'the moon,' salted paper print from glass negative; james thomas whipple and james wallace black, american c. 1857-60.
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@naked-thought
'the moon,' salted paper print from glass negative; james thomas whipple and james wallace black, american c. 1857-60.
I was a child
With a tooth on the precipice,
A tethered relic of flesh and time.
The world watched silent
Tongue divined the loosened root,
Testing the ache of transmutation,
Tasting the iron tithe of change,
Knowing some rites demand blood,
And some things go easier when severed.
Yet I lingered,
Felt the sinew surrender in slow decay,
Let the wind, the whispers,
The turning of unseen hands
Unravel what force might defile.
I tasted the metallic, thick of waiting
A moment taut as the string of fate.
A pulse thrummed beneath the enamel,
A sigil carved in bone and memory.
The air reeked of rust and omen.
One final push
sharp, electric, wrong
The tether broke, the vessel emptied,
And in my palm lay the tooth, pale as the moon
No pain, only the hollowed altar,
The vacant throne of what once was,
And the silent knowing
That something must die
For something new to rise.
I can’t browse through potential lovers,
can’t sift through faces like options on a shelf,
measuring worth in polished words
and careful angles.
Love isn’t found in lists and numbers,
not in profiles or perfect lines,
but in the quiet pull of something unspoken,
the way a glance holds just a moment too long,
the way a presence lingers before it’s named.
I won’t seek what isn’t meant,
won’t chase what shifts with passing trends.
Let love come as it always does
unexpected, unforced,
written in the space between words.
She was impossibly beautiful,
but something else entirely in the peripheral—
a presence half-seen, half-felt,
just beyond the reach of knowing.
Not beauty that asks to be beheld,
but one that lingers in the afterthought,
in the shadow of a turning glance,
in the hush between words.
She was not the thing itself,
but the echo it left behind,
the trace of something almost remembered,
just past the edge of certainty.
This light. Where is this light coming from to bring me to my knees. I have yet to see if it is for fear or praise. Please let me stay in my darkness, I am not ready to change my ways. This sin that I live in, hatreds that I hold breeds in me. Keeps the tongue sharp and my sword ready for blood. I cannot allow myself to know love. Where to allow another to perceive me as a sheep when I born into the wild and raised as wolves.
A thousand years of
Affection and compassion
How we are slow to action
She a square and me a circle
It felt like I was pointless
My sins justified
know that god loves you
enough to save
Not to give you a place
Feels like pain in the chest
Splitting me in two
Sharpening every breath
Let’s with less
Search for some kind of release
Fall is beginning to touch the trees
Red is replacing the green
Just as more dreams touch our sleep
Less time we have can reach
On darkness our minds feast
While our hearts remain
They reveal what they will release
In war or peace
One’s Pleasure or the other’s pain
I’ve always found my kindness in the consuming darkness of night, holding in closely those words that are light. Seemingly there and elsewhere they’re heard as a dead man’s last prayer. Only look where you are willing to see, through too softly as if you too are killing me
Flesh
Flesh of fruit for flesh to feed
Ripe while eaten, swallow the seeds
I see growth in you and growth in me
We in flesh, less fresh or be free
Lest it been seen if we flee
Within her, fire found a home, its’ dance shines in her eyes and hides in her bones. Drawing lovers and friends alike —simply fragile moths to her light. Only what it took for her to burn, took perpetually longer for her to learn. While craving was the shadow that resisted her, watch her cinders soaring, joining the black sky as it is only her ash falling softly back to the earth.
there is something about beauty that pains the soul to know. An ache for submersion to the icy cold glacial lake awakening a river of ardent flame blazing waiting to be tamed by touch.
We made it to November. Why does love hurt so much. You wish someone would care as much as you. You wish someone wanted all of you but thats too much to want. I often feel discouraged and unwanted. Maybe I’m not want she wants. I’ve never had fear like this. I trying to understand her but it's hard when she goes cold and blocks the world out. Trusting is hard when you’ve been hurt so many times before. Being hurt is a part of love. I don’t know, I just feel like she looks at my flaws and after seeing who I am fell out of love with me. I’m afraid she won’t admit it. She’s waiting so see if that sparks come back but she has a storm brewing inside of her, I’ll stay with her and weather it out. I hope this is the right thing.
I like fresh fruit, breezes, trees, and living in pursuit of stillness. I'm an oxymoron, neither right nor wrong while falling short I long for more. One day I'll visit all the great parks before they're home and I'm gone. This summer it was so hot and I saw myself looking up at the electric storms in the sky flashing lights before my eyes. This winter I think will be very cold
Fire had found a home within her and could be seen dancing in her eyes Drawing in lovers and friends alike They were moths to her light It took so much for her to burn Even longer for her to learn She craved only the shadow that resisted her her cinders flying to the sky like shooting stars the ash falling just as hard
—————————————————
Fire nestled within her, burning in a dance within her eyes, drawing in both lovers and friends alike. They, like moths, were captivated by her light. It required much for her to burn, and even longer for her to learn. Her yearning was for the elusive shadow that defied her, her cinders ascending to the sky like shooting stars, the ash descending just as resolutely
What do we do? We are just two strangers Both equally angered. What's most often forgotten Is spoken in two words Also left my heart in two thirds What's next is bearing my chest Only to be left desolate Thoughts I think when lost in thought Ought to mean something Because nobody is nothing He was never good at bluffing She was never good at trusting
Introspective meanderings replace So animosity is contained My body was heating everyday Burning away in the shade Soul colder as flesh smoldered Until I flashed white brilliance Brighter than magnesium
Fox in the oak mill Living fast with no path Feeding to fill an empty past Feeling too real to look back Once they were trapped Long foretold in stories of old Blades sharpened threefold To be Gilded in gold Honey, his skin shone New king’s unwanted throne Comes to face the unknown