Amaranthine; a blog of original poetry

 A night without you Is a snail crossing the road, Paris without lights, A lighthouse built underground As if to guide blind worms Through those fossils, Those confusing roots of trees, Those concrete pillars that hold up these buildings; These buildings that hold up  The sky itself on their heads, Like  girls carrying water They probably won’t drink… A night without you Is what I’m trying to describe here, But sorry… It’s too painful to pull out of my heart; These nails hammered into it Crying to be taken out, Yet crying to stay there Because the blood can flow out And leave it a shrinking bag of flesh, A plastic sheet, A prune… A night without you Is what I’m trying to describe here, But sorry… It’s too painful. So I’ll talk about everything else…

  There’s a whale in the ocean of my heart, Twisting And falling back with a splash; A harbor of coral, and fish.. A submerged island Occasionally leaping up so it could breathe. There’s a whale in the ocean of my heart, Singing songs for the people around me. But they don’t hear it, Because they refuse to submerge themselves In the water. They don’t hear it, Because they can’t swim… The whale jumps So that they may hear the notes In little bursts… But they don’t listen. I wanted to teach these people to swim. But I think it useless now… They won’t listen Anyway…

 I see a mountain in the distance; A Colossus making noise by being still… I see a mountain in the distance; A sumo wrestler clothed by the clouds, Sitting on a mat With chopsticks And a bowl of rice… Finishing the whole thing And then rising to his feet, Making trees hug each other for strength, Making the pond boil With movement alone… I see a mountain in the distance, And I walk to it Only to discover That by that time, It has become a mountain of mere paper, Letting my leg through as I attempt to climb. Soon, I conquer the peak By crushing it Slowly Under my feet. I wonder where the sumo wrestler went Or that he was ever real At all…

  I’m a basketball hoop, Trying to catch every ball That falls through me… Failing, Yet staying there everyday With glittering hope… I’m a trapped horse without a rider, A blind cave, A leaf sticking out of a crack in the concrete… I’m a statue of two lovers Looking each other in the eyes, Forever unable to kiss… Forever young, Yet forever trapped in this form That takes a sisyphian year to erode… Young forever… A golden apple never eaten, A quiet storm without resolution, A form crept over By dull light And dirty white flowers; White flowers that look up at me in envy, For they only see that I love forever, And not that it’s forever painful As well…

  I feel like A flower in yellow dew, A bubble in the wave, An infant gasping On seeing its own image in the mirror For the first time… Touching itself, Yet feeling something else; Something cold And slippery And new… Something hard but not solid, Something smooth that doesn’t flow… Something that’s me, That doesn’t smell of wine. Something that’s me, That lives on my breath alone… A parasite Robbing me of life, While giving an ethereal impression of it…

  A dog gives me it’s paw, The bubbles in the glass of wine rise, The flowers become silhouettes, Giving over their colors to the rising sun; A giant Crawling out from behind the hills, Stepping into the lake with its monstrous feet, Illuminating it With the red dirt beneath his feet… A dog gives me it’s paw, The bubbles in the glass of wine rise, Racing for the surface To get a better view of this beast, Awakening everything With presence alone…

  We sit on the hill; The yellow flowers and damp grass And see it... The purple mountains in the distance, Growing white towards the top… Dressed in armor; An armor of clouds Easily penetrated By the eagles that glide through them… Easily snatched away By the wind Which cannot even pluck grass from damp ground, Or scatter flowers into petallic parts. Yet it wears the armor, Like a samurai wearing his bamboo To a battle of exploding balls And spinning guns. Yet it wears the armor, Like a samurai wearing his bamboo To give himself nothing but some confidence; A confidence that might end him victorious. We sit on the hill; The yellow flowers and damp grass And see it… The purple mountains in the distance, Seeming to slowly walk towards us…

  The bear roars standing tall  Like a mad king who’s dropped his wine. The bear roars standing tall And sees the sun peaking through fluttering leaves… Suddenly He is being watched by the bright light, Listened to by the clacking stream, Whiffed by the very flowers Having fragrance of their own… The bear roars standing still, Then stops; As the dragonfly sits on his feet; The hairs moving to the wind Like black grass With creatures of its own… With a wildness of itself… The bear roars standing still At the edge of a cliff. Then he takes a step. No one knows What happened next…