Tag: Faith
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Modernities.
isolate the modernities carnations touch the wind, mocking them, like a cigarette in the abandoned sunlight
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“Heal” by Navnidhi Vyas.
Words can touch and sooth the soul Words can heal others and self Words can do miracles
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“My Symphony of Angelical Pain” by Benyin.
Then, was enslaved in your sheath in a bosom of appearing angelic roars; hosting daringly with perfectly groomed verses, of your patterns of inflictions Unfold me; mold me!
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“Closed Eyes” by Navnidhi Vyas.
She must be a queen of innocent eyes She must’ve sweet smell of incense She must be a stunning beauty She must be a quiet music of all your poetry.
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Raven by Mark Borne.
Fly, fly, my little Raven, Reach, reach for the sky. See the world from the air, My little Raven, and show it to me.
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Look at all the eyes.
Look at all the eyes of humanity and light cry into blood-welling forgotten in unbridled free verse;
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“From This Voice” By Brand.
Sweet soul, I can see you, smile As we hike in rugged beauty Pausing to touch fingertips I step away as you call me back
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Spillwords Press Publication “We walk alone.”
In a world torn with a hunt—a slow death for us all, Then don’t let us go then.
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in the cool light, in the darkness.
onto the cherry blossoms silently with bloodshed, caressed to dreams in the awakened winter, arak trees.
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Ocean.
stretches the wings, forgetting the language upon the sanctuary; midnight timbers, and the wind murmurs a Hebrew song— assails the salty waves in a coup, the air free of scars
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The tree of apricot.
the waves in the dying of the dark by frozen, alluring dreams when you’ve never dreamt unsheathed upon each layer of rock that bleeds out by daylight where we see the blood drift, sliced in a sleepwalking geyser the dispensation of mid-summer
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The last thought.
Rocks lay before the last thought and solipsism; Inside a frost stillness, decaying by the tree; Forbidden—the serpent’s blood betrays the bone fingers that lay upon stone.
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Awake (Draft).
overripe in its practice, abandon abandon Disinherited dark mind walks alone you have nowhere else to go beyond dark shores, there’s a fog that blooms; you can’t go back
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Ghost street.
A leaf falls Into the monsoon shadows. I turn by the grazed branches Trembling by the dark windows Into the blustering Of frost and the muzzled crystals that lay Into the black linen on the ground.
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April.
it is April, Among the years broken in winter When it was not winter, And we could not have been alone
Pseudopsychosis. 