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A HAUNTED PLACEBeyond the silhouette of my mind undone,
far beyond the skeletons of undead things
that wait for the unaware to draw near,
there lies another world, a haunted place
that bleeds in me, I can feel it dripping
blood a thousand shades of Darkness,
I can feel it scattering far and further
inside words scarlet extreme, it tells me
not to get lost to the corrosion of Yesterday
as it whispers tick tock...your life is
trickling away, through my splayed fingers
my blood drips, keeping time to the pendulum
that ticks in me, but I hear a crunching
beneath my feet...I look down and see that
I am standing on a pile of pulverized bones
and ca

The Intelligent Are So SadA cascade of words parade around,
with thoughts of atoms and connotation.
She is brilliant, they say,
but she knows she is lost.

Numbers are her companion,
she understands their mean, average.
Words can twist her brain,
she loves the wonder they bring.

She is intelligent, they say,
but sometimes,
she doesn't feel clever enough.
Sometimes she feels clever too much.

Excusez-moi, in perfect French,
but nothing is gained by perfect word tense.
She is clever, they say.
But she is not clever the way they know.

She sees things as they are,
and she prefers her thoughts to the world.
She knows she loves them more than they in return

Icarus DreamsHe had Icarus dreams,
it was not for the flight
that he longed.

But the descent,
the freedom of the fall,
abandon, out of control,
between life and death.

For that one beautiful
moment, you gave yourself up
entirely.

Monument to a Ruined ManI see you now.

The magnificent velvet and silk flags of your name
Now fester and rot in tatters.
The ornate gold and jewels, now dull and blackened with age,
Hang limply from the brittle, yellowing scaffolds
Of your admiring subjects, their mouths gaping open in one last,
Mocking cackle,
All loyalty long since disappeared.

And here you stand
Alone in the silence of your own undoing-
No longer a ruler, or even a man, but a shell-
The hands whose wizened palms I once worshipped
Have crumbled slowly into nothing.
Those lips, whose stately curve I once adored,
Now worn and cracked from centuries of smiling.

But your smiles were n

Hunting Avalon's MoonBeneath a sky of Kings, mortal life quivered
Warm rains spilled a fever of unborn dreams;
— like a silent song of golden pollen falling in
timeless reverie, seeding forests arcane
The dawn of enchantment crested ancient lands,
adorning the hunger of shadows and spirits
Long I stood in the flow of primeval rapture...
where unto the hallowed beckoned wild
I slept in the cradle of Nature's magick,
windswept in feasts of tongue & flame
Dreams and dreamers, in haste I did reap
And I thrusted my sword into the sky
Ever night's bequest, the stars shall not die

Thru seasons of fabled rhythms I roamed;
— my soul etched into the mists

Noble Chivalry"Noble Chivalry"

I see her aesthetic reflection in every mirror
With the passing days the closer the attraction grows nearer
And yet with every word and every kindly letter
I always believe she deserves so much better
Why is there an attraction to the mess that is me?
Perhaps there are waters that run deeper than I can see
I resemble a fine-tuned piano without the keys
Or maybe a rusted violin without the strings
And while I always appear to be shredding at the seams
None of this matters in her mind apparently
I resemble a beautifully wrapped gift without the bow
Or perhaps a kiss between lovers without the mistletoe
And alth

Ink GravesLetterless words and pageless books-
and ink blots on the flowers;
Ghosts scratch their heads and tap their pens,
all across the hours.

Winds can howl and cease to be,
by one twitch of my pen;
I spoke of writing a poem tonight,
and by dawn I've written ten.

Emily sits aside nobody,
the Raven, above, waits;
Frost dances in a yellow wood,
among the long lost dates.

A tall, well spoken willow,
looms over the grave;
Protecting every dated word,
and every thought they gave.

I crumple another masterpiece,
with thoughts I'd thought to save;
and as it strikes the baset bottom,
it rests in its ink grave.

SilenceSilence.

A language that everyone speaks.
       But one that we are not able to hear.

A place where emotions and abandonment meet.
       Of which we are forced to confront our buried fears.

There are no more lessons that the agents of society can teach.
       An infinite amount of words expressed through a solitary tear.

People dish out advice but never practise what they preach.
       A language with the same traits as a hopeful prayer.

A society where people judge others, as they sit back i

SupernovaThese stars are burning out
This night is bright with destruction

Wish upon this burning creation
Wish upon the bricks of the future

ConfessionsMy throat is choking
Closing shut at the thought of these words
I'm choking on myself and I can't breathe

Although you're far away
I can still imagine you here
Where these words would choke me to silence

Tonight I'll use these fingertips
And send these thoughts intentionally
I'll rebuild what I've destroyed
I'll be better than I was before

TribunalWhen you speak, you read me lullabies,
stories of my youth etched into your eyelids.
Each one is another piece of forgery
meant to soothe your guilty conscience.

But your words only add up to hearsay
and my memories to heresy
because I can't remember being wanted
and you always deny being wicked

Human ErrorSince the thistles bloomed,
I have worried in rights and lefts and circles.
Steps trail patterns, until I cannot walk
without stumbling on permutations.
I stand still so I can't take a false step,
too focused to realize I've made myself easier to catch.
But soon every color will mean imperialism.
There is hope in the seeds of blueberries
drowned by summer,
falling like voices in shallow water.
I sink deep into static.
And the sounds are so bewildered by cold
that they frighten lions
white and weak.
The world's so still, it's dead.
But it springs at stuttered promises,
a trap instead.

The Wishing WellListen to the ancient rhythms,
water speaks in many tongues,
yet its voice is silent.

Secrets buried within,
unspoken and yet still transcribed
if you can hear between the lines.

A gentle hush gathering
alchemistic knowledge
as people carelessly fling away
their hopes and dreams within.

As time erodes the evidence
within the water forgets not,
your confessions remain floating
on the surface.

And those who know how to listen
will possess your hidden most desires,
to drink from the well of the desperate
and taste the rust of your misfortunes.

The Witching HoursNight climbs slowly up the spires
Tow’ring above still, silent streets.
At last have come the witching hours
When ghosts and goblins dare to meet!
The gargoyles and the ghouls all prance
In gutters where the children trod
At day before a yawning trance
Did send them to the Land of Nod
The witches trade potions for spells
To keep the creeping spiders out,
Much like farmers from green dells
Ask merchants, “How much for a dozen trout?”
The poltergeists ascend the towers
And sing like choirboys all the way,
Then fly to the bells and ring out the hours
Before night will be lost to day.
But alas, the dark must end sometime,
Thus witches return to their forest caves
And gargoyles return to their towers
And poltergeists to homes adorned with flowers
And goblins to banks near creeks full of waves
And I return to lighter rhyming
As the sky begins its dawning.

The Girl That Created EmotionsThe girl looked at her canvases
And the ever-changing world she created
Picking up her palette and brush
She decided it was time for another

She erased the smiles from her people's faces
Replacing it with something more real
The man with a stubbed toe?
His face twisted up in pain

The painted tears streaming down the girl's face
As she walked in a grim funeral procession
The two boys fought
Their teeth gritted in anger

She painted clenched fists
And tear streamed face
She painted long thin scars
Dancing across wrists

She created sad smiles
And real ones too
She sent lies across tongues
And tantalizing love

She set down her paintbrush
And

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Pale Winter Sun

by *FaintSketches, Nov 8, 2012, 11:54:32 AM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

_{Embedded in the grass, dead leaves are fitted with icy suits of armor..
And only when the sun bathes them in the morning do they cast away the battle of the night.
I can see the transformation as the light crawls across the ground.
Ice prevails in shadow.. Shrinks in the sun.
Leaving a stark, dividing line where the heat has not yet traveled.

In this deepening November..
I find the cold can no longer reach into my bones the way it used to.
The frost now melts on the surface.
Leaving the marrow within warm and undisturbed..
Untouched. Finally allowed to mend the fissures of the past.

At dawn, I'm comforted by the hazy pink of the sunrise.
Fascinated by the jagged edges of the ice, slowly dissipating on the windshield.
And all at once, I'm met with emotions I feared had left me forever.
The frailty of youth, the caress of wonder, and the undulled sting of honest longing.

Unlike the leaves and plants..
The harshness of winter can no longer stall the life coursing through my body.
It can no longer leave me huddled and motionless..
Wholly dependent on the warmth of the sun to thrive.

The frigid silence of a winter night is no longer ominous.
The slowly rising sun, with weakened rays pushing through thick walls of fog..
Is no longer a release from despair.
The sadness is now calmed from within.
Dulled and silenced by the very heart which birthed it.

Though as I move forward, crunching the same dead leaves with heavy boots..
I think of you, and the agony you will never escape.
I imagine, with a swiftly beating heart, the minuscule features on your face.
And as always, I want to reach out to you.
Hold you tightly against me, then set you free.

Like a beautiful little dove, I imagine you flying away.
Eventually becoming a tiny speck of light.
You would grow smaller and smaller as you reached for the pale, winter sun..
And within its light, you would be free, at last, from the pain you never should have felt.}

Pale Winter Sunby *FaintSketches

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

_{A poem from my new poetry book, Shattered Hearts. This was written just yesterday. Hoping to have the all-new collection finished early this Winter.

Thank you so much for reading.

My previous collection, available here on DA :

-- © Taylor Saville 2012.}