Andrew Nelson Stewart Andrew Nelson Stewart
In poetry and to find answers of who we are while walking the ephemeral road upon cracks of pain signs leading you.
Mournday Mourning

Mournday Mourning

A Poem by The Psycho-delic Poetess

ashesanddust2 photo ashesanddust2.jpg





It is the mourning of our decay
And vision has not been there for me
As it has in the past
To smog my sight and blur blasphemy
And warp stained skies
Into floral figments of red.

Instead
Irises erode into a crystallized clear
Pure clarity I buried in the small of mind
Behind filaments of truth
 That flicker fractal in one eye.

The gossamer’s glint I loathe
In this love kind of way
Gnawing on a qualm
While it purges away our clouded
Shrouded
Blooming off-white
And the silver lining that sharpens my jaw.

But if I open my mouth to purge our all,
I know that there will blow these wisps of whispers 
Ever crisper
And sentimental to my throat
Yet when I choke 
I will find the breath bereft of the reality we’ve come to be

Our history
Crusts as paper kisses and stillborn wishes 
Upon my frown 
Patchwork stitches for our brittle vow
That chips and flakes within my lungs and coats
My tongue with the embryos of pearls
I cannot hurl into the sea

And now this cerulean 
Bestows its glow upon my sky
And in exchange, I
Must break this fragile, flimsy neck
To inspect the words I have stuck in my teeth
And remove He who inveigles my cheek
To wear his disdain as a stain 
Of freckles
Withering hands can’t seem to rub away

For Gray Eyes herself 
(with speckle of her own)
Keeps braiding the dismay down this spine of mine
Her gentle strokes against my hope
 Exhort me to paint
My quiver rouge because the color exudes
Unearthly beauty that was destined for me

And truth be told
I’d much rather sow 
And water a seed of cinderblock stock
And reap a wall that keeps at bay
Or barricades the blue dawning on our day and yawning 
Away our yearning to remain

Maybe then we’d be the same
Behind that double-pained glass of enigmas and stigmas
Spiting us with a cackle as it cracks
And mocking our lack of reflecting back to the black 
Of our minds
That only watched as time collapsed and died in our fickle laps


And perhaps 
For this reason
This season grows bold and corrodes the old
That weighs heavy on my skin
To respire the desire 
Groveling at groping at the hem of my rest
In the depths of my chest where he and I nest
Enshrouded by the cloudy dust and must 
Of pulverized goodbyes and deteriorating vision
Where I cradle my decision while in want of heart 
And afraid of tomorrow’s start apart


 





© 2013 The Psycho-delic Poetess



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AT LAST
At last I have found a poet who writes as replete as that gang of pens I lost during my thrice decades of sleep. Here is a timeless poem that could spill from tongues one hundred from now as naturally as it would have spilled from tongues one hundred years ago. I have long missed such words as this, dear poet.
Thank you for sharing.

Posted 4 Years Ago


Complex and expressively penned. It flows wonderfully.

Posted 4 Years Ago



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Added on April 6, 2013
Last Updated on April 6, 2013
Tags: Relationships, Toxic Love, Saying hello to goodbye

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The Psycho-delic Poetess
The Psycho-delic Poetess

Nashville, TN



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