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catatonia. (sonnet)

Illustration for John Milton's Paradise Lost by Gustave Doré, (1886) showing Lucifer's descent and his deterioration into Satan

A breath, in seconds bare, awaits this war
that drains away the mind to dream up voids
Vehemently — like patient prayers whore
the soul, sparing no worldly hominoids.

–and might a moment cease to be obtained
by fallen leaves, whose minds resemble moons:
the arbiters upon the pale, bloodstained
stone — cradled by its crater’s hollow runes,

Would I, in silence, hear the shallow sounds
of leaves which fell from grace some time ago?
or breathe a moment more, to know no bounds,
and free my mind from fate’s still vertigo?

The war within is but a lesson learned,
the mind is only faithful when it’s earned.

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Heather (Sonnet)

Image result for heather flower
A Sonnet for my Mother

Perennials appear in moors of May,
upon prim, purple leaves, and rays of light —
(like raisins sweet, or ink to Hemingway) —
near vacant valleys home to fertile sprite,
where water cultivates the day, and life,
in all its sorrow, treads a floral line,
with nowhere now a tranquil nymph, whose rife
anatomy evokes the heather’s spine:
The ancient evergreen — forevermore
illusive — poets aim to parallel
its wreathe to dreams, but cannot answer for
what fortune’s tell or mean — yet all is well,
for it is still, and light like a feather;
a flower made of hope; it is heather.

she sits in rain with the ocher of autumn
written within her age.

and i often wonder
why the wind must treat her as winter.
why the slouch of her eyes must weep opium.
why the spine of her nose must breathe pale.

she is as beautiful
as
a leaf,

afloat in Spring,
though

stepped on
when dry,

and when the time comes
i shall
rake
her
from
the
rain

just to see
her
face
unfold
from
the
dew

of
her
tears.