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villanelles

a collection of villanelle poems 

 creation, death, angel, dissection, &  the sound of music 

creation

 

the breath of the gods escaping in haze

entangled with the scent of flesh molded with bones

silence in the wake of the gods' sins, in those quiet days

 

the manipulation of Human creation, visible daze

in the jar of clay birthed in the venomous air,

the breath of the gods escaping in haze

 

inside pandora’s box is the hope that stays,

the gods still on their thrones, a heavy

silence in the wake of the gods' sins, in those quiet days

 

people; People the gods treated like the sun ablaze

pebbles scattered on a beach unaware of 

the breath of the gods escaping in haze

 

the molding of creation never pristine like the praise

gods overreaching the boundaries of zion

silence in the wake of the gods' sins, in those quiet days

 

reaped souls gaze at the heavens, almost graze

the tip of their fingers reaching out to stop the wind

the breath of the gods escaping in haze

silence in the wake of the gods' sins, in those quiet days

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death

 

death marched up to my door the other day

it called to me a siren’s song, twisting its words

there was no black and white- just gray

 

the melody it played drew the shadows away

i listened to the tormenting sounds as

death marched up to my door the other day

 

the world of color no longer appeared in that way

there was no right or wrong, no day or night

there was no black and white- just gray

 

the regret, the rightness drew me in, i pray

the angels cover my sin with their wings for

death marched up to my door the other day

 

as i stood on my porch, to the rhythm i swayed

the chill of the night blessed the union until

there was no black and white- just gray

 

i followed death like a hunter to its prey

it lead me enchanted to its gates

death marched up to my door the other day

there was no black and white- just gray

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angel 

 

who would look at us- tainted black 

feel claustrophobic in the dark and wonder if there is a heaven

decide that in our next lives we will spread our wings back 

 

[out]. illuminate the shadows, the unknown fire mankind lacks

immortal being, we search the night only to be found in turmoil

who would look at us- tainted black 

 

the bricks we build soaring high until we backtrack

down into the abyss below, free tumbling too close to the sun and 

decide that in our next lives we will spread our wings back 

 

a village of bones with clouds pummeling through the sky, bright lilac

the fallen of us shrinking inside our minds to touch the worlds 

who would look at us- tainted black 

 

second chances only manifest to the soul once attacks

cease fire instead to reach out to grab hold of sinners who

decide that in our next lives we will spread our wings back 

 

the silence echoes at midnight where the stack

of our remains [remains] untouched because 

who would look at us- tainted black 

decide that in our next lives we will spread our wings back

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dissection

 

the things you never told me about you

overwhelm the deja-vu; forgotten memories of us 

submerged in the subconscious the way you buried the self you knew

 

why did the ink run dry, left with nothing to leak when you blew 

the words off the page, until it became pregnant with your anger- these are the things you never told me about you

 

the words that would have flooded tattered pages, undo

the damage, unwind the moment- don’t become

submerged in the subconscious the way you buried the self you knew

 

she scraped all of you until her hands contained all that she withdrew,

the parts of your body- your mind, eyes, lungs, arms, feet and left you in limbo the things you never told me about you

 

grandmother asked me to translate the foreign words that grew

out of my worlds- she gave me her blessing the way yours was

submerged in the subconscious the way you buried the self you knew

 

the truth you never told me cuts through 

the feeble strings our fingers tightly clenched

the things you never told me about you

submerged in the subconscious the way you buried the self you knew

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the sound of music 

 

like the slow-moving glissando that spills vibrations

a cradle of rebirth centered on the ashes of ancient civilizations

your fingers flicker- like flames over searing strings; transfiguration

 

transfixed in the new dawn you release the pent up notes in harmonization until the echoes seethe in cacophony

like the slow-moving glissando that spills vibrations

 

the gods gave you the liberty to uncurl tempting sensations 

your eyes procure an eerie luminescence that enchants

your fingers- flicker like flames over searing strings; transfiguration

 

riveted in the way you cure the mutations 

of the immortal spells unclasped through soporific melodies 

like the slow-moving glissando that spills vibrations

 

your favorite film- we watched every compilation

while you slept i stroked your hair, tracing

your fingers- flicker like flames over searing strings; transfiguration

 

the stir of soft voices, orchestrated in ways of divination

disintegrate into broken shards, divorced on pages

like the slow-moving glissando that spills vibrations

your fingers flicker like flames over the strings; transfiguration

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