Night
the stars tiny breaks of light
in the ever-long darkness
from horizon to horizon
shore to shore.
I wonder
that these stars have seen more than any human being;
they are omniscient
seeing from all sides
unbiased.
Yet they remain pure and unadulterated
innocent and bright as I.
For I have seen nothing of the world
and little o its treacheries.
How do they stay so long?
Not troubled by what they see?
Are they content to let the years pass by
without interfering as history repeats
and repeats.
Once they could be read, the stars,
holding message of truth and prophecy.
But the world grew, and thus did its evil
goodness destroyed by greed.
Now their message goes unheeded
and they have long since fallen silent
cursed to remain forever so as history repeats
and repeats.
And we continue not to hear.
In the darkness the angels are sinking,
from the fountain of blood we are all drinking
and amidst the moon the eagle took flight
and I took a bit from the pie in the sky
amidst the glowing, blushing, crimson moon
That's reflected in the corner of your eye
THE link to EVERYTHING, life, universe, harmony, love
Isn't just limited to what's above
Or below our thoughts, our words, our brains
But can be found only in our dreams
The road to seeing what isn't there
Is a lot closer than it seems
And the tide rushes in hiding everything from sight
and the flying falcon hovers in the night,
upon the cool chilled air and the frozen dream,
and upon the words that we say
looking up at the crimson/reddened moon,
waiting for another day.
I guess this could be considered a work in progress....I came up with the first few lines, and my friend came up with the rest...so it's not really MY poetry, but no one is complaining.....RIGHT <looks menacingly at the bodies tied up in front of her> I thought so.... heehee
The sky is clear
the moon is iridescent
pale against the navy drapery of the heavens.
Each tiny star looking down,
observing in age-old silence.
On a cloudless night
the wind blows strong
gusts moving over the trees
the solid wood creaks and groans.
The solid emptiness
yet filled with character and grace
caresses me
lulling me to sleep.
My final thought
as my consciousness floats away
carried by the winds across oceans and mountains
screaming silently to all those who, like me,
sit and listen:
Do you also listen,
and hear my mind carried from me?
The sky is clear,
The wind blows strong.
Do you hear it, too?
Listen.
summoned into a pulling downward spiral,
and to what spectacular end?
to impress upon the unforgiving, demanding world,
your most noble self.
your life is obsession with the particulars:
everything matters.
a single mistake will ruin it all.
you'll ask yourself, "what was i thinking?"
compulsively.
you can't help it, to think that way.
its what you were taught.
there is nothing else.
when you've grown old and grey,
there's nothing to look back on and laugh.
you'll chide yourself for minor disappointments in life.
the only reason you still remember
is because you wake up each morning
and remind yourself to be perfect.
so every day of your life,
you've woken up to be perfect for everyone
in an imperfect world.
but even in their dependence on your stability,
the others push you and try to make you fall.
you didn't want to be perfect.
it just happened.
you were chosen, to torture yourself.
and fly – it's all about you now....
"me, myself, and i," you say.
this is your flaw.
you can't handle it.
being perfect.
imperfection.
(added 12-14-00)
A cacophony of sound
echoing through my head
each a distinct person
reaching for me
yet I cannot understand.
To truly know I must focus
one moment
one thought
one mind
one direction.
Blackness.
I sit, waiting for inspiration to strike me
down.
A single flame
the vibrant colors reflect in my eyes
seen by darkness, for I am alone.
The fire faeries dance around one another
chaos
yet focused.
And then again, blackness.
Then a face
pale, ghostly; a young woman
a face etched with tears
in the ivory sea, her lips move
scarlet blood.
And I see her.
The thorned stem slices her throat
precisely.
And the scarlet ribbon of blood
runs down her neck
eyes filled with wonder
empty of consciousness.
The blood entrances me
the flowing life
released.
I can taste it.
I feel it on me, running through my fingers
silky moistness
staining my hands
like wine.
I am entranced.
At the peak of my ecstasy
from the blood and life before me,
she disappears
and I shudder.
-(c) Rachel Buglione-Corbett
Shadow passes over your face
christening in darkness
the smooth, solid facade
you wear everyday.
And then
the pale of your skin
peeks from behind the darkness
and it becomes luminous
and it distracts me.
Entrancing, it is.
The pale moon
in the dark starry sky.
And then,
your facade
your faux visage
crumbles before me
and you smile,
the brightness of the moon
shining in your eyes.
And then,
I wonder
might the sun melt you so?
Or is the this a transformation
for a creature of the night
come out to play
with me?