Molten Poetry

Let it burn.

You speak in strokes
of calligraphy or cursive,
with your ugly lies yoked
by such lovely verses.

Begone, silver-tongue!

We, in our truth, will
not stoop to be among
liars, thieves, or shills,
that sign their names
in plagiarized feelings
and speak of things
they could not possibly feel.

Whether calligraphic,
or cursive,
your curse words
are the worthiest
reflection of your soul,
even if it’s black
or simply

imperfect.

Oh, when we were young,
we shone like diamonds
refracting the Sun.

We shone like mirrors,
blinding everyone
with our polished silver.

We burned those around us,
stabbing with bright lances
from convex glass eye-thrusts.

Memory is the first to go
and its light fades to dusk.
Gone, the backlight for the known.

Now old, wrinkled, wizened,
our light is not our own,
but a reflected image

of the young Phoenix-children,
who, in their great wisdom,
can’t see, to them, what we’d given.

…and then the Black
Sail filled with tepid
wind, sent from the lips
of Hades himself.

He wished for this ship
to bear him our pall,

lashed tightly to the mast,
its tatters whipped,
salted,
in strips,
as we crawled

‘gainst the stillwater.

Untouched by the breath
of the shroud-keeper,

He,
lurking in the depths,

feasts,
sating his hunger

on the dying sailors
that cry under
the black sail,

thirsting

against regret and wishing
for fresh water.

I attended the most lovely wedding last October. Two dear friends, who truly deserve the love they share, are bound for great things. I wrote this for them a few months prior, but was undecided on how to present it, so I’ll put it here for now.

Now with a spoken word track…

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