edge of bizzarity

something strange

resides

along the edge of bizzarity

convoluted yet logical

benign yet edged with extreme

fatal lest it feels like less

at the periphery of our vision

at the horizon of our senses

what our being can only hazard to guess

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ender

an ender should not dread the end

reaper of all, you sowed once too

a guide for the died

what fear is there

for the destined real?

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

you will be summoned

you will appear

be drawn to my wavering soul

suspended above my shallow shell

and dear death

once ago

and once again

 become

enfleshed

voiced

i hear your voice

that off key humming

that soft yet deep toned

murmuring

that distinct chuckle

that sweet nothing filled echo

 

i strain to hear you

to make it real

to place it in my time

but just as always

you go silent

sensing you have

come too near

what keeps you away?

 
 

you know i await

that fated chance

not promised

no, not at all

but dreamt of

and longed for

but thought of

and prayed for

and kept

within my

wounded self

to give the

emptiness

some company

i know.

i know that look!
i know every word that is unspoken,
that lies within that look.
[why do so many share the same?]
that little jump, that little crinkled brow,
the little voice that inside echoes: ‘why are you this way?’

i know those words!

i see every word before it is spoken,
it lies within your mind
and spills forth from confidence assured,
[why do so many share the same?]
that little quirky smile, that little tingling fear,
the casual-sounding voice stammers: “you’re not like the others”

i know that very thought!
i hear it before it is even formed,
it lies within your questioning soul
and struggles to come forth,
[why do so many share the same?]
that little contemplation, that little preoccupation,
the little wonder that catches you by surprise: “why do you not belong?”

yes but none ever voice nor think nor see…
that i cannot help,
but be me.

Lunacy’s call

Wrote this one, after falling asleep with my blinds open, and waking in unmistakable fear with the moon shining full on my face. Was that the cause really? The confused mass of images, an overall sense of suffocation and dread, the pervasive white sheen to the images seen seemed pretty convincing then. My creative concern remains about rhyming structure not stunting a poem’s flow.

From my bedroom window pane
spied I something that
kept me from sleeping sane:

waxed and waned before my eyes
silver dollar gleaming in the sky

sparkled strangely twice than thrice
slanted grain of bitter rice
would lunacy’s luridness entice?

milky blinded wandering eye
with pallid brightness slowly did it cry
shimmering sickle, heavy eyes did pry
sobered dreams calmly defied

relentless rhyme upon my pen
sightless goddess do not seek me again

following with her unblinking gaze
tempting weakened minds with searing craze

do not stalk with me with your lantern white
I plead of slumber hold me tight

twinkle twinkle fickle moon
let me be Madame La Lune.