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i found a body"i found a body made of light and wood."

human,
with pieces of fleshy bark pasted on
roughly, unevenly-
as if its creator were a drunken artist.

from the rich-brown wooden body
tiny green buds spurt;
and beneath the bark,
a hot light glows
bubbling between the cracks of wood
as if larva would pour out if a piece of bark
were to be peeled away.
a swarm of buzzing fireflies,
lingering near the magnificently delicate body.

the body belonged to a man I talked with in my dreams.
his peculiar mind babbled with demons -
they were long and fleshy
and fell over
like old flowers
bowing in sorrow.
the righteous

Vishnui. (matsya - fish)
in the beginning, there was silver;
mercury inscribing cuneiform
beneath the bloodwork of your skewed scales,
scrawling preserver
throughout salt-drenched lungs.

and you laced clear planets into your slipstream,
wrapped solar systems in translucence.
ignoring all the shattered galaxies. ignoring
how easily their frail orbits
broke.

ii. (kurma - turtle)
your ribcage screamed a shattered warcry
of not-quite-god and less-than-human;
a shark's-tooth carapace crushed in.

forgotten names clawed out your sternum.
your spine fused into your biting back.

iii. (varaha - boar)
razor-wireless shrieked of true ta

BabelThe spires of steel stood sleeplessly erect
To serve as sentinels, egregiously--
No semblance of subversion or neglect--
Resplendent spears to pierce eternity;
Unfit to face the silhouetted specks
That fell to flay the strata, soil, and sea,
To make the earth and sky coagulate,
To deliquesce, deform, and dessicate.
The towers, now in toppled slabs of stone,
Still shelter those as curiously rash
As all the antiquated droves of drones
Now slumbering in pillars wrought of ash,
Who deigned to throttle wisdom from its throne
And demonstrate a power thought unmatched.
Their conflagrated fate, self-catalyzed,
Crashed down on them like fire from the skies.

Manifesto (Villanelle)the uniforms of our revolution
will be our naked skin and we
will embrace our execution
we will not need absolution
we will put onto and into our trainees
the uniforms of our revolution
and after our skin-on-skin elocutions
in their beds of contraceptive debris
they too will embrace our execution
they will be envoys of a new evolution
initiating the uninitiated at afternoon teas
in the uniforms of our revolution
and in their post-fuck diminution
the messages they erect on church marquees
will embrace their own execution
then with our tongues bequeathed to the prosecution
and our sweetbreads bequeathed to the mediterranean sea
in the uniforms of our revolution
we will embrace our execution

The Dwarf Planet6.19.12

You dwarf me.

I am Pluto and
you are the sun.

There are no words
I could write that
could touch you
(that could span
the distance to your
passionate flames),

and your brilliant
closeness makes me
that much more forgettable
(or more to the point,
forgotten).

Still- I love you,
the only way a little
ice planet knows how-

silently.

Le dernier BunrakuUn fil de Soie
Te métamorphose
D'une poupée de Bois
En marionnette de roses
Au Kimono brôdé d'esprits divins.
Les cerisiers en fleurs perdent leurs pétales
Qui tombent en pluie légère sur la Scène.
Amaterasu te vois et dans un râle
Arrête la pluie froide et terne
Sur ta peau d'effroi.
Tu joueras ton rôle,
Suivant Tayu et Shamisen,
Mais plus qu'aucune autre avant toi,
Tu feras l'Histoire réelle, savante et pleine,
Afin que la Lumière étincelle les esprits Nus étroits.
Les Kamis t'ont créée ce matin, de Nature et d'âme,
Et attendent de toi le spectacle de Vie,
Le Sâcre théatral de la montagne,
Les affres cachés de Tsukuyomi,
Pour que tous comprennent
Enfin,
Qu'ils meurent.
Car les Hommes oublient.

Love and Logic Aren't FriendsI wanted to love him. I did.

He traded broken bones for light bulbs.
Sold his soul to beg for scraps.
He ran down empty streets and stole
Down alleyways into logic’s trap.

No light without the spark.
Love and logic aren’t friends.

I hope I lit up well...
No one was there, but the sirens wailed.
I hope I smiled or screamed before I fell.
I hope the world shone as my eyes failed.

My last invitation...
I held out my hand as I was burning.
Too bright to look at; a dying sun.
I hope it was a pretty thing.

He traded bags of blood for heart strings.
Hope without a drop of sunshine.
He’s had a thousand winters and not a hint of

The Tragedy of Aimes MuseThe Tragedy of Aimés Muse

She walks upon midnight’s fury.
The dampened cobbles lay bare before her.
Ember glows all in a row shine upon her lamenting brow.
Her lovers name is pursed upon her lips like as a heathen prayer.
The raven doth echo the insanity that has befallen her.
A mockery of meddlesome cries.
Oh maddening persistence, Aimé, Aimé, Aimé, amour!
“My Love! It cannot be! Thou has pledged thyself to me!”
Her smallish fingers coil in outrage amidst bemired drapery.
Such is this lecherous betrayal, this iniquitous demoness that hath stained our favors.
Oh unholy of succubi, the Comtesse

learning to hear the unspokeni hear your pencil
drag atop the paper
and subtle breaths drawn.

i wonder, as i
let my mind wander
down winding paths
and through lonely fields.

trees are barren.
the frost nips at your heels
when you walk too slow.

every release from my
heavy lungs
looks like smoke.

i hesitate to speak,
afraid the words will waft away
never reaching the crook of your neck
where i want them to nest.

"i love you," is all i can muster -
never feeling it weighs enough.

i imagine a tongue
unwoven, unbound;
i pretend that my heart
is full of profound
words -
unheard by angel,
by beast.

my head is wrapped
in thick fog;
though, i fancy it with feathers
in fli

the city of AtlantisIt's 3:45 in the morning
and I find the world
half-asleep
underneath the ocean.

I Worship Her: A Ghazal I cannot help but bow before her for I worship her
My world is darkness without her, my sun. I worship her

Should I wake up to empty arms, my heart would drop with fear
I run to the lovely form by my stove. I worship her

I have found my refuge from raging wars and storms in her
Like a peaceful lotus bloom in my pond, I worship her

Let omega begin, we'll spend the last hours holding hands
I will take her all over til the end. I worship her

She is my every smile. She sows her heart unto my scarf
Her very hands profess to me her love. I worship her

One can conquer men with words but women heed

The Immortality of YouthYou still believe that boys
with pretty faces get to be
the lovers of history;

but the men with the obvious
symptoms of manliness -
quashed nose, dark ridges
running between their eyes, and
a mouth full of teeth where
coal could shine brighter -
these, at least, are the ones
allowed to grow up.

They never rise from the bed
of a mentor, with mussed hair,
from messed sheets. These men
rise from the arms of women,
and take their place amongst duty.

But they do not last
the five-hundred years
that you do;

they do not last
the age of history.

BryantHe doesn't appreciate poetry.
Read from beginning to end w/ 22
interruptions for conversation;
it was only 9 lines long.

He appreciates me.

Four-and-Twenty CultistsSing along everyone - this one's rather jolly! (the rhyming scheme at least).

******

I saw angels dance with devils
under winter's crystal sky.
Old men passed between them,
crying "Dead men never die!"

Then the oceans fell before us,
as the dead began to sing.
Heavens parted wider;
winds prickled at our skin.

Now Satan awakes slowly,
like shadows on the sands.
Together we beg forgiveness,
as he lacerates our hands.

The landscape lies broken,
as stones roll through the hills.
Stars are growing brighter,
fed by blood of untold kills.

Death bends his toxic breath,
exuding nameless streams.
fabricating nightmares
and crimso

Bittersweet Symphony.You marveled at the perfection of your reflection, even though it was cast on broken glass. Idolize your impeccable shadows, for they are now fleeting. How proudly you boast of your acrimonious sins.

'I can change, I can change,' you begged.

You wrapped the sheets of your self-adoration around your bare shoulders, even though they were torn. Warm yourself with those covers, for they are evanescing. How dearly you hold the proof of your hamartias.

'I can change, I can change,' you begged.

You lay in a bed of weathered narcissism, even though it had been ruinate. Sleep while you can, my child, for your dreams will be turned into nightmares.

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Malaria wordsThree hundred sixty-five days:
your words coalesce and supernova,
while Lazarus mocks me.
I cannot communicate.
The nightingales are singing;
they won’t sing for me.
And I cannot wake
from this drug-induced dream.

I will burn out my own throat;
though you are not Brutus,
and I am not your wife—only your
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I don’t know why. And I feel
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Faith

by ~melodysnow, Dec 28, 2012, 8:29:06 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

she carries it ‘round her neck like a crucifix;
she writes it on the scapulae of deer and human skulls.
in her pile of oracle bones, lies her faith.
and when the snow falls, her fingers become frozen in scripture;
she’s left muttering the names of her god again and again.
it matters not which words leave her mouth because god is everything

everything

until she was nothing.

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Faithby ~melodysnow

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Submitted on: December 28, 2012
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~Bifflechips Jan 5, 2013 Hobbyist Digital Artist

Great final lines. Already, the language is great and powerful and visual, but the last line really nails in the meaning. Love this one.

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~melodysnow Jan 6, 2013

Thank you so much! <3

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*glossolalias Jan 1, 2013

this is perfect.

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~melodysnow Jan 2, 2013

Thank you.

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*RiseandBe Dec 29, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Powerful and breath-taking. The structure and language you used flow gracefully together and the topic is embraced within like it couldn't have possibly been written any other way.

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~melodysnow Dec 29, 2012

Thank you so much! <3

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*RiseandBe Dec 29, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

My pleasure!

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*0hgravity Dec 28, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

powerful final lines - breaking format gave it a great emphasis.

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~melodysnow Dec 28, 2012

Thank you! ^^

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