Zepherin

Sometimes I write poems.

[corpuscal]

Crooked Sprout

Pull out a sprout

when you fear how you appear

you'll be seen -

Dark and crooked like your underneath.

No sheath you can don to disguise the lies

Your own eyes despise.

Black holes that window no soul

but reveal the truth -

you're lacking in ruth.

[corpuscal]

Rachael's Limerick

How long let's my limericks' line

Remain reliable in the realm of rhyme -

Supercalifradulisticexpealidocious

Is this poem pretentious or precocious -

And tethered to a tempo's time?

[corpuscal]

My Friend

Hello my friend

it's not the end.

We can't pretend

we won't meet again.

For when we leave,

we simply believe

or maybe deceive,

but we'll always retrieve.

Things look stark,

Or even dark,

But we musn't hark,

Or rush to embark.

Yes sometime soon,

we shall commune

beneath the moon

I love you Yoon.

[corpuscal]

Bats

At night, Whenever it’s dark, My eyes search For a bat - Too big to be real - Looming on rooves, Gargoyle still. Is it an owl in the tree? Jeepers creepers! Searching for my eyes, A horned demon in disguise. My mind descends deeper, What do I see? Its sound is shrill, A devil that moves - Compels me to feel. An angel or a bat Lurking ‘round the church? Lucifer the arch - The bearer of light.

[corpuscal]

Shadows at Night

You’ve cast a shadow over us our entire lives: When I see others, when theirs close their eyes, They’re allowed to remember their time, They can linger without the light, But I’m reminded of you And how I can’t choose To grieve too Because the darkness you cast has never yielded to the night.

[corpuscal]

Freak 533

There are things I don’t want to reveal Because they are inferior ways to feel. I know there’s nothing beautiful about this pride, Yet I continue to hide. Even when I could speak honestly, as I started just now, There is someone inside who distorts what is true To prepare it for you, But I can’t see how.

[zm-sc]

Make it Frank’s baby just so that I can confirm how much whack you writers are

[ignore-the-chaos]

I swear, if they make Frank and Laurel a thing again I will personally fly over to the writer’s home and backhand them into the grave right next to the character they just killed off.

[corpuscal]

Wes Gibbins: good representation, mentally ill, with good plots and relationships to develop, finally happy, with a "possibly" baby on the way, overall a complex character.

Frank: Delfino.

[ignore-the-chaos]

I binge watched HTGAWM this week. I fell in love with Wes. I fell in love with Waurel. and for what.

for it all to be a waste of my time. Getting so invested into a show and then it does shit like this. 

[ramimalelk-deactivated20170213]

I’ve honestly never felt more personally victimized by a show before tonight…

[corpuscal]

The Light Keeper

A child alone in darkness,

Water that’s colder than ice,

Sleeping can only delay it,

Numbing will always seem wrong.

Lingering on eternity,

Turning his body to stone

Winter to be forever,

The child who cannot fight.

This child lacking in brightness,

Brilliance within his pocket,

Holding can never sustain it,

Absorbing it takes too long.

“But where will it go if I leave it here,

Alone and in the dark?”

“It’s far too cold, the water deep,

And Spring is sure to start”.

Surrounding him at home tonight,

Forgetting all that was lost,

Radiance among the shadow.

My child who loves the light.

[corpuscal]

Fear

An unwelcome visitor arrived


on the roof across the way.


A small and round and black-haired furry


but I cannot see his face.

He looks away in the same old pose


I hoped he'd never move.


But today he did, he hobbled right;


it must be drawing close.

A troll, I've heard, has one thing to say


but never says it at all,


"Hello my friend, goodbye to yours;


I think it's time to go".

This is why I'm glad, you see,


his face is turned away from me.


For when his gaze opposes mine,


I'll truly have to say goodbye.

[corpuscal]

I can’t stop listening to this beautiful cover by William Yang. Check out his other covers on YouTube. He’s got a beautiful, beautiful voice.

[corpuscal]

Wake Up, Keep Dreaming

“I think I’ll get going now,” she said.

“Okay,” was his response.

They lay there on the bed together, half-sitting, half-supine, in a state of drowsiness that was characteristic of both and not necessarily the result of having just awoken. He did not want her to go and suddenly he felt an intense fury at the thought that she would leave him so willingly and so soon. He dare not stay in bed any longer for fear that if she gazed upon him he would be unable to don his mask in time.

As he emerged more firmly from his stupor, so too did his surroundings. White beams of sun filtered through leaves that whispered in the wind permeated the room, and his awareness. Everything was white: the light, the bed, the walls; it was his parents room. But where they were was as unknown to him as it was unimportant.

He exited into the bathroom to clean something, not wanting to go too far from her. Again the rays in the trees caught his eye. Filtered as they were, he had never seen light look so pure and he thought that light should always come by way of trees.

He turned on the water in the ivory-tiled shower and began to mop its floor. A gentle warmth suffused his work space as thoughts of her dissolved in his mind; if not better he felt busy. And so she entered in person, sleep-walking. Her pallid face set in her dark, bone-straight hair, her eyes averted purposefully onward yet already seeking rest, her clothes like bruises, black and purple, a manifestation of internal injury.

The slant of the shower stored the stream on one side. This was the site she sought to slump. He plugged away as she lay down, stealing glances as she turned to stone. He wondered why her look would not change. The eyes of a statue never close and what they see is what she longed for. But he did not know that. What he did know was that he wished he could lie there next to her in that warm water welling up around her.

That he must continue his work was what he knew too. And so he turned his gaze from that shadowed corner upon the glistening shallows beside. There he beheld a sight that startled him more than it ought to have, though the reason for it also lay beyond his consciousness. Two kittens had come to play in the sparkling liquid, not just in the water but in the light as well. “Oh how they revel in its gleam,” he thought.

Then suddenly, a sound, distant, distorted, but rhythmic and growing louder. Fear, haze, fog, mist. Panic, dim, gloom, murk. The alarm that bears the shroud is the alarm that ends his dream.

[corpuscal]

Inside a Mirror

There is light that wind cannot follow;


In the mirror it reflects back and forth.


Echoes resonate in its hollow,


Insulating from the cold of the north.

A fog of ice, as the pressure swells,


Besieges the unyielding looking glass,


Desperate for a glance; the mirror tells


That this vision will never come to pass.

When haze-like smoke cannot drown it out,


Furious in its intent to shatter,


The mirror will fragment but shall not spout,


Beaming even as its pieces scatter.

[corpuscal]

6.12.25

Halfway across the world is where you’ve always been. Even when I had you here, I only had a vague sense of that. It was easy to pretend with you standing there in front of me, That you were mine. Now we only meet in dreams, And I know you’ve always had to leave me behind. But isn’t it funny: We’re the same age now, though five years apart, And somehow I feel closer to you, Like I know you better than I did then.