A Mantra and A Prayer by OneWithTheStars, literature
Literature
A Mantra and A Prayer
Against allsense of reason, breathe…Calm the agony;push it down.Endorphinscannot win this fight;gargantuan oddsmake it hard.If onlysomeone else would justkill this vile demon—or linger…Maybe thenI could face the noise,or else drown it outfor good. Please…Quivering,I just seek some rest—safety in your arms;together.Until thenanguish and love viewithin my poor heartnow xeric…You alonecan help me reach Zen.
Of Regal Bearings Come Ill Tidings by OneWithTheStars, literature
Literature
Of Regal Bearings Come Ill Tidings
An affronting barbcatches those in iron hold,exuding vile stuffgathered in the aftermath:Infect, multi-taj,kill lungs, blood nonfunctional.Masks formed, fitted onover washed hands, gloves, gowned up.Quick for an answer,studies posed and research sought,untried and improv,willing subjects test new vax…Ye crown virus quiz.
Mark of the Unloved by OneWithTheStars, literature
Literature
Mark of the Unloved
Aftermath comes far too late;torn asunder, my universe breaks…Cleaving of a heart never hurt so much,both blood and ectoplasm leak, drain…Disfigured remnants darken, grey,casting the world into a morbid evening,forlorn, premature, bearing only ill tidingswhile a pallid moon wanes, falls to the ground.Ghastly specters rise from their graves,each holding visages, names, and histories…Incantations lamenting from their idling throatsmoaned, groaned, wailing with unhinged jaws.Jaded by apparitions that haunt endlesslycome to remind me of past failures, I know;love isn’t meant for someone such as I.(Perhaps just a fantasy, or a worn out memory…)Misguided by you, oh, master of the dead,playing proficiently in your art of necromancy,opening wounds I had in vain sealed shutto dance me lifelessly with you as puppeteer.Parading ghostly flames to make my wounds achejust enough to stitch me into your human quilt,resuscitation feigned until the moment was right:With blade drawn, my heart was met by
The Hydrocyanic Laurel by OneWithTheStars, literature
Literature
The Hydrocyanic Laurel
Asphyxiationbegins the moment her voicecuts through the tranquility of my mind—disturbing and destroying the balance—echoing the vilest of sentiments,forever driving wedges while conjuringgrotesque creatures to stir and gather.Hovering as vultures to prey on my carrion,inevitably lost in the wake of her wrath,justifying her hatred as they continue to feast,killing all sense of goodness that could be there.Living has become far too painful in her presence;masochistically, I don’t make effort to escape,neither am I allowed to bear shield nor sword…Overwhelmed by the powers that hold me down,pressing upon my chest and strangling my neck—Quiet, my breathing slows and I close myself off,resurrection will come soon enough if I just hold on:Silence the demons while my soul keeps its bridges open.Tendrils of her evil words slipping, slithering,unearthing every part of me trying to break free,visible, for this emotional vampire to suck dry.Withering my soul as chlorophyll abandons its
Almonds crunch between the teeth briefly beforechocolate cascades along a tongue and down,enveloped, embraced by a waiting mouth freely.Gratification never tasted so sweetly, heavenly,interwoven with the faintest hint of orange juicekissing along the satin surfaces of a pair of lips.Minutes melt while a throaty hum vibrates noiselessly,offering the most implicit acknowledgement of praise;quiet, so that the sensations of taste and touch are relished…Slinking in, unaware, another presence seeks a taste:Upturned lips and laughter ensues, remnants are for then vied,wholly melding mouth to mouth, fingers entwine exuberantly,yearning insatiably for the perfect blend of saccharine and zest.
Apricots ripen on the tender tree branches,carrying a sense of anticipating delight;each morning I wander through the fields,grasses teasing against bared ankles a hello,inviting me to fantasize of their sweet juiceskissing my lips as I ingest the flesh leisurely,marinating myself in the summer sunlight ‘neathoutstretched limbs that lure me into their protection.Quietly, I lay in their shade, heat-enticed restsoon leading to peaceful slumber under trees,unadulterated pleasure as the wind’s tender voicewhispers love through my tresses discreetly in expectation,yearnings stirred while the sun idly rises toward its zenith.
Aches and bruisescut in deeply,emaciated figuresgo on hockingimmortality to justkeep in line,motivated by normalcy,only to end up in pieces,questioning reality,screaming for the truthuntil they vomit,wondering how to ever explainyielding the soul with such zeal.
Celestial Rendezvous by OneWithTheStars, literature
Literature
Celestial Rendezvous
A presence lingers in my head,there’s a tiger in my bed.Captivating eyes of sun-swept fire,he asks of me my deepest desire.Drawn to him by what he implies,I stare into his bewitching eyes.Filled with fear, yet I understandhis intentions are truly grand.Gravitating toward his presence,I slowly move with some hesitanceInstinctively, he reaches for me,and so starts our incredible journey.Joy fills my soul more than I could hope,seeing the universe’s kaleidoscope.Love is a precious wonder to find,sustenance for the soul, body, and mind.Many adventures he takes me through,every time experiencing something new.Our cerebral escapades wholly astound,my mind becoming our personal playground.Precious moments spent unseen,he treats me as if I were his queen.Relishing in all, I am truly enchantedby every moment his mental art sculpted.Simply mesmerized by what he can do,his offer to me, I eagerly agree to.Understanding the depths of the cost now,we seal the bond with an unbreakable vow.Vespers
Abandonall hope in this blightcausing nothing butdestruction.Emotionsstir inside from fear,giving him steadfast holdon my heart.Injuriesfrom could-have-beens justkeep on festeringfor so long.Many times,I wake from nightmares,only to find nohope of peace.Questions plaguemy mind, ravagingsanity to thepoint of tears.Under spellof such a villainwho converted loveto xylene.Yesteryearscoat my heart with zinc.
The Burning of the Bees by Flammenfeder, literature
Literature
The Burning of the Bees
As the old man stood by the burning of his bees,
charring combs of honey and the bodies turning to dust
emitting sweetest scents like a dessert flambé.
Glaring, the cacophony of a silent hive. In his eyes the incomprehension of the jinxed.Kindred spirits they used to be, swarming the lands,
myriads of life-brimming, life-bringing nectar-enthusiasts
oblivious to parasites, plague and pesticide.
Queen, worker and drone, united from birth to ruin .
Still they may fly, nearing their end, to which we are tied."Unknown is the reason", they say, "might be varroa".
"We can't poison their brood, they filter it in their exoskeletons."
Yet the fla...