That still moment of the morning

when the quietest wind hums

and the whole world seems to hush

strains to catch that elusive hymn

few mortals lost in sleep turn

and the invincible sculptor of life

folds new creases around their eyes

two seventeen this morning

In a frozen stupor she  lay

Staring at the vacuity of her  days

Looking where there is naught to see

The veins in her eyes  filled with blood

she quaked an arm to Pablo

he blinked and smiled and faded away

so she crawled back into her abysmal murk

watched the clock hands make their turns

two seventeen and she never blinked

yet he came and went unseen

looking at the mirror in the morning light

she weeps at the passage of time

that new crease at the edge of her eye…

the  invincible sculptor  of life

at two seventeen did come by 

Horrid echoes of what was

what could have been but never was

resound in my head like a colossal bell

horrid echoes of what I thought

hoped you were but really you were not

and such scores of amorphous ghosts

dance around me to a tuneless song

specters of the man my imagination bore

my adaptation of you was magic and more

his ethereal eyes guised perpetuity as short

this man died when you I truly saw

on the rug that you sat when I tried to draw

the face that seemed more than it was

like adjacent cords of the eloquent cello

with incongruent frequencies our hearts do throb

so you saw but comprehend you could not

 and now here I am my sweet Pablo

the blueprints of my soul to you I have shown

still on the bleak edge of an abyss I stand alone

hearing  nothing but these horrid echoes

if I should jump only I will feel the fall

I have a bad taste down my throat

The noise is really terribly hollow

Oh these horrid echoes!

A remembrance of you is paroxysm of grief needless

A -mooning about for you is heartache quite pointless

I am weary with a hundred years ,I who was ageless

I must be absolved when I do myself a little kindness

I shall let the resplendent flame burn out to ashes

When I find all is endigue and my solitude is darkness

I shall make no tarry, no frantic ferret for matches

A little while and a little space I hope in earnest

You shall grow vague, and cease to be of consequence.

©Serene Blaq

2009

Trifle not with a heart so battered

A heart so splintered

A heart so jaded and on the brink of wastage

Choke me not I who wishes not to breath

Pain me not I who labors not to feel

Spare me this angst that esteems no ethics

That scoffs temperance and blossoms in extremism

Indulge me to keep vigil, to bleed for the dying dream

          Blight this corporeal universe with muted quiescence

       I pay an ultimate veneration, I bury a cherished comrade

       I was my only friend, and now even I am  dead

Tell me …..you who feels not what I feel

so sick this sensation I succumb to senselessness

           Tell me…..Who is lonelier than I who hasn’t even herself?

  Pray draw the drapes, shut my door and withraw

 Let me recline in the dark with my bloodshot eyes

I am calm, I am tired, I am quiet,  I raise a white flag.

©Serene Blaq

2009.

Little  white threads  of my sanity

Are floating reluctantly to the ground…

From up high in the sky of my mind

….I hear them drop…silent and fast

Clear little bubbles of logic…

Foaming from a murky puddle normalcy

A puddle once a clear blue sea

…I hear it drying up….silent and fast

I saw a dead rat by the road tonight

I knelt down and kissed it and laughed                                     

I have been courted by darkness…

Masquerading as light…with a polka –dots  tie

we danced all night…in the morning  …                                    

 a century had gone by.

I looked at him with water in my eyes

He kissed me and disappeared into my mouth

His abode is my mind now…he abhors  the light

So he threw a black veil across my eyes.

So you see…..I am gradually going mad.

Afflicted

If these liquid notes prove not an antidote

If lime to my acid thoughts they be not

If into my ears they float but not

To diffuse into my scorching sores

mend my mind like a magic draught

if these quavers and minims and what-not

will not mute the  decibel of a storm…

I fear I am a walking ghost….

to a calm madness perpetually lost.