TheLyre

Christian Writer of Poems about God and Other. God loves you, and so do I.

[ayane2355]

We become one

Devour one another

Under the one moon

On that one night

In anticipation of two fangs

[ayane2355]

Your, cheek left lying in the, fold, of your palm, under the, exhaust, of your bended fingers, your chin a, dull dagger, pointed at the poppy blue, of your wrist hues, and lashes flutter over puffy, sunken cheeks, your warm forehead, against the cool window, ever watching, waiting, on a world you've, never seen, only dreamt, having no memory of me, yet yearning, spitefully, as the mind, runs from, what had, once been.

[ayane2355]

The rain hasn't time to dry on the concrete, the sky still cries to disguise the screams of death, left to echo in the depths city-wide.

It's cold outside, yet I burn inside despite the wails of the earth to run and hide, I smell your burning flesh, the fear of your last breath, the silence left, in the descent of your bleeding heart.

I care not who hears, I scream, trying to remember how your life ends wherein mine begins. The world is still here, yet the world burns, for with you, the beating of the heart has ceased.

[ayane2355]

I

the evidence

condemning your lips

to lifelessness.

Me

death

in all my elements.

[ayane2355]

My comfort in You is my woes are no longer silent, conversations held between, myself and, I, but a landline, to Heaven, to speak to my Father, God, so I never wander helplessly in, swollen fear of the darkness that, leads me here, but say 'Hello, Lord' and lean on Your shoulder.

[ayane2355]

Look how God works

When the

Car starts after

A sputtering

Entrance

When the

Food arrives with

Unsalted fries and

Mayonnaise packets

When the

Person calls back in so

You can call out and

Redeem that promise

When the

Little thing

You toss in the

Washing machine

Lives to see another day

On your feet

[ayane2355]

I realized

After all this time

Smitten

In you

How you'd captured me

When I began to grieve

For the failings

Of another me

Far away

Outside of time

My heart belongs to you

Your soul my lifeline

In every iteration

Of our creation

And I'll never forgive

Who puts that aside

In any life

For you'd rooted in my mind

Since that first time

I'd been selfless

And you didn't have to ask

Me to be

Selfless

Making me another man

Against my plans

Then making new plans

With me

[ayane2355]

Washing me away on your stronger days.

Whispers of the walls inside your room, wherein I only exist for you.

You are all I crave, the necromancer of my need to satiate.

The darkness our fortress and our cape.

We waste away in a quiet place, the loud is for the sorcerer, our space is for the meal plate.

[ayane2355]

How can I then erase what has been written in my own pen

For the sake of beginning once more what had once been

In my soul I'd already called you mine in every iteration

Reality can only bind what it has been allowed in resignation

[ayane2355]

Your green skin hadn't bothered me, like my green skin had bothered me.

Yours was lime, over a plate of rice, and I was the, soapy cilantro.

Pesky dots among white, with no place to go.

But you'd said, not everyone has that gene, and took from me, what I couldn't stand to eat, and licked the plate clean.

Tongue all flecked in lime green.

[ayane2355]

The mark of your cherry red lips on the underside of your napkin the absence of what had once been white inside the dire desire to find place in my sweaty palm to hold it the turning of my stomach in a ribbon of hunger the stain that remains between the crevices

[ayane2355]

Tattoo the mark of my teeth on your skin

Boney columns

The bars of your cage

Some things fail to change with age

I am

That very man you'd first met

Mauling the gristle for the gnaw of the cartilage

Noone can

Ask to prod my brain

And clean the stain of my hearts desiring

It's the

Kind of thing that sticks

Then you either vomit or lick your lips

[ayane2355]

If it is possible, I believe in you, then whom, you subscribe to, to whom you've given your life, born anew, in whom you call Christ, then desperately I ask to, be recommended, I ask your savior, to save me too, unsure when I kneel on bended knee, if I pray to Him whom you believe, or just you, whom I do.

[ayane2355]

If I am the bonsai, my father is the willow.

Somewhere, we are of the same family, of species, but you'd never guess looking at me, that we shared much else.

My color palette is cold, I believe in holding on to, worst case scenarios, but he says there's no use in those, and to choose mind over matter tenfold.

I am sitting on my bed in the dark, while he sleeps with the light on, he's ready to fight monsters, but I quiver when the night's long.

At most we are apart, of the other in heart, but we are positively nothing alike.

[ayane2355]

He gives me a name, and crafts me of clay.

I know already, I won't look anything like those, porcelain dolls.

But I'll wear the spirals of His fingerprints as, my badge of honor, atop my skin, in burnt sienna.

I'm not made to atone to, anyone else's, preferences, my sculpt is that of my Creator, for I am His.

[ayane2355]

If green eyes are a seed, before a pit of fertilizer, and a hole a foot deep, can this be where they're buried, if the sun continues shining, and it rains periodically,

can they not move down the street, until they're silhouette is a single dot, in the beam of the day setting, never again to be seen, if there is a lawn ripe for the picking, and the yard belongs to me?

[ayane2355]

Someone was wiping down a shelf, and you were speaking about how that must be their passion, while I was playing you the song I'd learnt by ear, on the instrument I learnt by hand, in my room alone at dark, because no one liked the sound.