28 Oct 2014

there is a song written of forgotten notes
sung by silence, when the trees are still
unmistakably haunting as it slips away
as time drives you on past the moment
to live life as if we never knew the secret
yet holding a hope strange with simplicity
breathing in breezes, a rustling of the trees

posted by John H. Doe @ 12:48 am

17 Oct 2014

too long trying to promote the myth of myself, i see
the arguments are only numbers, but that is all that is left of the world
i have lived beyond where the dna yelled to stop
overstayed the desire of the world to pin me down with apologies
we should spend all of our hours in mourning
but there are things to do, each a small forgetting of our humanity
as we rather than to measure the proper sadness
the abyss we stare down cannot be as deep as the memory of eden
the night not so dark that we can imagine it infinity
the sum total of our forgetting is an arbitrary zero, the vague nothing
dreams emerge from a different kind of numbness
and the myth of me is a poem writ of such haze, how i cracked my halo
as infinities i imagine touch at the surface of night
the dream shifts planes and leaves me earthbound once again, here
to forget good and evil like the dream came true
i mend my busted halo in the pools of sorrow, the tears of night, alone

posted by John H. Doe @ 5:06 am

10 Oct 2014

the madness has a memory
beware the quiet
light flutters at the edges of my vision
and i let the curse feed my fire
like a silent delirium will i pray
outwardly to despair, to play a different game
inwardly to hold on, a wingèd strength
aesthetics string delicately together
where the art has stretched out its meaning to harden
to leave roses in our wake…
holy fire burns me, the ecstatic flames
love will heal in this way what cannot be mended
i am not mad:
eyes that have ranged far countries return only halfway
and the pain is a blindness
how can they not stare?
for we are all fearfully and wonderfully made
to pierce into the mystery with dagger eyes
to find what we had had all along
the curse lost in the light
the doom lost in futures past
beware the quiet
the madness has a memory

posted by John H. Doe @ 12:56 pm

5 Oct 2014

memories are light
running through sunlight dappled days
a cushion of youth spilling everywhere
memories are heavy
remembering the grace of someone
whose face no longer looks out into the day
night comes easy
the scattering of cricketsong outlying
the smell of meat basted in tangy summer
night comes hard
the years of wanderlust supressed, a lifetime
the desire that would never know light
and there is life
the experience of change of dark and light
memory keeping track where you got hurt
and here is life
sometimes it never seems to begin
but to know hard that it has an end

posted by John H. Doe @ 7:44 pm

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