Cleaving

As I sit, dragon, in the hookah lounge
Regarding the amalgamation of our fumes
It seems a queer thing that our breath mingles 
A smoked soul shared and sober, constant grace 

Would that I could osmote their ease 
Breathe their pure spirit instead of poisoning the collective 
My essence, foul and poison, corrupting even their shifting demons 
For all our unity in this instance, I remain queer 

Vigorous, the others coil nobly about their perches 
Beasts at home, synchronicity the air of their movements 
Whole without worry or want, without apprehension 
How do their hearts not bleed in such caloric absence 

Crowned trophies of idolic regals adorn tapestry and shelf 
Figures screaming abundance from out their placid eyes 
Were they, too, beset upon by their own massiveness 
Did they, too, dream the cleaving dream 

The herbs are dissolving boundaries of my tissue 
Intoxicants persuade flesh with velvet whisper 
Come undone at your seems, Saul 
Slip your skins lest death find you twice 

Do they dream the cleaving dream 
Sleep delivering them, out of body, from their gelatinous shackles 

Dreaming the cleaving dream 
Emerging stone from sinew, gargoyle chiseled from wonder 

Dragon again, companion asks if I am well 

We are Dragon, after all, beasts wrought in intellect, in power 

Why should I suffer sleep or shame 
Amid the splendor of our souls 

But I am heathen and bereft 
Dragon, I secrete the sulfur of my shame 
Dragon, I bathe in a soul I do not share 
Fetters of flesh permit no splendor 

Dragon, I dream the cleaving dream 
Dream transcendence of shackles 
Dream figure from block 
Dream darkness from light 

Bondage to body that I am, death will find me twice 
The untranscendent heathen remains Dragon 
Till the earth he scorches swallows him 
Where no eyes can follow 

Though wrought in intellect and power, no dragon may wield a cleaver 
What else but to meet death once at the dark end of some long fall 
Pray a heathen prayer for strength to not spread my weight worn wings 
Hope that death's chess is not a prelude to crueler games 

Till such a plunge I dream the cleaving dream 
That I am stone enough to carve 
Find thumbs to do the carving 
Be flayed to bare my soul

Author's Note

I haven't written in over a year. I wrote this because it sounded better than self-harm.

Reviews

[Samantha ~virginpoet]

wow this one is hard to review .. where do I start, Some aspects of this reminded me of Edgar Allen Poe. Again nice touch with the 4 line stanzas and nice use of language

I liked this poem and the last line "Be flayed to bare my soul" will stick with me for a while

writing poetry is to be flayed soul bare

[HeWhoJives]

Thank you