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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
August 1, 2008
In Snows of November, by ~neoHephaestus, we explore the give-and-take of those doomed and determined to return.
Featured by GeneratingHype
Literature Text
like the snows of November,
(lightly, timid in askance)
you will return to me
in due time;
without fail—you will return
(erstwhile)
to me
and my hesitant heart
(retreating, retreating, retreating)
will be a far-off beacon at dusk
to your false ardor, a poetry of obdurate conceit
—whose interval seems unceasing;
All darkness and brooding winds
You twine and spin in savage dance
(quickening, hastening some new spell)
But failing, failing … failing
while this distance increases (curing
past injuries);
the suffering amid our pleading eyes (yours
of forgiveness, mine for freedom)
(lightly, timid in askance)
you will return to me
in due time;
without fail—you will return
(erstwhile)
to me
and my hesitant heart
(retreating, retreating, retreating)
will be a far-off beacon at dusk
to your false ardor, a poetry of obdurate conceit
—whose interval seems unceasing;
All darkness and brooding winds
You twine and spin in savage dance
(quickening, hastening some new spell)
But failing, failing … failing
while this distance increases (curing
past injuries);
the suffering amid our pleading eyes (yours
of forgiveness, mine for freedom)
Literature
affection drive
If I recycled
the love littered at your feet
hearts would starve no more.
Literature
Pain
Hangs from your spine
like an incomplete, conjoined sibling
with no mind of its own
but enough of yours to make you fear it.
Comes when you are sleeping
to perch on your face and dip its beak
redly into your dreams.
Shucks its claws
on the upholstery of your flesh.
Is a fog-eyed poet, reading aloud to you
endless reams of his own passionate,
excruciating verse.
Squats in the waste it has made of you,
a basilisk-child
you dare not look in the eye.
Remembers the body when it moved
with the ease of light across a lakes delicate skin.
Watches your babies grow
skins so thick they cant feel you.
Is an illusion
overcome
Literature
We Watched Ourselves Dissipate
we caught our breath with butterfly nets
and exhaled
the pieces of each other's wings
that stuck in our lungs.
the sky gave a shiver and the stars
unsealed, their firefly cores shimmering
and fluttering
toward us.
plucking them from the air, they slip
between our fingertips
and fall like butterfly wings
to the ground.
we conduct the celestial engagement with
our metallic hearts
that control this unsteady rhythm of
love crescendos
and staccato love-making.
like conductors in an orchestra.
our lives write the love songs.
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© 2007 - 2024 neoHephaestus
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