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babygirlwlove
Senior Member

since 2004-10-10

Posts 1180
New York City

0 posted 2004-10-20 09:12 AM

despair
has no wings
to bruise
against the kiosk
of mirrors whose
liquid silver angst
rekindles the radium depths
of candles left untended,
the splendid furrows
of empty hands, hung
from a black rosary
of beaded threads
by which to hang
in a penitentiary
where delirium is a blue gazelle
of tremulous muscles trapped
within a black prism of glass
shards cut from the tender scars
that were once
my body, bruised
liquid blue wings, I bring
down to my sides in tendrils,
to hide eternity inside the bellows
of long hours
worn on some wrist watch
of torn tendons, hewn
into a reckoning
of immense regret, sewn
into a fever of silk bouquets
and the reticence of candles
burn cerulean into these desperate hours.

2004 coyright babygirLPress

**Intoxicant to the SouL**

littlewing
Member Rara Avis

since 2003-03-02

Posts 9655
New York

1 posted 2004-10-20 09:32 AM

I immediately recieved the image of you huddled close with your wings wrapped around you in comfort. I need to find that graphic for you . . .

babygirlwlove
Senior Member

since 2004-10-10

Posts 1180
New York City

2 posted 2004-10-20 09:44 AM

thank you littlewing...but I ain't no angel...maybe you could find one with like a broken halo...or horns...or something...lol

(insane babygirl)

lol

much love,
**babygirL**

Mysteria

Member Laureate

since 2001-03-07

Posts 18328
British Columbia, Canada

3 posted 2004-10-20 04:22 PM

Toerag
Member Ascendant

since 1999-07-29

Posts 5622
Ala bam a

4 posted 2004-10-20 04:47 PM

After reading this, (and, getting my Webster's Dictionary out)to see what this was all about, I liked it a bunch...you are a very talented lady...and I sent ya another email....have a great evening and keep poeting...

Dark Angel
Member Patricius

since 1999-08-04

Posts 10095

5 posted 2004-10-20 05:03 PM

Funny, I saw what littlewing saw, but, perhaps, they weren't your wings....if you're no angel.

Enjoyed.

Mxx

and I am haunted
by my illicit exquisite dream
but I can't really wake up
so I just drift in between

~ani difranco~

Cpat Hair

Member Patricius

since 2001-06-05

Posts 11793

6 posted 2004-10-20 06:00 PM

perhaps under the words
   that lie discarded with used wrappers
from someone elses score
   one finds the shadows of nothing
and begins to see
      quicksilver images that melted
along with the leftover icecream
some kid grew tired of or careless
  to drop
          where it runs too
in milky substitute of sweet
  no longer pure
yet still drawing ants
   to a feast

one can watch while huddled there
just beyond the edges of
   despair
                and understand how it is

even Michael struggled to fly

Huan Yi
Member Ascendant

since 2004-10-12

Posts 6688
Waukegan

7 posted 2004-10-20 09:48 PM

THANATOPSIS

To him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
into his darker musings, with a mild
And healing sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart;-
Go forth, under the open sky, and list
To Nature's teachings, while from all around-
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air-
Comes a still voice- Yet a few days, and thee
The all-beholding sun shall see no more
In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears,
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go
To mix forever with the elements,
To be a brother to the insensible rock
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.

Yet not to thine eternal resting-place
Shalt thou retire alone- nor couldst thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down
With patriarchs of the infant world- with kings,
The powerful of the earth- the wise, the good,
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulchre.- The hills
Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun,- the vales
Stretching in pensive quietness between;
The venerable woods- rivers that move
In majesty, and the complaining brooks
That make the meadows green; and, poured round all,
Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste,-
Are but the solemn decorations all
Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun,
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom.- Take the wings
Of morning- and the Barcan desert pierce,
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no Sound,
Save his own dashings- yet- the dead are there;
And millions in those solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep- the dead reign there alone.

So shalt thou rest- and what if thou withdraw
Unheeded by the living- and no friend
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one as before will chase
His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come
And make their bed with thee. As the long train
Of ages glide away, the sons of men,
The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron and maid,
The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man-
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side,
By those, who in their turn shall follow them.

So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan, which moves
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
'Thou go not like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.

William Cullen Bryant

J.Samm
Member

since 2004-01-12

Posts 415
Iloilo City, Philippines

8 posted 2004-10-21 12:59 PM

with words
you could paint
a vivid picture
colors could not capture

Susan Caldwell
Member Rara Avis

since 2002-12-27

Posts 8348
Florida

9 posted 2004-10-21 04:32 AM

Very nice. Stunning actually.

"cast me gently into the morning, for the night has been unkind"
~Sarah McLachlan~

soul drifter
Senior Member

since 2004-09-08

Posts 711
Colorado

10 posted 2004-10-21 05:00 AM

Very beautiful in its elegant sadness. Loved it.

"Poets are all who love, who feel great truths, and tell them; and the truth of truths is love." --Philip James Bailey

babygirlwlove
Senior Member

since 2004-10-10

Posts 1180
New York City

11 posted 2004-10-21 06:37 AM

Thank you all for stopping to read and for the lovely replies...it is very much appreciated...

C~
"even Michael struggled to fly"
::double take:: damn.
**babyblue**

**Intoxicant to the SouL**

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