I am stagnating in the gloom
My arid bed a fetid tomb.
Shriveled, bathed in afterdamp
Cold hands bereft in craving cramp,
While shadows flit upon the sheet
Come to watch my will deplete
My skin does weep out brackish moans
Pulled tight, so snap my fallow bones
While hollow eyes grate sore with dust
Summoned from a hungering lust.
I gush, and swither in repent
There's nothing here, and nothing spent
That face, vivid in whimsy sleep
Does through my aching core entreat
Til beg for fingers does my breast
A guttural plea to be possessed.
But nothing whirs save busy mind
See - 'now' and wanting misaligned.
I am so plagued by what I see.
Adored, by wanton knave is me
Force colder shivers down my spine
That add to skin's a-weeping brine.
My own hands move to curb my lust
And into them salvation thrust.
You fill my head, oh wicked sir
Who makes a carcass want and stir,
So close my eyes, to vivid keep
This being that I plucked from sleep
And all to quench a growing thirst
To keep my pounding crux submerged
I fight for visions in the gloom
That morning shall thwart all too soon,
And know this beauty shall tonight
A tepid passion reignite
That in my truth cannot exist,
But by night - shall I not resist
And almost lost within your eyes
And almost does your grace incise
Within a cracked and hardened shell
And grin 'Look, how the maiden fell'
To take me deep within your moan
A rose now plucked, and overblown
But as we reach the flickered peak
I sigh, and no return does speak
My sir, do edges waste away -
I lost my focus in the fray.
And so within my soul you sweep
And wait to live again with sleep
I gush, and swither in repent
There's nothing here, and nothing spent
how our dreams can ruin reality
Comments
1 - 9 of 9
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I think this is a powerful poem. I left AP for a while in November, and now that I am back it is good to still see quality poetry. Keep up the good work, AP needs poets that write from the heart
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Sounds more like 'he' stagnated and you are left to your fantasies that accompany you from your dreams.
Well worded.
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ooh interesting take thankyou
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sexy
you stagnate indeed however. probably. you write a poem about stagnation, an I naturally would so assume that you are stagtating. does stagnating mean your stinky too? just wondering, I liked these lines:
"My sir, do edges waste away-
I lost my focus in the fray.
And so withen my soul you sweep
and wait to live again with sleep."
except for the part about sleeping to live. ...your not really living when you sleep, your sort of zoned out and unable to interact. unless you are one of those who sleep when they walk. then you might have breakfast...in fact you might eat a peice of shit and like it, who knows. -
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uh...ok :S
i think you take it too literally. it is 'him' who lives again in sleep - as in, appears in dreams
ty for reading
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It's very good but I get lost in if it is about death or romance. I will have to read it again. Perhaps it is about both I like how it rhymes so well.
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its not technically about death - the death images are for a sense of dispair, and how the narrator is left feeling dead and numb with the realisation that the man is only 'real' in a dream
glad you liked though, and ty for reading
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very nice piece keep it coming
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ty
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