Unwritten
matt_c_scotts@yahoo.com
My Friend's Site
Pleasures; Thresholds held in hands
That grip yet drip in shallow spands
That grope but drop their fleeting plans
That follow foes so well in hand
I had a plan, I had a horse
I opted for refined remorse
But he a king, and I a con
Meant little to the blinking Dawn
I sought his brow and hollow gaze
A drought of tears in glassy haze
And as my eyes glazed down to meet
The wings of demons in his teeth
He cried out bloody bone and nail
And hopped upon his eager tail
And with a start, the crown thus fell
From on his head, to tongue-tied Hell
And no remorse could I exhale
His pleasure fleeted at Dawn
may I tip over your house?
In the gentle witching hours
Curves the light from unseen towers
Through the tinge of murky showers
Merging nighttime and noonday
Along the ports and eerie ferries
Drifting back to carry weary
Ghostly infants to the merry
Towns and places washed away
Onto the docks land eager seagulls
Dressed in feathers sleek and regal
As parades of fatigued people
Yawn and shiver from the trip
And someone softly thereabout
Invites the frost into their mouth
And opens wildly drowning out
The cold that kills their trembled lips
And so they march on past the towers
Men and women, pests and prowlers,
Birds and insects, past the towers,
All devoured, lined like ants
And something softly lights a path
With only shadows for a map
To harden steps that print the snapping
Trail of laughing cormorants
And along enlightened passages
That lengthen every curve
The crowd now gathers, for soon after,
They may have to leave this world
August uncoiling toward Autumn's frail red
The flinching of angels and leaves playing dead
Along I walk aging with each, every step
Through an auburn siege where lions have crept
A lion's sad eyes and fur curled about
Leans soft on the grass with a Wintry pout
And as seasons shall prove, every move that he makes
Is a ghostly plea for the earth to awake...
Some ghastly night sigh that the soil might wake
And so pale do I walk now (in each, every step)
So frail were my eyes when I learned lions wept
For even the most majestic of kings
Has his burdening things that may tatter and cling
When the castle corrodes away comfort and class
And he longs for the splendor forbade in the grass...
For that delicate splendor once known in the grass
So along I walk fading (with each morbid step)
Like the flinching of angels arranged to my left
Like the life in the leaves leaping 'bout to my right
I play dead with the lions 'neath Wintry light...
Play stark little games beneath Heaven's fair light
I walk meekly with lions, and all shall depend
On the noble reprise made at August's end
I go meekly with lions (and they are my friends)
I've walked meekly with lions since my time began
I am an emotional vortex
Looking in, seeing through myself
I am a skin cycle
Recalling days of wasted wealth
I am an ageless artifact
Spying history's hidden lulls
I am a nothing, knowing no one
Watching only the back of my skull
From silence shared, yet unremembered
Until temper's token flare
Our quiet eyes remain unguided
To the ties that bind our stare
Unrivaled by a hollow glow
Distinct by piece but incomplete
A silent cry can pierce the blow
While torture filters through a blink
Of mangled motions met in sighs
And whispers washed in drowsy tides
That swell and sieze one's nose and lips
Before they bend upon the tips
And in the stem, a swirl of glass
That flashes past the lonely lash
In crashing, it falls faintly cast
In shadows fast upon the last
Remaining emblems of release
For tears and silence are the least
For now is found a means for peace
There is only one room in my house
But it is not from loneliness but for convenience
And there is only one window in my room
But it is not for the sake of light, but sight
And there is only one pane of glass in my window
But it is not for looking through but for reflection
And there is only one person in the reflection
But it is not from loneliness but for convenience
Juliana, strange and little
Slithered to my mossy door
While I, wishing to go undisturbed,
Cursed blunt the sinner's name she wore
Long I stood there half asleep
With eyes that saw but never seeked
And was in truth so frightened by
Her elegance as she commenced-
"Restraint has strewn a heavy bed
Of feathers flooding out the noon
Without which such unraveled blossoms
Turn the daggers to your tomb,"
She hissed aloud through which the creasing Of her sigh sent truth to bloom
Juliana, pale and little
As I fidget with my pen I whisper-
"Sister, with the hollow eyes
Mother, with the powdered nose
Call me out or enter...
I betray this hostile hole"
Allison Conrad,
all twisted in knots
From the edge of her nose
to the length of her socks
From the stem of her rose
risen beautiful locks
Of auburn enchantment
of roses and knots
Nodding and singing,
smiling and gleaming
She seemingly glowered with
sorrow and dreaming
Some strange and wonderful
sorrow and singing
Lengthens the beauty of
all my heart's beating
Teasing and taking
her time in distress
Though I fondly recall
how our yearning progressed
On that lingering night
when the wind blew her dress
To the top of her thigh
to allow my entrance
And took from my soul
all the Heaven she bloomed
That we'd treasure the glow
from our sheltering tomb
Yet all my heart breaks for
are threads that layed bare
And those sun-soaked eyes
and that soft auburn hair
All night I hear the ticking
Grinding through these glossy temples
Dressing edgy ears to humming
All the rhythm and the breathing
I can hear so clearly now
In every pause between the sounds
Of chimes and charms and clicking arms
Drumming down the conscious frollic...
In the wake, it's ever stollid
For the jealous thoughts go tempted
As all night I dream so wicked
As all night I dream so wicked
To the tune and to the ticking
'Til the light I dream so wicked
I was born with both eyes open
Edified and bred soft-spoken
Devil-eyed and pale brow-beaten
Eaten by the rich and listless
In my heart hung half a notion
That my words could turn outspoken
Or these thoughts so crass and fleeting
Would be leaving my mind restless
But my fingers toward the pen
Did ponder fond and faintly woken
To confound and fondle meanings
Meeting in a morbid rapture
Now to all the circus cynics
I am the pauper and the preacher
But in my make-believe satire-
A grateful lamb, dissecting nature
I could share an awkward stare
With a stranger anywhere
Before I sauntered off somewhere
To shape that shapeless moment rare
O, but rather would I like to see
The look of Lover's eyes to me
I could impose upon a friend
My presence briefly or extend
My stay for long enough to bend
Their ear or catch their eyes descend
O, but rather would I like to see
The look of Lover's eyes to me
And I could find a semblance dear
Or means to rouse an honest tear
Through prose evoking all I fear
Or doubt or dream with words severe
O, but sooner would I rather see
The look of Lover's eyes to me
Ah god, that I shall have to leave
Someday by Death on dauntless wings
The somber sleep that Life awakes
That Lover's eyes alone can make
Anna, land yourself near me
For what you speak so cautiously
Is killing me with each return
To splendor where the senses burn
For tangles layed so soft and swift
They flatter me with tattered gifts
And beauty wrapped in bows of passion
Fashioned from your brownish gaze
My temples flicker with a tick
To tremble flames that taunt the wick
And trick my feet to step along
The dead-end shores and winding dawns
Of seasons where we lied and lazed
Throughout the tomb of passing days
Anna, stand, you shall be proof
A poisoned symbol of my youth
For bittersweet is love in leaps
That leaves such Lovers' burning ceased
