Burn,
although a constant chain of cycle and circle
it would never cease to amaze. The finite
details that spread into
a dawned history; seething more than the
greatest of all scorn. Hoping to break
one twitch from the other, spawn one
niche. Watch
a broken bird fly through the
sea and swim through skies -
ever one or two.
Stop,
and wait for the crushing blow that happens
when all of it disappears into me, and
absorb the colourful,
floating, dreams wash into the liver. Catalysing a
delirium more metallic than the alternate;
with all the softness, scarring the light and
take an eyeful -
christening a new birth of fluctuation and
disintegration, corroding the golden
cobalt into a carbonic nightmare. All
dying of a simple violence.
And,
malfunction the dreaded cutlass of life,
in sweet miasma sickening the umbras
wishing to obliterate,
with its own bi-polar struggling to co-operate
with the sensuous heat as it dripped into
a pool - of duality. Rippling the senses
and hurting the cortex.
Icicles, dropping into a warmth of
digression and inhumane porcelain dripping
alongside the hair and the cavities of
kinetic thought.
Die.
* * *
Not sure what to think of this yet, I'm looking for help with rhythm rather than the subject and such. But, all manner of critiques are welcome.
! Also, try breaking up the lines differently. Rewrite it a couple of times, that's what I do. I normally decide on some type of particular pattern when I write poetry. Uh... I don't see much of a pattern!
! I'm not chewing you out or trying to be mean or anything, just suggesting you start it with something else. 'and' or 'but' can make it look... what's the word... awkward?... to me.
Anyways, keep thinking about that pattern thing. Patterns are my best friend! 