Teeny bubbles

This is how I make a Napo thread, right?

=D

I am not a poet, but it's worth a try.

Breaking Winter

What false lawed man
Has right to cross
The hills of untouched white?

With hands as soft
As a spiders silk,
Weaving their snares
Across the unbroken skyline.

With footsteps silent,
A breath of ice,
And a heart that beats
The sullen, exhausted silence
Of all things cherished-
And dead.

With ill feigned words of
A fallacious love,
From the lips of a gentle
And wicked façade.

What right has such
A man to pass
Through our gardens of untrodden snow?

Numbers

Broken and naked
On a checked wooden floor,
With a blanket to muffle the noise of the world,
And the chill to drain out the last
Of life;

A shrinking patch of solace
amidst a rain of blood.

Tears fall,
Painting stars in the dust,
While a deep breath consumes,
Another cloud of thick
Moist air;

Free from the battles
And schemes of lawless knights.

A painted tally
On the score of the devils arithmetic,
Another win for the ignoble cause,
And the last pawn that the kings of the world
Have broken.

The last martyr to open our eyes
to the consequence of indifference.

Water, wind and earth.

Take my bones to the wishing well
and let me fall into the deep,
down beneath the daylight shadows
where all the dreams we shared still sleep.

Take my heart to the rainbows end
and trade it for a pot of gold.
Buy a pair of tiny doves
and watch their wings unfold.

Pour my blood into the soil
to make your roses the brightest red,
and grass as soft as a lovers touch
where you can rest your head.

Catch a tear in a bottle
for every time we laughed and cried.
Keep it in your jacket pocket
so I'll always be there by your side.

Poem #4 is dedicated to Crescent, and can be found here:
viewtopic.php?f=27&t=93977

Poem #5 - Reflection

The mirrors illusion of
deformity and disgust.
The shadows delusion
of vanity by measure and scale.

Scorned by the source that
bore its face
it mirages and disfigures
into something malformed
and grotesque.

Shaped by the cruelty of
the only eyes to gaze
upon its crown,
it sets on its quest to
destroy
the last of beauty;
the master of its existence.

It whispers lies
the source endures, and believes,
ever decieved by the wounding
insecurities
of an imaginary imperfection.

Poem #6

Oh quiet heart, what words you whisper.
Spin them round and watch them fall,
Like dust.

Polka dot speckles mark the air, with the cotton-bud warmth
Of the sun bleached air. In curls of gold
Silken strands fall over me, beneath her honeysuckle gaze.

In my fearless youth, what more could I desire,
Than for a future not broken by the dorm bell’s knell,
But by the lull of a timid kiss-

To lose myself not in papers and numbers,
But to fall into the library of forbidden romance
And sleep within it’s pages.

What life of grandeur would ever be complete
Without the subtle and evergreen glow
Of my dearest summer rose.

Oh quiet heart, what words you whisper.
Twist them round her delicate finger
And let them settle,

Like a ring of gold.

Poem #7 - Untitled

Goodbye dear friend, fare well,
And cry not for me
So carelessly.

Save your tears
For the years to come
Because
When all is done-

Goodbye never hurts only once.

Remember me, dear friend,
And smile not for me
So beautifully.

Save the memories
For the darkest times.
You'll need
Every light you can hold on to-

In the world that waits for you.

Let go, old friend,
And mourn not for me
So solemnly.

Mute the voices,
Drown the verse,
Forget
Every word I ever said to you,

Because one day you will look upon me
With disdain

When you see how I’ve
Betrayed you.

Poem #8
Attic flowers bloom
in the stray strands of sun,
leaking colour into the dust and dropping petals
of caramel, cornflower and apricot
across the greyscale room.

They drift onto the dusty mattress
and for a moment, the smell of must
fades and a glimpse of heaven
lies beneath the sheets
of paper petal flowers.

Poem #9

Her hair is the silk
Of the spiders webs.
Her eyes are the speckles
Of dust in the sunlight.
Her hands are the touch
Of the window glass,
And her skin the smell of summer
Lingering outside.

Her words are the whispers of spring
And the sound of birds and the hum of bees.
Her voice the breath that kindles my heart,
And breaths life into the broken bones.
Her careless laughter
Is the rustle of leaves,
Her smile the blast
Of summer air;

That clears the cobwebs and the dust,
That bursts the windows and rattles the doors,
That brings the critters and the insects,
That awakens the ache and longing
For life,

That makes me wish to live again.

Poem #10

Sing me a song of fields of gold
Of snow in summer
And flowers in winter,
Of rainbows breaching through the snow
And cast from frost in the summer light.

Sing to me of leaves falling
Into the growth of new spring buds,
Of the tiniest seeds defying
The shadow of autumn rain.

Sing a song of all the things
That we know will never come,
And show me a shimmer-
A fragile glimpse-
Of the world that you came from.

Poem #11

The computer hums,
The keyboard clacks,
The poet sighs.

The words converge,
The typist swears,
The moment dies.

The image fades,
The senses dull,
The heart lies.

The page is empty
The mind just as so,
And the poet tries

and tries again.

Poem #12

I remember the shadows beneath
the city lights, and the clutter
of urban decay.
Babies fed with broken bottles,
learning to crawl around their
shards, burned by the light of an
ever white sky, and a sun that never
rises.
Children raised in beds of needles, playing
amongst the ruined old buildings, with
only rain to drink and chaos to climb.
Scorned by the world and bitten
by fate, tossed aside by those who
are meant to protect them.
When life twists the truth and falls
into the river of mud and mire,
and the future pails beneath
layers of soot and dust and ash
and tears, we lose faith in everything
except each other.
Cling to nothing except each other.
Speak to nobody except each other and
perhaps if not in the world’s lies,
but in a lovers eyes, we can
build something new from
our unclaimed refuge.