The evening is intangible.
Feline bruises, red and lost;
Cascading scorn, an elfmaid dance.
Confessions woven in a balmy hush
(Bumbling thoughts of busy stars)--
Moonshine lightens heavy pores.
Senseless longing sinks our pores
Sullied flesh: rotting, intangible.
If no delight can come from stars,
Our half-wit wishes, mite, are lost
For nothing sleeps near twilight’s hush,
Besmirch our verdant (savage) dance.
The blades of grass begin to dance
Mingling with unwary pores,
(Burdened by the deciduous hush)
Cloistered, yet intangible.
And soon the night will be lost
In steadfast grief and dandelion stars.
And so incomplete are these stars
(Dissonant tunes for a poison-dance)
Blue voiced jinns take what is lost
From dangling, ruddy, tainted pores.
A cry so deep and intangible
That nothing is heard above a hush.
The lullaby’s end is nearing, hush
As tar-and-eyelids impede the stars;
A wakeful doze, evermore intangible
(Smothering the sacrilegious dance).
Blunted embers melting our pores,
Haphazardly bury the living lost.
Petrified thoughts, soon to be lost,
Whence raises that suffocating hush.
Acrid dignity spills from old pores
And crystallizes bloodied Injun stars,
Fending wisps of a sorrow dance
Surrenders the intangible.
(A martyred Gorgon’s head
Ravenous; severed honesty, hysteria
Muddying thy Christian name)
Sullying our lives.
© Copyright 2012 Rudrani G. (UN: gilded.tongue at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved.
Rudrani G. has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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