Poem 4: Dickensian Wounds

These delicate wounds have humbled me.

They’ve made me stand, so proud and keen.

All those fears you told me to frame

inside my meek heart

have broken down inside of each beat.

 

These steady delusions that I’ve stumbled upon

have made me fight a mirror of mirages.

There’s a weeping rush of broken sweat

that emanates from what was once

a blistering doubt.

 

I’m no longer the striking erosion you

thought I’d become,

an acute sensation of what they

all thought was to come.

Lying here,

with hopes and dreams

and still beliefs

is a future that you had once believed.

 

These mounting murmurs that come from your mouths

will falter freely with every lost journey that you took.

You can’t reproach me anymore,

nothing will stop me now.

 

These final days I’ll stand by you

our hands clasped

together

one wound to another.

 

 

Poem 3: Charlottenburg 1986

Do you remember the days when we were friends…

 

when that fertile field felt funny under my feet

with stones that ricocheted razor-sharp

against the pillars of Reichstag and grazed

against my swollen back.

 

New napalmed Nazi signs blazed

and branded onto the timid tender

arms of you, a Catholic girl that shaded and shifted your

arms with pulsing childlike blended skin.

 

Chilling and chastising accounts of open canopies

marred the city’s blooming clouds that were

floating over the crafty graffiti on the wall and

floating by a breeze that blazed over the rumbling S-Bahn.

 

Your hasty heaving screams pierced near my body

blocking my bloodshot bursting eyes

shifted once by the steel-glazed guns and

shifted by broken daisies left dangling and deserted.

 

For now, you and I will still remain under close watch

under their piercing, tranquil stares

praying that the gloom of the city will swallow us

praying that the memories of our mind will vanish

forever.

 

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Poem 2: Yesterday

(This poem was generated by the Three Things Challenge:  Click on this post! )

 

YESTERDAY

My past is forever a brick of a wall

and forever it will stumble

with an exploding heavy boom

one by one, every bit will tumble.

 

My past is forever a family of fireflies

that dares to light up my eyes

with broken whistles and welts

all these nights, all these lies.

 

My past is a melody of a broken album

that is played with a heartbreaking strum

and with the tunes of disillusioned tears

that melt with the beat of each drum.

 

My past is a forgotten fantasy.

No one can hear the bouncing of balls

the ones we followed with a frolic

and our shrieking shouts and calls

that are forever gone

where the wall has been torn down

and each bright harmonizing smile

has turned into a frown

and a city

has disappeared

behind the cracked clouds.

 

Poem 1: Paranoia

Eyes redact from all corners

descending upon my clammy hands.

 

Shadows emerge

from their shells

shallow under my feet

swallowing my body

swift and stern

my body shifts

shaking

side to side, frolicking

and rocking

a tormented fray

inside the cocoon of the corpse.

 

Salient stripes and strings

of black on white

their soft reaches on

my slow groans

begin to grow.

 

My legs are cracking

from underneath.

 

My head is lifting

from grainy spurts

that lose their flow.

 

Visions trickle around my mind,

whispering whines that finally

arise from inside this

walled wearing willow of my worries.