poems

Stars seem captive tonight
held fast by their own gravity,
and so am I in thinking
that space would mirror me-
the freedom of my inward gaze,
all life is light, the eternal light
that fills the external void,
I close my eyes and see a galaxy
within, and that space is
the loving space we make
where others live and move,
that space is also freedom
and also love’s expression
thus love is also life as well as light.
The face of my youthful being
was mainly green and vain,
and with it’s passion came the pain
until it came to know a person’s
inside beauty,where so well hidden
it came to know it’s timeless age,
where an old man in time
hides his ageless youth.

More at roykaustin.weebly.com.

I forgot who I was in the
chaos and the kisses, the open
ended declarations of love
and in the late nights of passion.
I left myself on your doorstep that first night
when we joined as individuals to create a
whole. I was your sub piece, the one you
looked to when you needed someone,
but I was never able to look to you in return.
Somewhere along our journey I lost the things that made me who I once
was,
and when I turned around to pick up the pieces
you started to notice.
As I began to rise from the darkness you cast over me,
you started to dim in color.
I realized that you had to be the sun in order to live,
and without a shadow, you felt you could not shine.

More at http://sydneylynnpoetry.tumblr.com.

Barbed And Killing Its Mystery,
Dragging A Hump Dry Across The Aisle Between Pews,
Then To Creep With The Setting Shift Of Fadeing Day
Up ALong The Tapestry And Its Symbiotic Knottings,
Prying With Relentless Edge To Slide Wet And Peeling Under Its
Borrowed-True Walls,
Whispering With A Throbbing Null… Worming Its Way To The Pinnacled
Arch,
InTo The Golden Touches Of Nuance Amongst The Mistletoe And Apertured
Revulsion,
As Cups With Their Swords Collect For Hollow Tooth And Claw,
To Strip The Dancers Below Of Their Spirited Fetish…
…
…
Then With Threads To Descend Wordlessly InTo Hysteria,
UnLocking Each Hand Of Its Life… To The Lines… For Geists As
Gists…
…
…
A Cemetery For Elementary Bearers Under Universeal Laws,
When It Be Fit To Sleep Under The Assureing Heft Of A Slitting Fold
Down-Adorned InTo Comfort And Its Symbolic Clotheings,
Spying With Eye Pressed To Chaliced Raise To Set When Splitting APart
As Will Arrowed-Through,
Dulling The Thistle Of Its Bobbing Fill… Emergeing As Knighted To
The Collapsed March,
Exiting With A Cacophonous Stumble InTo The Face-Grease And Staggered
Impulse,
As Armed, Lipped, And Worded-Direct For Shallow Grave And Stone,
To Strap The Singers Above To Their Desperate Flesh.

More at http://rwkt.blogspot.ca/2014/07/the-clink-of-keys-in-dreaming-echo.html.