THE HUMAN ANVIL

Tag: life

  • Suzerain

    This silence
    As great as the age of an ocean
    Now brim my teacup
    And I; a droplet of delusion
    Aimless upon the surface of ceaseless eternity,
    Dare ask for a refill

  • Dewdrops in the Ocean

    I close my eyes
    And the dewdrops upon my palate
    Rise, like an ocean left unattended
    On hot stove
    Left to seethe and boil
    Fold and uncoil;
    Echoing towards an inconsequential eternity
    Where nothing rhymes
    Beneath the repeating waves
    Washing themself at the shore
    At the feet of a silent, silent kingdom
    Rooted in reminiscence
    Of a homemade horizon promised
    Upon an unpromised path
    There the shriveled hearts sprout as mushroom
    In an endless cortege
    Moving in stillness
    Like taste upon the tip of tongue
    And snail upon the lips of spine
    An ode to the essential
    Both the dirt and the divine

  • Iris

    Do not let me die
    In a hall with white walls
    Near windows overlooking
    The world’s asylum
    Filled with paper praying people
    Watering themselves
    Towards an early spring

  • Pulp

    I dream of dry oceans
    And suckling on burnt milk
    From the seeds long sowed
    Upon the shores of homeless towns
    Waiting to flower
    Once more
    At the sunrise

  • Blueprint

    Life begins and ends
    As a circle
    But the sad thing is:
    Most of us architects
    Keep crying for corners

  • Touchstone

    Most people are nothing more
    But a day older come the morrow
    And that O mine Ache of Past
    Is the cause of everyday’s sorrow

  • Through The Lips Of Living Ghosts

    I live my life
    Through those who lived before me
    And triumphed,
    For mine are eggshell victories
    Inchoate brush strokes of the blind
    Left behind, listening to the faceless sounds
    Dreamt by dead branches and wayside stones
    Alone in their darkness
    Wherein all ashes intone
    The pleasure of being burned alive
    Only to never feel, another touch of life.

  • Merciful Maladies

    There
    Upon the white winter brow
    Of an aged world
    I stand, like a cliff
    A black wound, unstitched,
    Filed with crowfoot and claws,
    Where my face without flesh
    Lingers in iodine
    So that under one pain I could forget
    The origin of another

  • Saints Of The Cynics

    How can you be so happy?
    Asked the fools to the wise:
    They said for we are people who do not believe in a paradise

  • Chalice

    These bodies once again
    Shall shiver and swell
    White milk boiling
    In depths of black well
    Till sun lift the curtains
    So drawn and thus draped
    That each night is seen
    Upon mattress unshaped