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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