That title sounds so self-important. I roll my eyes. Okay, here's some of my best stuff. It's still not very good.
Asleep
Sliding, tumbling, falling, screaming
Walls I have already climbed
I can't again.
Darkness encroaches.
Sharp claws slashing, teeth tearing at flesh
No help to call for,
Nothing but to scream, mindless
If only to wound the uncaring silence
Screaming to be heard
Screaming only to mark the passing
To mark the fall
Because when the screaming stops
That's when I'll be dead.
Awake
Panic, barely controlled
A storm rages in what was an ocean of calm
Off-centre, off-balance, uncertain
Head down, eyes forward
'Survive'
Old habits,
I'm going backwards.
Can't think
Dare not think
Let the rhythm pulse
Let the beat cleanse me
Don't let the silence in.
Don't let the silence in.
Stop the clock.
Wind it back.
Too late.
It's silent.
No...
Clock's ticking.
One, two, three
Counting the seconds that push me forward.
Four, five, six.
I'm so afraid.
Confessional
Sweet and bitter and tender and harsh
Unyielding cage of my battered heart
Constrained but kept safe, protected, not free
I don't love her and she doesn't love me.
Bound and gagged and chained and hid
Forced to do as I am bid
Her word is law; divine decree
I locked the gate but she holds the key.
First she commanded me 'Tell me your name'
Then she explored all my deep-hidden shame
She tore me apart and rebuilt me anew
'Don't try to love me 'cause I'll never love you.'
I dare not explain: they would not understand
Why I willingly put myself in her hands
When I know that each moment she finds herself free
She'll be finding new ways to humiliate me.
Each night as she holds me in indifferent arms
I tell her my tales of deliberate harm
In some I'm the victim and make myself kind
In most I'm the monster I see in my mind.
She watches me speak with cold, distant eyes
That will not allow for distortion or lies
She wrenches the truth from my unwilling soul
Tearing open the wounds that have never been whole.
I will not show weakness; I silence my tears
And finish my story of the Buried Years
I wait for her words; they are always the same
But tonight she said, 'Child, you were not to blame.'
Where are the scorn and the pitiless stare?
Where is her judgement that I knew to be fair?
The merciless majesty is gone from her face
And instead, soft compassion has taken its place.
She brought out my secrets, broke into my past
Dismissing each one till she came to the last:
This final self-hatred, the root of the pain
And forced me to face what I've fought to restrain
Soft and cutting and gentle and harsh
She hands me the key to my fresh-wounded heart
The wounds bleed anew but this time they heal
And the scars on the flesh: only proof I can feel.
From when first she demanded I tell her my name
My rotted existence was swiftly inflamed
She tore me apart and rebuilt me anew
My self is now whole, and I give it to you.
Final Silence
You stand apart
Eyes bleeding hate and hurt
What do I care who threw the first punch?
It's the last word that matters.
Gargoyles
Rain runs off their talons like truth, like blood,
Stone monsters, human faces
Hourglass minds.
Teeth embedded in flesh, keep still or you'll tear.
Poison slows your breath, lightning gives them pause.
Claws grasp bone, slide through skin and years of forgetting,
Thunder rolls and you don't hear them roar.
It's alright, they don't care if you scream.
Jasmine Garden
In the dark and dead hours of the morning
I lie awake and try to endure.
Despair creeps through my soul, an insidious shadow,
Planting the seeds of defeat in the fertile soil of hopelessness
Where they sprout, nourished by the bitter tears of unendurable pain.
As the hours creep forward toward morning they flourish and grow
Twisted vines, spiked with cruel thorns to tear the flesh
And poisoned flowers to catch the breath.
Its roots snake into the ground,
Blind and ceaseless,
Seeking out all other life and choking it.
A tiny bloom of hope, its petals bright and fragrant,
Its leaves soft and yielding,
Grows in the shade and struggles to live.
But with each passing night the tangled mess of defeat grows
And spreads.
The ground gives no water,
The sun no light.
I can no longer face the night
Mirror Image
She looks at me with hatred in her eyes
And I want to weep.
He eyes rake up and down,
Taking in every imperfect inch.
When she speaks, it's with scorn.
I want her to love me.
I want her to smile.
But she won't, and now I'm angry.
She snarls vicious insults at me.
Her eyes burn with accusation.
We fight again.
The knife in my hand is stained
With her blood. Always the same
Weapon, the same hatred.
I love to see her bleed.
There's poetry in it, and pleasure.
She moans as crimson life seeps away
And now, satisfaction.
The blood, bright red, runs over
The dark brown stains
Of our last battle.
Our eyes meet.
There's sadness there,
And the knowledge that,
One day,
We may well kill each other.
I turn away
And try to sleep.
Servitude
She, the dead queen and her enshadow'd king
And I, their jester, their Puck, am enslaved,
Helpless and damned, and so I must sing;
I sing of joy when all I feel is shame.
And if my voice should ever cease
My soul would meet a violent end
By the hand of an ancient and evil beast
And the will of my queen, who was once a friend.
To please her dead and rotted heart
I sing of what she once could feel
And her evil delight corrupts my art,
Creates a wound that will not heal
To please her lord, to save my life
I sing of him, his deeds and lands
My lord, the king, and she his wife
They hold my soul in lifeless hands.
I sing the legends of times past
Of courage and conquest, battle and war,
I list our great kings, the first to the last
And despair, for the line of kings is no more.
The monarchs are dead; yet remain enthroned
Immortal, and evil, yet somehow the same
Their flesh has giv'n way to shadow and bone
Yet their love for our legends and songs is unchanged.
And so I remain, the last of their court,
The rest have long since turned to dust in their graves
For we found long ago that which should not be sought;
Now the kingdom is damned and cannot be saved.
Our king, when he lived, was courageous and bold
He found a powerful weapon to vanquish our foes
He used it, but learned it would not be controlled,
For the legends had lied and the truth was unknown.
The spirit he found was not lost but enchained
Bound to its prison by heroes long dead
And the might of its wrath, no longer restrained,
Searched for it's captors, but found us instead.
It saw in the blood of my king and his heir
The spirit of the men who had fought him and won
It infested our kingdom with death and despair;
Kept our sovereigns alive but murdered their son.
My king in his grief tried to take his own life
And though his body did die, his soul lingered on;
The spirit had cursed both the king and his wife
To rule, even though their kingdom was gone.
And so they remained as centuries passed,
And our lands were claimed by neighbouring states,
And our countrymen died until I was the last,
And I came to accept my terrible fate.
Trapped in our ancient halls with my king
My soul was not captured, nor did my body die.
He veiled me from the demon, that I might sing
And ease the ever-growing weight of time.
But my song did not prevent the changes
That crept upon my liege's soul
Immortal, he was too soon insane
And thus the spirit achieved its goal.
She, the dead queen and her enshadow'd king
And I, their jester, along with them caged,
Trapped and tormented, and so I must sing,
For to them my voice, like my soul, is enslaved.
Without
I hear the steady thump of my heart
It tells me I'm alive
But there is an echo between each beat
That tells me I'm alone.
Words go unspoken
That should not be kept silent
Because there are no ears to hear them
No heart to care.
Fears grow unchecked
Tears fall without restraint
Because there is no voice to soothe them
No hand to brush them away.
I hear the lonely rhythm of my heart
That tells me I'm alive
But I feel no love to nourish it
To say 'You aren't alone.'
Ruth
so I thought I'd drop in and see if your writing was just as good.
Very happy to hear Alternatives is back!
