Ignorance is Best


She’s crammed, locked and stored
Away from everyone,
Her escape, guarded,
By the roaming watchman
Brewing fire,
All she does, is engulf sight
Through a peephole
Into an endless plain.

Escape? For what?
She’d be lost in the devour
Of cruelty, stormed down
Upon her fragility,
Here, she is protected, untainted
By degradation of a diseased world,
The sun peaks in
When no one’s calling for it,
But the tide of anger
When it ignores, is an avalanche
Upon the weary,
I keep her, cloaked
High above the crushing,
Forever beautiful, in ignorance.

©DorianPoe 2015

Born Again


She has been laid, here,
Under the lonesome perch
Of the lost sun behind sunken ships, Yet, she sprouts out from the dead
Underground of captivity,
Blossoming beyond a splintered world,
She rages within her darting flourish Pushing back an enraged dragon
That no knight can surrender,
She, who has grown from demise
Towers over her mourner,
Shadowing him from torrential downfall.

Garden of Time

I slit the neck of time
As the wolf, prowls the town
Carrying with him, a stench
So fowl, it rots the stone of death,
A scream, far from where I stand
Vibrates the puddle that pools
My sweat, when the wolf
Corrals my sight,
Still, clenching onto the knife
Dripping moments, onto a scorched plank,
I feel a cold tremble, rising up my spine
As the wolf backs me
Into an eclipse, swallowing the sand
Flooding out of the shattered hourglass,
And suddenly that scream, vanishes
Into the gullet of the wolf
Howling, at the echoes of the clock.

Quote -Pablo Neruda


How much he has said
To his love, can’t amount
To what has betrayed his heart,
Those words, never able to
Capture, what stirs in the fire,
Daunting, are those beautiful
Silent moments when nothing is said
When in fact, everything
Is gushing out from all edges
Of emotion, when they drift in each other.

Shut In

Fear, stretches out it’s hand
For me, to take,
As I browse my surroundings
Finding myself in my home,
That has blended, into the forgotten,
My still window shudders
In the loneliness chill
That slithers, through the anchors,
Which have latched on to me
As I’m held in this ever lasting perch
Upon sanity’s conditioning,
I revert back into my webbed nest
Away from the long spinney reach,
As the cage echoes, in the rattle
Of being shut in.

Nightmare III

Three loud distinct knocks
Upon my door,
Muffled steps, as I approach
Walking, a skewed mile,
One step, too close, as the knocks
Start deafening the silence,
Surrounding me in it’s panic
Along with my own
As the door, starts to crack
Bowing to the beast, beyond the portal,
Open wide now, as it enters
Striding, tapping it’s dirty claws
Towards me, backing me
Into a dungeoned corner
Searching for a door, to keep
The beast at bay, from consumption
Of my heart, which belongs to her.

The Waiting One

He softly speaks, “Let me go.”
Quiet moment, except for the
Crinkle of bones, loosening grasp
As he jumps in the murky swallow,
Never to be in sight of collapsed moon,
She keeps her watch on the abyss
Hoping to shine light
From her housed place, on the sand,
She pleads with the inimical storm
That clouds her sight
With rising terror, consuming
All the wreckage it caused,
A night darkened, by the shadow
Cast over her island,
While she perches, atop her peak
Waiting, refusing to swallow hope
For his humble return,
Finding a never ending horizon
Consuming her desperation,
She waits, till the end of all existence
To avail to herself, her house in ruin
Spread by the decay, of tarnished years
Waiting for the return of a sail,

Outside the Gate

I stare into vast uncertainty
Swallowing my existence,
Stranded, in the gaze, believing
This distraction is my sanctuary
From the demon, hunting my lucidity,
Slippery slithering tongue, seducing
My resolve, to plunge further
Into the arms, of my other enemy,
Trapped in it’s hypnotic grasp
Thieving, clawing at my mind,
My own fault really, as I wondered
Too far outside my own gates
That I have lost sight, of where I belong,
Marooned between two enemies
Ripping my identity apart,
Leaving behind the stale shell
Further away from the gates,
Further away from benevolence,
To walk aimlessly with my demons.

Puzzle Pieces


He wakes,
Empty of recollection, when so much
Has transpired in moments, erased,
Frantically, he tries
To steady his bearing
While everything whirlwinds
Through his brittle mind,
Shocking the stems, of uncertainty,
He stumbles, smacks and knocks
Over a weak, wooden table
Spilling, what it cradles,
A dirty blade, scraping
Across the forsaken hollow hole,
Crashing, into splintered glass,
He quavers over, and collapses
In arms reach of the blade,
But he doesn’t grab it,
Instead, he stares at himself
Studying the stranger
In the rusted reflection,
Still trying to put together the pieces
Of the shattered puzzle,
When he discovers a stain, dragged
From where he lays
Across to the wide door,
He slowly pulls himself, slithering
Along the stretched path,
Lies a rigidly sharp, broken nail, one
After another one, along the dry trail
As the puzzle starts crumbling together,
Finding fragments of devastation
Beneath the wielding hand
That struck against, what resides here
In the barren shadow,
He creaks over, onto his back
With sight hazily focused on the rafters,
And what dangles from it,
A soft chime, which only now
Can he hear it’s call to him,
Watching it clink against it’s own noose,
Tremors, becoming violent
In the bleeding clarity of his gaze,
When he sees the convergence
Sparked, from the pendant above,
Bringing together, all at once
The entire vacant puzzle,
The man walks in, crushing a picture
Between his dirty fingers,
A hard man, cold and heavy,
Barging in where the boy resides,
Unsheathes his dagger, blinding
Sight in the reflection of darkness,
The man demands the pendant
To be put back into his possession,
Screaming that is all get has of her,
The two have fought for the last
Piece, of her,
Lost, to when she bore the boy,
He blames the boy
For ripping her away,
As the boy refuses to relinquish
Possession of the pendant,
The man drives the blade
Through the pendant, into his son,
He jerks the blade out, sending
The pendant into the rafters,
The boy, still alive, gasping for him
As he drags the body towards
With the boy, clawing at the floor,
The father opens the door
Beneath him,
Feeding his son, to the flame.
The puzzle is put back,
Only to be ripped apart
And scattered into the lost, again.