Lacuna

Sometimes

I want to carve emotions

From hollow bones,

And never kiss

Life again.

Sometimes

It seems the only answer

To the throes of life.

Where everyone is,

And I am not.

Where I am

Always forgotten…

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AlmostUntitled

I crumble, and you catch me

in grains of sand; to feel

my soul, and life, slip between

your fingers.

And I? I slow

my atoms to expiration, to help

linger your beauty in ecstasy;

seen through my hearts demise…

Curio Dementia

– For Talitha –

 

“I see black light (his last words)”

– Victor Hugo

 

                                Coarse,

they press you against hoarfrost fiction

and drip-dry you to original melancholic nostalgia.

Between troubles,

you stray, in haggard pray.

                                They

repent lividity to you –

through phantasms, deliria, and laconic reality.

Shy and reclusive –

their premise hides within you!

The erotic death chamber, your heart betrays.

                                Inauspicious,

hidden, listening to your cadaver –

taught and eerie –

between the dusk that laced the ill-fated

crawling illusions

that allure

those confidences you refute.

                                Macabre parallel,

they place you upon the beast’s rest –

                                bride –

and thread intestinal depravity

against your maws. Kissing me

with thirst and entropy.

                                Serial,

your heart massacres me in decay.

How can worship not wither? Demented

and wicked – I married you

in esoteric womb.

                                Placed

your shell into embalmed despondence.

In nihilistic tomb, and ended void,

I dream

                                Of you.

Wolfbane queen.

Decaying sovereign of silent sin.

                                Of you.

I dream.

 2b5cec7e76cf8546c9009efc7497360f--macabre-photography-horror-photography

Semper Idem

Today I was privileged to be this weeks guest poet for Night Forest Cell of Radical Poets. Go check them out! Thank you again Julian!

Night Forest Cell of Radical Poets

Align below divested light,

apparition, forlorn, and ancient wight:

“Dishonour,

touch our wings

and enact human grief once more.”

Tears blemish, tender reprieve,

mountains transform to dust,

each blown to estate,

never to life.

Shadowed within hearts of steel,

plastic promenade,

once lapped shores for ultimate truth.

“They are the last of us,”

they sang.

“Those who do not drown,

but fall

from grace and mother’s tongue

to dispose their fetid souls-

above;

flutter and die.”

“Wings were Icarus’s tears!

Tender yearning to Sisyphus ears

and all delusions are fated

by ravenous wants and

never more.”

Songbirds watch

on wings

as placid as caretaker’s vow.

The spectres upon the stars,

who’s appetites beg

that which might-have-been,

sleep

within stripped parable,

nightingales of sin.

They were never born,

and,

on storms of ethereal fever,

consciousness wavers, overthrown

with anguish

and uncertainty.

Between the stars and spiralling screams,

remnants linger

and still yearn…

View original post 36 more words

Ataraxia

-For Talitha-

Phantoms- bind my soul

to leaves that fall- gentle life

that hides between shadows-

laps the shore with golden hues

and never ask for more

than to hold me in her arms-

simplicity’s kiss- how I’d lost

the hope of her- funerary-

we fall in love- touched

in snow filled hopes

and salience will-

Her body- soft and slender-

warms promise- and I kneel

at the gates to her world- mind-

presence that touches me-

changes me- “There is no smile”-

she claims as heart radiates

between vision and all-

allowing nothing to become

once more everything-

She makes life-

guides through depressions grip

to gentle core- for more than dreams-

and heard in shadows

are divisions of futures created-

how are angels so alone-

her- the governance of serenity-

places me into her life- and I-

not worthy- cry never to be left

in unknown quarter- a world

that without her-

would now be void- entropy-

without her touch- only empty

above the sphere- existence

collapses- nothing- without her-

nothing- before her-

she- my queen- brings life-

how can here be- without her-

Hireath

“Twelve thousand miles away from your smile,
I’m twelve thousand miles away from me” – Emily Barker

What words I write
don’t echo you? Nobody.
All I am is what you abandon.
Naught, because you left
nothing of me. Am I called empty,
Vacant? Only holes in time
that ghosts the paths I walk?
Oh nostalgia,
tear the flesh
from none existence.
I am never, and alone I walk
with your absence,
my only friend.
Until death shares a thought,
and empty,
I will not be anymore…

Aeternum vale (Farewell forever)

If I lived, were I more
than dust and shadow;
haze in filtered sunrise or
fume across bleak solitude?

In your thoughts was I
complete- or just half lived
and never formed? Is that why
I’m uncreated? Weathered here
or felt in storm- disjointed
by the paths we walk- each day-
in pretence and harmony.
Where is harmony?

Do you still dream?
Those walks in komorebi’s wake,
now seem
so distant- morose and fake.
The years that left
us to their draw- gunslinger-
time pours us out in lies.
Dalliance
and dancing with our bones,
drawing comparison
from death to me-
does your face differ?

Gossamer bore your name-
Emotions thinned
and honed
to hold the world as briefly as your soul.
Delicate and placid,
because dreams on your lips-
sailed fragments and ships-
were adrift
and destinations never reached.
All are lost in cosmic bedlam.
Never etched in sands,
nor felt by your heart.
Do you feel?

We are dust and bones.
Window dressing of forlorn love.
Tears that plague
and interrupt contemplation
with flood and little warning-
we walk along those empty
streets. The storefronts,
decayed and spoilt,
replicate the universe.
And all those dreams
that gave us meaning roll
through fever and purposeless-
swallowed by our final journey-
our extramundane hearse.

Poem © Phen Weston 2017

Untitled, 8th Nov ‘17

‪Your lies, a crypt,‬
‪and now love is grave‬
‪where I forgo our barrow‬
‪with egregious mistake.‬
‪Temper sent to reminisce,‬
‪of all those days we danced-‬
‪and I never grasped‬
‪your verse in mourn- in death‬
‪we call to each other:‬

‪”Name me forgotten, tryst to night.‬
‪I was never yours at all.”‬