don't then it would be a pleasure to not. Be my guest. This feast of words is for you.

3 thoughts on “Champagne Wings”

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