[x]

the day we diedIt started when space imploded
you pulled me back, landed me on the moon,
so we could sit in the vacuum silence
and watch suns spiral down to hell.

You radiated, my minuscule flare,
your worn heat baked my bones brittle,
but it somehow made me stronger.

-

It ended when your eyes slid lateral,
fractured feelings leaking out in tears;
it was the first and last thing
I ever saw again.

This ridiculous happenstance,
simple in its impossibility,
was what broke us apart:

While solar light is beautiful,
it blinds when reflected by
automobile metal.

my soul is leakingthe steady drip drip of it in the kitchen
sink has me grinding my teeth

what a waste you said, and in vain
tried to tighten the taps as I laughed—
a waste!—indeed I am.

you told me, pride is a virtue you seem to be lacking
and I said pride leaves the blinds open and you laughed
and left the the blinds open.

Shiny black patent shoes, I watched as you were
lowered into the ground and wondered if that's where life got you,
if that's where life always got you,

then,
what good is pride anyway?

IfWe can
draw lines and give them names
like elements
as they are discovered

Or etch into our skins
this soloecal desire
until it is impossible to tell
where words stop
and life begins.

I would

Find a common rhythm that includes
you in my arms, my hands
and lungs and thoughts
tracing the outline of you
entangled with me
colliding like two lost particles
locked in a shared gravity
drifting through the vacuum
of space.

I could.

Exhale, and
remember
sentence structure.

Worn Out Siren TalesI was once the moon-rippled, crystal clear
disturbance at shore
and you found hope, resting
on the borders of
sand and wave.
When I moved, you breathed,
It just isn't worth it,
and I
wish
I
had listened.

I was carved on ship hulls for a
reason,
and I was summoned from sleep to
drown myself in the clutches
of a sea that disowned me
for one too-
and I wrote on woody parchments
for more attention than
story-telling.
So when you moved, I stopped,
Tell me this is eternal,
And I
wish-
I really
wish
I had not.

NecromancyShe replaces her wrists
with the sharp thorns
of roses and slurred
don't-touch-me's

-

as she speaks
in an old tongued
language that whispers

de

cipher

me.

-

She collects stars
on her knuckles,
& her dust eyes
are sad moon nebulas
starved for love.

-

But, the kisses
she sinks into the curve
of her lover's ribcage
by night, warm that
supernova heart.

GlassI always laugh when you refer to me as glass.
Not just because of the way you say it,
(glass-as-in-gas).
Or because I know it's a crack at my fragility.

Glass is pure.
I am like granite -
my body nullified from too many clashing traits.

Glass is transparent.
I am like clay -
illegible from all the plastered smiles.

Glass is unyielding.
I am like chalk -
easily broken and scuffed away by meagre things.

Glass is hung up on walls and in great cathedrals,
tinted for enhancement, but only ever painted on by fools.

I am hidden behind keypads and camera lenses,
coated in a thick paste of deceptiveness.

No, my love,
I was never glass. (Despite

Why I Don'tWe are too permanent
for the transience of poetry,
each brief line speeding on toward
the next at breakneck speed.
And I have never been one for writing
epics, you know that.

moondust.we live in a world where our lungs are black and outlined with angry streaks of red. we plant diseases and destruction in the holes of our stomachs and watch them grow – they shoot up fast and clog up our throats with ashy leaves.

our fingernails are ripped, jagged edges digging into pale skin and leaving white hot lines in their wake. our wings are crumpled, feathers bent and pressing into the expanse of our backs – they're the weights on our shoulders, and there's no space left for anything else.

your tongue is cracked and so is mine. words no longer form, sounds no longer rise. dreams and wishes fall into the cracks as nig

my howls are silentI, too, see the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness. We are decomposing too early, our souls dying before our bodies can catch up. We are silently ravenous, a quiet craze in our hearts, not quite the same as your generation, Ginsberg. We do not shriek "Holy! Holy! Holy!" as we burn. We drown soundlessly.

The overeducated, proud products of postmodernism dissolve in a lukewarm soup of ennui, bored balloons filled with hubris rather than helium. Fragile dolls with flaking bones and hair and skin like flowers wilting, weighed down by indomitable wills and insecurities... these plastic girls starve to death and diabetes in the car b

Frozen StarlightSolid starlight beam,
Precarious illusion,
Photon Congo line.

Each born of fusion,
To squirm through desolate space,
Die in my retina.

Automatici.
"So where are you from?" The boy leans toward me, questions swimming in his eyes. I smile.

"Oh, I'm from Boston."

"No, I mean, where are you from?" My smile falters as I realize where this is going. It's an all-too familiar conversation, one I've been having since I was old enough to reply.

"Do you mean where was I born?"

"Yeah."

"I was born in China."

"Do you speak Chinese?"

"No."

"Does your family speak Chinese?"

"No."

He looks befuddled. I sigh.

"I'm adopted."

"Oh!" I see the light bulb over his head go off in a shower of sparks. "Do you know who your real parents are? Like, your real parents?" My temper flares. I stifle th

PoetreeNOTE: The poem should have the shape of a tree. If it looks messy, your monitor is too narrow. Press "Ctrl" and "-" until it fits into your monitor, or follow the link in the author's comments. Thank you!
                                         In darkness sweet I dream I sleep; my fate to wait till time is ripe
      A tender leaf curled in the seed,               an idea that would be freed
                              I dream of bra

Liquid Cityhere, at the bottom - lovers.
there are lovers disassembling
themselveslost in and to the
desperate motion in
of - waves.

- did you think the continents
moved themselves? see them slip,

in an open sleep. less go, come.
come and, and - again. trembling

here, at the bottom - their eyes
are lightless. hollow bodies left
restless,

the sea does not sleep.

You Can Be A Poet“You Can Be A Poet”

I guarantee everyone is a poet
But I am willing to bet not many know it
Forming a poem is a simple task
Just string words on paper that seem to mask
Your hidden feelings on a certain subject
Or how you wish this world could be perfect

Not all poems have to be deep in meaning
And indeed even the simplest poems can be quite deceiving
This poem for example exists
Without any misdirection or twists
The focus of this poem is to provide
A helpful little guide
On how to write the absolute best
And bring out the skills everyone does possess

Poems work to magnificent avail
If one decides to retell a tale
Poems allow

Truth of the MatterFrostbitten kisses stretched over bare, bloody nerves

I feel them whenever I hear

This isn't right

Or

I could do better,

Knowing full well that I could never

Live up to words that sail like unwanted ships

Wrecked along the shorelines of another being's heart.

So I rattle the bars of my fools’ crib instead

Like a hate-bitten child, shaking my head

And bemoaning

A talent

That has never been mine to make use of.

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NaPoMo 2013 DAY 15one
year ago

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steamy,
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See the trouble
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Star Swallower

by *PursuingTheCerberus, Feb 10, 2011, 5:04:56 PM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

She's
an enigma.
her head, a stadium drowning with applause.
yet its seats are empty like the notebooks
where armies of words should be marching.
instead she dismantles clocks
thinking she can play with time.
behind the mountains lurks a darker reasoning
a twisted labyrinth of rationalizations
hidden from the suns brilliance.

Years alone beneath the bleached fluorescent
reading those already dancing in the moonlight.
she is living a literary half-life through them
hiding from the symmetry of the writer.
licking salty rocks of excuses.
saving her secrets for posthumous excavation.
decades of productivity left for moths to chew.
you're throwing coffins into the sea
with each day that passes wordless.
denying us the sweet whistles from inside your skull.
meaningful, impacting stories only you could pen.

Stop climbing broken staircases
towards the pale summer stars of obscurity.
these are still fruitful years of beauty.
remove your armor.
claw beyond your fears.
allow us into your wonderland.

**COPYRIGHT 2012, 2013 WILLIAM BARKER**

Star Swallowerby *PursuingTheCerberus

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

For Suzanne Staples: Poetess, Friend, and Mentor.

Daily Deviation

Given 2013-01-30

Star Swallower by *PursuingTheCerberus Suggester writes: A beautiful, moving, tragic poem that reminds us to not be caught up in our doubts, lest the flame of our creativity flicker out unseen. ( Suggested by =LadyofGaerdon and Featured by ^Beccalicious )

love 8 8

joy 5 5

~~wow 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

~AnimeGirl1309 Feb 8, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

Everything I read this, I always end up smiling. It's beautiful. Wondrous. Amazing.

*PursuingTheCerberus Feb 10, 2013 Professional Writer

I'm truly honored by your statement.

I'm so happy it brought a smile to your face. The followup to this, honoring my mentor's life and memory, is about five pages at this point (2nd draft). It is a tough one to write, for sure. I should be uploading it soon!!

I really appreciate you taking the time to pass your thoughts on to me, means the world!

~AnimeGirl1309 Feb 10, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

I'm happy that you liked it, 'cause it's all true. You're an amazing writer! I would really like to read that one when it comes out. So maybe...can you give me the link when you get it up?