Monday, April 28, 2008

am i the only one who knows?

am i the only one who knows?
this calloused dream of mine...
who else shares the thoughts of death
that cross my hallucinogenic mind?
i call to you and yet
your silence lumbers on
masked in vibrant colors
created in forced hypnotic songs.
you delve in deep
diving for unknown chasms
grasping in darkened waters
for what you cannot see.
burden those who linger
with sodomized theater
words of clever connection
born of academic cliche.
break free those chains of hemlock
that cloud your forlorn eyes
pray for vision bright and clear
that will free your outspread thighs
to grasp the thoughts
and passioned care
of longing, dare i say, reprise
of those of us wanting, longing,
to live in the silence
and not die



ozymandiaz said...

Love me some hemlock, now there's a word I've not used in my poetry.
Wonderful poem.
It seems one of those things either one is familiar with or haven't the vaguest idea, that lingering whisper residing in the dark recessed silence of our minds.

pure evyl said...

You have a flair for sharp crisp to the point verse. I shall return.

Willie G said...

evyl: Thanks for the encouragement and for checking me out.

Anonymous said...

Something bright about your lines,
your dance across demise,
longing for defining strokes
of paint across our lives.

Something painful in the way
you sing your dying lines,
longing for some final day
of freedom from your mind.

Something lovely in the way
you linger in my life,
stroking words with careful verse,
your lines entwined in mine.

Willie G said...

Anonymous: Thanks for the input. I hope you will return and leave a link where I kind find you.

Anonymous said...

You might find me here...


I don't recall his arrivals:
Staccato stroll across oak floors, tall frame sweeping the scene and
brows betraying what his heart denied.

Forgotten too his surreptitious survey of female curves and angles,
no detail ignored,no woman overlooked.

And our raucous laughter,breathless
tears pooling in bright eyes, rollng down our backs.

Nothing recalled,
not even the final scene,
our faces grave and grey eyes
fogged by certain loss.

No records remain, no secret signs
or essence etched on hallowed walls
nothing recalled but his tall frame
and certain loss.

p.s. sorry - can't format properly