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I broke my heart for you

I found a conch,
a husk of sea life and ocean noise
on the beach of my own sick mind
where madness is cheap enough
to turn tricks on itself
the pearl and pretty pink thing, it
moved forward with the swell around my naked ankles
and caught in the glare of afternoon sun,
it's universal vibrations tickled the tiny hairs
on my toes for years before
I finally laid down
and listened
to musical waves
of dying stars and molten heart,
whispered lullabies.
if shells could speak
I thought
I would never give up
the mania or sadness
for one day less
without such beauty
the world is so big
I can only be
ear to the ground
saving my pennies and waiting
to see what I've been missing.
but I can do better.
a flower would live and die before
mountains rise or crumble
and I'm only flesh and blood
grasping at the straws of life with hope.
I've looked into the eyes of love
and seen the price of death with regret
for letting fingers go
when space expands and continents move.
Some shells you pick up,
hands trembling,
not knowing what cold future
or frantic, desperate, dissonant sparkle
that holocaust of rejection may hold
were your fingers crooked.
formidable metaphor for meta form
conversation lists leak
from rotation of
earth, like
one sunrise is another's sunset
hand in hand
with mixtapes and wonder
but it's never that easy
the barrier is tall and federal,
paperwork palisades and deep
government trenches
that keep the past in chains
and handcuffs of bureaucratic realism
bouldering gets you nowhere
now here
is judgment
now here
is harsh reality
there is no peak
now here
is lust
now here
is severance
a handhold is heaven
orchards in distance bloom
their spring and summer abandon,
desert oasis mirage
no flirting will save
because it's never that easy.
and you will always
if you're the shore
I'm little waves wishing for a super moon.
my mind is circles
cogs in a greater apparatus
humming a lotus foot lullaby
you couldn't sing along
or want to hear
when the world is so quiet.
at night I only hear ringing.
I rearrange puzzles missing pieces.
I would eat gristle
if that's all you'd give me.
I'm a sticky sap seeping
from an open wound up high the dying tree;
I run slow into the ground or a jar
to be kept in a cupboard
with other dusty keepsakes.
I ferment with age
and you'd get sick with holiday drunk-love
candlelight gloom
if you put me even to your lipsss
if you were a ballroom
I'd be the finger streaks on the windows
if you were the humdrum locus of celestial guts
I'd be a single atom,
pick up your feet
or they catch on the crusted roots
littering the path
you can't see in the abysmal dark
when the sunlight's gone out;
and pick up your knick knacks
you left on the foreign beach
of the summer or winter fling where
the rules of gravity worked slow
and time slipped through
your nervous, trembling fingers
you dared not have faith
in your own healing heart
or worn out mind
with tiny tummy tight
from the endless laughter,
late nights, early mornings
of a week with no limits,
no ceiling on the promise of maybe,
just maybes and hopes
you belong here, or there
spinning soft soil
on a spindle and plate
into make-believe shapes
and something so unique
you can only call it something,
beautiful and chaotic and powerful
like the future that once was
even days ago
a rainbow dream, a common vision,
hallucination, mirage,
a cloud with no form
moving across the horizon
into the pink hues of sunset or sunrise,
you forget which comes first,
confused, lost
in an ocean of lust
drying up,
or perhaps the ship sank
into those lonely depths
where boredom is fathoms below
and you are alone again.
a flicker of love, a moment
suspended above the chasm eternal;
atoms spiraling back into the Circle,
their ghosts, friends of space;
where lucky hearts still flutter
and fragile lungs breathe the molecules
of life

21 Jul 16

Rated 8.5 (10) by 2 users.
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Inactive (5): 7, 10, 10, 10, 10, 10, 10

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No words to explain why and how much I like this.
 — Isabelle5

thank you so much. I know it's long, so thanks for taking the time to read it!
 — unknown

epic.  in a good way.  the only slightly faulty strophe is 15-17.  one too many "likes" IMHO.  otherwise, very nice.
 — JKWeb

I agree. will change. thank you for the kind words.
 — unknown

Also Isabelle... coming from you, that means a fucking lot. Like a lot, lot. I've written a few poems on this site that I don't think have ever got your attention... and this one did. I make happy.
 — unknown

great work!

typo in 11?
 — chloris

what typo do you see?
 — unknown

possibly, that the apostrophe in >it'sit isits< that shows something belongs to something else.

probably the mistake we all make once in awhile when we're writing with meaning.
 — cadmium

ha. it read my breaks using angle-braces 's as html.

anyway, "it's" means "it is" and "its" means "belongs to it".
 — cadmium