Blog

nonsexual love is the purest substance in the cosmos

his sickle raised,

a moonlight sonata plays

the glimmering crescent,

luminescent

a looming sentinel,

the harvest is plentiful

a grain of sand,

in Chronos’ hand

reaping that which

Adam sowed

order and chaos

Apollo and Dionysus dance

a primordial waltz

and when you left,

sun setting in your eyes

i thought to myself,

the sun will never rise

constellations in your eyes,

infinite complexity

please, won’t you

stay next to me

feelings seem to fade

perpetual perplexity

freshly sewn stitches

descending to his eyes

a stairway to hell

the pain never subsides

a permanent reminder

his mark of Cain

lost everything

just the story remains

eyes are the window to the soul and the heart is the door

encompassed by darkness,

depths of despair

drawing me deeper,

into Hell’s snare

unquenchable fire,

sulfur in the air

all hope lost,

Lord hear my prayer

happiness comes from subtraction, not addition

the more sheep you sheer the more wolves you find

nighttime sky

smiles from above

the crescent moon

winks in jest

stars glitter,

her cheeks full of freckles

love from above

a comforting reminder

his life meaningless

nothing to his name

save a broken compass

a black fog looms

my time draws near

our meeting imminent

but be of good cheer

a fateful encounter

written in the stars

a cosmic destiny

be it peasants or tsars

a ghost wrapped in dirt

a heavy cross becomes an anchor

the canary sings

sweet songs as a reminder

draw your final breath

sunlight so foreign

he prefers the dark

what it means to be human

escapes him

a creature, a beast, a chimera

he creeps, crawls, slithers,

through the cracks of society

a phantom, a ghost, a ghoul

transparent, invisible, floating

through the city haunting

the abandoned streets

his cave his only refuge

a black hole pulling him deeper

into the emptiness

day by day becoming more alien

estranged from his species

speaking the same language

but communicating in different tongues

their glances like pitchforks

poking, prodding, stabbing,

a monster desperately avoiding banishment

from the village mob

no next of kin

his death will go

unnoticed

and in a strange

turn of events

he became addicted

to his suffering

Jung stated that God enters through the wound, but so can the devil

his magical smile

instantly vanishing

once they looked away

autumn’s decadence

casting down leaves from the heavens

like disgraced cherubim