[x]

the scars on your shouldersthe scars on your shoulders
are braille to me, so that i
can read your skin, so that i
can know you better.

i like to listen to your heartbeat
and how it resounds differently
from mine, just so beautifully
like two songs played in tandem
to harmonise in rounds;

i like to hold your hands
and rub your back
so that maybe my love
can find its way through your pores
and seep into your blood
(never can i find the right words
to tell you just the way you feel to me)

and to think that and how i nearly missed you
makes me miss you more
every minute and mile we spend
elsewhere.
i can't sleep with another body
in my bed,
but sleeping without you
leav

He doesn't write poetry anymore.He doesn’t write poetry anymore,
even if he still collects it, reads it, saves it, treasures
faded verses from his wife the way connoisseurs
savor vinyl over metallic rainbows on disc.
I don’t mind not knowing, but I can’t stand not asking.

The record needle hits the groove wrong;
he stumbles over words that aren’t there,
rummaging for an answer he doesn’t really have.
He doesn’t write poetry anymore
and his confusion is strangely endearing.

But there’s a lyricism to his words that I love,
poetic lines inserted between the daily grind
of character names and who said what;
voiceless boys in white a

PocketLeftover religion in the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
A key that unlocks nothing
A penny, a scrap of paper
With half of your name
Written in black ink

A song that is usually in my head
In the shriveled carcass
Of a long-dead dream
In the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
With the lint

SurelyIt was raining
when we kissed for the first time,
for the last time.

Thin rivulets
sunk into the shrunken space
between our bodies
and divided us
like nothing could before,
like everything will
from now
until that never again
when we will
see each other once more,
no more.

Your eyes were
that bewitching shade
of dull brown blue
with all of the light darkness
whirling
in a placid pond
around a pupil
overflowing with vacancy,
and me
and my frowning smile.

The winter heat
fell like a rising tide
and,
for our every breath
was another death
so black and full of life --
embracing our boiled ice skin
as we drew apart,
came together and broke free

Condemnedbeneath the beaten earth they lay,
their dreams condemned to ashes,
and our restless bodies stretch,
for forgiveness, for direction –

survivors of the abyss,
amidst wide-eye, silent soldiers –
so many dead, so many maimed,

how many graves are we standing on, today?

Life, Death And A Pork Chop SandwichAll tangled up, hard to breathe
This steel cloud day that swirls
With heat and pounding hammers
I shake in my boots and cough up
Blood, rust and damaged flesh
Waiting for the second coming
Maybe next time around there'll be
Some chance for more than this

A twisted barbed wire halo
Wrapped tight around my skull
Blinding white light aura
Swarming with flies I'm flying
To pieces, thousands of shards
Cannot be brought back together
But I will remember the summer
Of my first Chevrolet in each bit

Gleaming bits of glass in the desert
Each reflecting a different moment
Still, now, enduring until the waves
Of a new ocean sweep them away
No pain

SisterSister

A sister is like a soul mate;
Someone who is always there
to guide me through fate.

A sister is,
a part of childhood that I cannot erase;
A sister like you,
is one that I would never replace
because you always know how to
put a smile on my face.

I know I can depend on you
to always be there for me;
This is one hundred percent guaranteed!

I've had great memories with you
in the past;
and I hope there are many more
to come,
in the future.

Puppet My tears fall,

like invisible

diamonds.

My heart beats,

like soundless

drums.

Unwanted,

because of the

strings attached.

Pretty little things called words and dustif you weren't a hypocrite,
you'd be wrapped in the sweetest
perfumes
(learning
how to engulf the ocean
with your lungs
and think of how to cup it
in your hands
despite
your broken prayers and
still be beautiful)

dance with the gypsies
'till noon
(a quake in
your hips like the thrust
of continents
and the faultlines
emanating from
your spine,
but still
so, so graceful)

sing with the nymphs
in tune
(your voice,
it's growing old,
raspy even.
your throat's burning dry
like a monsoon
faltering in a desert,

and tones
still octaves
powerful)

be nestled in a king's arms
soon
(oh, you precious
little thing.
how

Lost In ConfusionMy mind is spinning without a rest
emotions whirl and twirl around
A merry-go-round gaining speed
Until the world blurrs before my eyes
What's happening? What's going on?

The simplest thought slips away
Right from my mind, fading so fast
Trying to focus, I stare and stare
Until my eyes are heavy and unclear.
I don't understand, what is going on...

Emotions rise and fall again
Within the blink of an eye
I'm crying, laughing, and depressed
A rollercoaster ride that never ends
Am I losing my mind in this ?

I try to close my eyes and rest
But the world spins me around
I feel like I am failing this test
Voices and noisies echo in my min

A Night By the FireNo light,
The light sired by the night
All above whilst the day's delights
Now disappears from mortal sight.

Faded away is the sun's power,
Taking the stage now is night's sallow flower;
Now mortals may behold the stars and falling shower.

Set in a pit Nature's skyscraper ablaze
And revel in the emanating heat as you gaze,
Looking down on occasion when you hear a crack from the fire
And witness "fireflies" flying away from mother's blaze;
Dying shortly after but not lacking burning beauty do they desire!

I look out towards the teasing shore
And meditate as we sit upon her door,
Thinking on what my future has in store;
Who I am now and even

Why meI wanted sleep very badly
I tried my hardest to rest
I closed my eyes and laid there
But sleep didn’t come easy
I would doze off
And wake back up
Again
Why me? When I know I have to be up at 3 AM.

nightmarethe foxes are at your bedside and singing--
feversongs,
songs of boiling thoughts
and broken muscles.
their lullabyes.
they sneak so quiet, and
somehow,
you can't quite
dream
anymore.

DangerousMermaids; they seduce you then hold you under
Vampires; will kiss your lifeblood away
Mages, will turn your own mind against you
While trolls will hunt you down if you stay
Run through the woods, don’t stop for nothing
Monsters wait with jaws opened wide
Ignore that pretty elf, who’s probably plotting something dark
For she will torture you once she’s lured you inside
Orcs; will have a craving for your flesh
While dwarves are just prejudiced against your height
Dragons are very skilled when it comes to fire
While faeries will torment you throughout the night
So run little weakling, don’t stop now
The faery realm has go

Seaside HolidayI am content
to stay
a caterpillar

Who says
you have
to change?

What's so great
about being
a butterfly?

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Dark Pulse

by =KalineReine, Oct 16, 2012, 1:57:46 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

A dark pulse...
Seeping into my brain...
Cast off into darkness,
There will be no more reaping.

Languid darkness
Sinking deeper into me,
Lost in the moonlit night,
Awaiting the blood sparrow's call...
Tender and haunting.

It's shallow on the surface,
Always lurking;
Dwelling deeper.

Dark Pulseby =KalineReine

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

...

~~joy 0 0~~

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~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

~ForestoFairies Jan 14, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

morbid and dark...!

Reply

=KalineReine Jan 14, 2013 Professional Writer

That's what I was going for, and how I was feeling at the time... Thank you so much.

Reply

~ForestoFairies Jan 14, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

I hope more dark than morbid...

Reply

=KalineReine Jan 15, 2013 Professional Writer

Kind of...

Reply

~ForestoFairies Jan 15, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Well.

Reply

~Sparklepaws33 Oct 16, 2012 Hobbyist Digital Artist

what did you use to write that ouo

Reply

=KalineReine Oct 16, 2012 Professional Writer

I guess... I just get random lines in my head sometimes.

They come from emotion and other things. Not really based on anything in particular though. Most of my poems are open to be interpreted however the reader chooses.

Reply

~Sparklepaws33 Oct 16, 2012 Hobbyist Digital Artist

oh uh..
I meant..
that it doesn't look like a journal, but some different journal skin thgin ene

Reply

=KalineReine Oct 16, 2012 Professional Writer

Huh? It's a literature submission.

Reply

~Sparklepaws33 Oct 16, 2012 Hobbyist Digital Artist

oh -shakes head- idk what I'm saying ene

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