Heal you

Eyes as tender as handmade candies
The sweetness transcended curled my toes in a swift
You’re the lightbulb left under a pouring rain
It flickers on and off
And there we go again
Something in those eyes
Quivers the beating heart
Something is lost
And it couldn’t be found
Not sadness nor loneliness
But a sort of hollowness
Sending me into its plight of feathers fallen
Colourful as your innocence and the hopes chanted
One, two, three, four
They all start to disappear
Like the lost of a trust in the glimpse of a fault
Or the puddles after rain
Evaporated and gone
But all these only rekindled flames of what love can glow
I want to heal you and breathe movements into your flow
Those eyes but cold as the wind that blows
Out from the woods embedded in your bones
Into the life of my reminiscence
I’m sparked by your fragrant frozen temptation
Silent as the condescension of your unspoken desires
Don’t go too soon
I want your soul laid opened
For me to inspect and to cleanse all the dirt
From years of cigarettes and drugs left in a lurch
Human toxins and the unbranded hurt
I want to heal you pretty much my dear
Those torns you adorn like gems in your veins
Shame in a way it’s critical as your fate

‘Touch not,’ You shrieked and I took a step back

‘It’s too late darling, my fingers are pricked in a flash
By the torns so tender in the words you’ve kept
But that won’t stop me from changing its plan.’

Sweet butterflies and rosy cheeks
Tainted with scars and clever sins
The ground will shake with every upbeat
Beauty isn’t as pretty as you think
This vision so clouded with misreaded lies
And tears now feeble in all your disguise
I want to rock you in my arms til daylight
But I’m as weak as your fading tries
So won’t you lay by my very own side
And watch our curiosities set to fire


14 thoughts on “Heal you

  1. She builds a fire in the twilight, a dry pyre consuming her offering of incense wood, becoming a river of twinkling crimson spark salmon cascading into the sky. She builds a fire in twilight under a sky gone crimson. He leans back and drinks the sky.
    They do not speak, what would be the point?
    The passing of the sun seems to drain him of all vitality and the rise and fall of his chest suggest that he is asleep.
    She struggles to move his supine form to an energy Lagrange point near the fire’s ring of stones. When, at last, all blood is drained from the sunset, when the sky is black velvet strewn with diamond chips, when silence has become the voice of the night creatures, she removes her shield and snuggles in under his listless arms.
    When she can worry no more, she falls into the open arms of the Lady of the Night, Nyx. She sleeps.
    The arms of Nyx close around her as she opens her heart, opens her mind to a possibility she’d rather not consider. How can she heal him, when she cannot heal herself?
    Her sadness falls like rain, quenching this dry and desert place. After a time her rain tears cascade to the sea, increasing the depth of the oceans. In the manner of her people she does not hold her grief behind clenched teeth. Her’s is the lamentation worthy of a saint and he is the one she yearns for with all her heart.
    In her dream sky he becomes the focus of her sigh, the need of her cry. He becomes her every thought.
    In a time after Time, in a place beyond all Space, once again she learns the sound within all the world. She falters at first but with the trust of a child she learns the dance. Every second becomes a lifetime as she drubs the drums of her feet, beats the staccato of the Dance-that-Changes-Things with poise and grace.
    Because she doesn’t know it’s impossible, she unlocks her every joint, stretches every fiber in perfect form, exceeds herself until every movement, every nuance becomes a metaphor, an alter where she offers her prayer to the Universe.
    She becomes a stroboscopic flicker, committing the blasphemy of bending Cause and Effect, her movements exceeding the cradle of Time and Space without question, pause or consideration of the consequences, the cost to herself.
    She becomes the daughter of Nyx. She becomes the night and she covers the land seeking his smell, his spore. Seeking him in his injury.
    Finding him at last in the heart of the Mountains, she congeals by his side and he is howling mad with the parasites of infection.
    She isn’t even aware that something inside her is changing, mutating . . .into . . . How do you say what can’t be said . . .? Her hands are becoming, something . . . There’s something about her hands. Her hands are becoming anti~parasites. And within her grows a need. She wants to touch the parasites. She feels the correctness in this.
    The first soul parasite she touches withers and dies. She touches another and another and . . . She extends her hands, for now she had many, like a Hindu goddess, hands in all directions. She caresses all the parts of his mind, body and soul. Where her hands touch him a healing begins.
    Beside a fire that has gone out, under a sky pinking with a new sun, his ragged breathing is soothed.
    Exhausted and deeply at peace, she falls into dreamless sleep.

    Liked by 4 people

  2. Something in those eyes
    Quivers the beating heart
    Something is lost
    And it couldn’t be found
    Not sadness nor loneliness
    But a sort of hollowness
    Sending me into its plight of feathers fallen

    A beautiful poem. These words especially hit home. 🙂

    Liked by 2 people

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