The Empath Dies in the End
So I find myself alone after a night of separation A Black night lit up over our green chairs. Now empty, no longer filled by our bodies and our conversations, sits like ghosts My God! this night has moon lit on fire. I was the first to vanish from your anger. Your white lightning skin wrapped in the moon rays, as you paddled insults to my heart. You will never let me feel the honey. To let my lungs wrap up in the stickiness. The mosquitoes and the bees begin to sleep with a thirst. Will a new man let you swim in that undertow? The Chimes they cling together by the swirling winds. The clashing waves pour onto your cracked toes from Lake Seneca. Several hours of dancing some unnamed waltz. On your hideaway beach that wasn't hours. That is what the prophet tells me. Stabbed in waiting while the hymns carry my ghost away from my body. I listen with dim sleeping eyes. The boats in the distance belt out tunes. I drain in this loneliness. The weakness, rustic in scowl. Blood over the beads of rocks. Listened to the wind blow once. Listened to the wind blow twice. It was a disguise. Converged pure from my polluted brain. The narcissists was wiry and sudden and overtook my neglected heart. Infested a brain. The Empath dies in the end. Current bio for Fevers of the Mind’s David L O’Nan editor/writing contributor to blog. The Tranquil Sun by Vipanjeet Kaur The sun sits tranquilly over the western horizon at dusk, His charioteer slows down and pauses for a while After traversing the whole sky. While riding the chariot of dusk, He smiles a last fading smile – A farewell gesture; A token of eternal love; A parting kiss to the dying day. While folding millions of his imponderable arms of rays that pervade the world throughout the day, He draws the blinds of his effulgence down before night, Like a mourner, saluting the passing day. Beyond the picket fence of my mansion, The one-eyed overseer rings the bell of repose and looks at me through crimson windows, imparting a rosy aureole to my dormant hopes, and like a dreamcatcher promising vernal dreams. A fervent plea in his closing eye to release the unrealised dreams of the dying day: broken, dead and decayed in the autumn of dusk. Let them burn on the pyre of the setting light, Let the sombre red embers reduce them softly to ashes with the deepening darkness of dusk, Let them dissolve in the darkness of night, Let the cremains of despair be immersed in the flowing silver moonlight before a new dawn begins a new chariot ride. Bio: Ms. Vipanjeet Kaur from India is a poet fond of writing poems on various themes like nature, women empowerment, self, spiritualism and life. Her haikus have been featured in the international online journals like Haiku Dialogue of The Haiku Foundation, The Haiku Pond, The Cold Moon Journal and the Scarlet Dragonfly Journal and her micropoetry has been published in the Five Fleas (Itchy Poetry). She has also read research papers on the topics of Literature, Human Rights and Women Empowerment in a few national seminars and international conferences. She can be followed on Twitter @vjpoeticmusings. Fevers by Matthew Freeman And I’ve said there’s no difference between the streetlamp and the moon. And that’s still true, but now in late September as everything wanes I’m sitting outside my sister’s apartment with my diet soda and my cigarette and my iPod watching the crowd get thin at Ted Drewes and every little thing we believed in fall apart. Someday when the sun burns out you’ll ask yourself whether you stayed true, really true, to your feverish desire. A Poetry Showcase by Matthew Freeman Moonage by Lesley Curwen Haloed lunacy floats crosshatch beam through umber cloud and bulrush-crown. Bleak horizon swallows photon-feed down continents of eyeless waves. Landward, pines guard empty chairs against moon's threat, a pump-song chuckles chlorine, muddles jets of aquamarine gems. Poetry based on photography “The Lone Road to Moloka’I” from Maggs Vibo Poetry based on photography Challenge from Ankh Spice pt. 1
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