Etheric Shell

W.I.P

A cosmic release expelled

as branches bloomed outward

crimson on pale,

clutching in gloom

the arc of your eyes,

a touch like gold brushing 

warmth on my soul

like tiny petals dancing

past- in a breath of spring wind

This is the end. 

The imprint of love

cooled the canvas of my

still life, flashing backwards 

through all the lights and darks

scintillated by the blush

of newborn stars

blooming with the density

of souls mating in retreat

of the skies. 

Biting on the leash of death

I knew again

every laugh, every lie

sanity yielding to spiritual escape

memories sink like aimless ships

in the gray asunder .

Energy pulsed from everything,

I noted from the skyline

of an ambien and whisky haze-

our bookcase ghosting with 

fables of voices....

Sylvia's soprano sorrows and

the lament of Poe's

grand genius breezing 

his broken keys, his mark of woes

these tragic tales 

and gutted cycles

dripped from my palms

as I waited

I noted- from the great divide

a vibrancy of colors I had no name for

microscopic lights bouncing

like auras, not fading like mine

never before had I been so enchanted

by dust particles in the air

collections of books,

the manifestation of despair

lament snaked through a

tangle of thoughts, bittered 

like age in the raw of my youth.

The myriad of thread on the rug

was quite fascinating, too

an electric circus of threads

beat a dance of macabre

to the last pace of my heart...

smells like tropic rain and amber

and old pennies; rust

permeated the room,

pooled around last letters

my sense of self ascending

lifting like sunspots from the pages

of a stationary life, over the din

your voice crept like cancer

a shadow on the hemisphere

like potted plants, my membranes

rooted in you- it was in that space between that

monochromatic mums popped into my head

all the pinks sung into memory;

The ones I lay on your plot

on numb Sunday afternoons... 

Oh, in this great below

I conjured the sound of music

a lost soul's lament; 

a heart

bleeding with mad cursive

a heart,

withered and gray like

a shivering rose,

alone in the dark. 

bones bleached pale by

too many sunsets,

Here I am,

awaiting furious angels

to appear at my tomb.

There I was,

alabaster skin stained by

liquid roses,

sorry eyes that once adored you,

vacated vitality

another of your silly proses. 

Reviews

[MAC]

oh my, first time reader, soon to be long time fan! AMAZING! brilliant to the syllable!

[patrick hamilton]

that was really fantastic krystle.

[Kristallo]

I thought it would be a bit unconventional for your taste. ;)

[joshua deathdealer]

Shew.. this gave me chillss.. no joke. This is amazing stuff. Truly. Withered in peace?

[Perdition]

Sweet bells of green starred ganja what in heaven's cache have you done?!!!
"...Blooming with the density of souls mating in retreat of the skies.."
How the??...What the??... Where in the ????
Ah the hell with it ..This is ABSOLUTELY beautiful. I find myself wanting to rip out my eyes just so that I might be forced and able to run my fingers over the braille and feel if this moment of magnitude is born of the landscape beyond every language. In this You are covered and suffering in all the malleable angles of hard and wonderful rain and what is more is that you are absolutely right..."This is the end"! " Oh but thanks..Now I shall never get the smell of old pennies out of me. WARN me next time!

[Kristallo]

I see so many problems with this one already, but i'm so humbled that you took the time to read my run on thought fragments and found something lovely hiding on the edge of reason. Wonderful review, these 'angles of rain' as you put it have bled all the colors into an abstract that I can finally understand. Thank you for being the poet I always look forward to reaching, I know that if you can relate to my words, I haven't wandered too far astray.

[Perdition]

No you really haven't gone astray at all and as far as "many problems" goes..."well itchy well", Welcome to the first step of writer's hell. Not a single thing I have ever put to page has come out without a million regrets and rewrites but i had to learn to let them all go on their own sooner or later (especially when my madness had moved on to the next one)..SO.. Only you can decide for yourself..I think you hit this one out of the dark myself...but hey, What will they say in a hundred years right?..Mwuah..I love it...Really truly do.

[Muse]

Your words are like a beautiful work of impressionism. I always felt I could relate to you...wish you were my neighbor, I would love to invite you over for coffee and dive into your psyche. I felt like I was all alone in abandoned room, paying respect to every stale smell "surrounded by remorse" and watching the past decay like old paper...a mad poet trying to make sense of nonsense. That is our curse you know? Trying to make sense of the physical world...yet what we see and feel is of the 4th dimension. It cannot be touched...but we feel it in our soul, and it torments us in every way imaginable.

[Kristallo]

I knew you would understand me in this one, Muse. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for your thoughtful review, I wish that I could meet you and witness your sense of higher perception for myself... "but we feel it in our soul, and it torments us in every way imaginable." I couldn't have put it better myself- you are soul of such beauty and I think you struggle, too. In some way...

Thanks again, Muse.