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nameless.things.
Contributed by
FleurdeSang
on
Thursday, 6th August 2009 @ 02:54:07 PM in AEST
Topic:
LostLove
|
Dear Adoles,
The wind is heavy with tears yet to spill, and shatter everything. I feel it; it clamors softly beneath the dust and the blood that fails to reach my hidden places. My veins do not hold sonnets anymore; Ive lost faith in their throbbing.
I seem to have lost faith in your hands as well, Adoles. It pains me, their silence. I am left pulsating beneath consciousness and your memory, unanswered. Waiting, yet none of your ink seeps through these cracks; waiting, regardless of my want to forget your soul ever kissed me. Ah, but how can I disregard such a divine tragedy?
How can I shun a weakness for weakness, when I am forever counting them within myself?
We are once again a product of a cruel enchantment.
Our bones splinter equally, though I sift through the air tuneless, as you stain winds with fragmented Beethoven. Ive lost myself in desperate rememberances; they are blurred and obstinate, for how can a watercolour dream survive the caress of a thousand tears?
How can a heart sing when the voice that possessed it no longer shakes its structure?
I hear the breath of a sleeping rose, and think of the day you died.
There were pieces of sandalwood burning beneath your eyes that were always pleading, and I remembered thinking that god would have wept if he saw you then. The moon poured its pale salt without shame, covering you with laments that belonged on the curve of a fragrant petal, or the mouth of a voiceless tomb, but buried itself in the silence of your skin instead.
I remembered the night when you turned to me, broken by a bodiless suffering, and whispered, God sleeps in my hands now. I feel his death as I felt my own that moment when there were only flames. When every breath was ash and mother, crawling deep behind my spine and into my lungs.
You asked me if I had ever listened to a moths wings beat. I told you that beauty does not belong to the frail.
~*~
I cannot pervade the sound of this distance.
It tastes of endless nights, and the cold breath that only death brings before salvation. Beauty sleeps warm in a sobbing violin; your strings lay irrepairable between my wrists, and at times I can still hear you breaking beneath veins that remain yearning, but not for your name -
For you are, and will always be, a phantom.
Adoles, I hope you hear me dying.
- S.
Copyright ©
FleurdeSang
... [
2009-08-06 14:54:07]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
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Re: nameless.things.
(User Rating: 1 )
by doug on
Tuesday, 25th August 2009 @ 04:32:18 PM AEST
(User
Info | Send
a Message)
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Your poems( or letters on this occassion) are not for the casual reader just skimming through. I went through this one once , twice , three times and more layers of it's beauty are unlocked on each reading. You're a rare treat.
Always putting so much into your writing and it shows every time. ( "My veins do not hold sonnets anymore").....nor do mine. Hope you are well , truly , Dusty |
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