no title

Death is sweet

And from the breath of your bed sheet

I’m a beggar

and again I’m dead with defeat

And the stories you told

Were so sweet

But when night turns into day I follow the sheep

And from the hands you made

Tiger eyes and a bloody handkerchief

You tell lies

But still your songs sound weak

And from the breath I awaken

Define guilt when tip toes creep

It’s written all over this town

From the beginning you told me lies

From the end and of the days week

I look for love

from another’s cheek

So I cry to myself

Why does this song sound tired

My feet walk but still I’m no child

And telling the truth could have saved a life

But in the end I always choose black not white

Coming home from another challenge

We break a material love

Like a mother

Who carried buckets of blood

Singing a song written

I haven’t found my truest victim

In the eyes of something neat

Near death I ask so sweet

And the tongue is wet with wickedness

But I spit and my heart still beats

And you show the clock ticks

Wicker moth wine and cloth grit

Beaten into a grain

Fallen soot on a writers pain

Licking salt on the fingertips of hate

I bite the cut of futures to maim

I am a maiden of dark

Trying hard to let it all out

And when the day ends I thank my men

For they know not where they have been

Telling one from another

The story bends

And the rocks add moments

And the clock it moans

And the months they own

Light in the wake

For I am alone

Alone

Alone

Reviews

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

Powerfully evocative and speaks to the games of love we often play or are unwilling participants in. The echoes of your final word cut deep to the reader who may see a bit of their own dilemma within this poem. The darker side of love and its many shades are well elaborated in this haunting piece. Wonderful work Cheyenne.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

after a while they all seem the same...each one breaks hearts like the previous and so on.
If we can spit out the taste of the bad relationships and start with fresh breath----love might get that one more chance to procure happiness and bend the story in the right direction.
j.

[Coyote Poetry]

Hello dear Cheyenne. I love the honest words and how you descript life and men.
"And the rocks add moments
And the clock it moans
And the months they own
Light in the wake
For I am alone
Alone
Alone"
The above lines can be real life. Sometime our ending. Loneliness. Thank you for sharing the amazing poetry and your thoughts.
Coyote

[albee]

Death needs no title, when it looms like an aurora spewed over our time. Death needs no title when it gives us a little taste, with breath of Hallelujahs in the bed sheets and savory salty cheeks. Death needs no title when carried in the buckets and growlers of mothers' milk and blood. Death needs no title when it deludes us into victimhood. Death like a rock needs no title, to broadcast its inevitabilities, momentum, and singularity. Rocks carry time in their cold histories. Alone alone alone, we are all brief rocks. Can there be moments of bliss in loneliness?

[John the Baptist]

Has the sound of disappointment, maybe betrayal. The speaker has bitter words for a former lover who was loose with the truth. There is quite a bit of rancor, but the ending is full of sadness. The speaker is alone once again, and doesn't want to be. Relationships can be fulfilling, but they can be hell, too.