Come on, you fucks. Bring your ecclesiastic witness and your well-born intention. Bait the ignorant with common joy on the other side of life-long strife. Float in the unanswerable ether and evoke the billow and strummed heart, the burnished wings aloft in a sun-stained paradise where folly is forgiven and gates are unlocked by faith. Oh, what a lovely little lie you have left in the plague of man’s heart, any failure to subscribe a terminal diagnosis for souls otherwise in ascent, becoming on that wheel of betterment, but not here. Exalt! You bargained clergies with your hands kept low and out of sight! Come! Both to the sound of your omniscient benefactor and the sweet kiss of your ring. What’s due? Sacrament. Get full on that wine and underline that hate for your benefactors. Keep it going. Reload. Forget the spun sands, the gale-dried blood on the wrists, the ankles, and that excrutiating sacrifice because you know last gasps are final acts in a play written for dolts, and you hold the sun, suspended in hand, with all the answers of tomorrow as long as they pay for yesterday. Your savior came packing heat and the last man standing is the one with the most bullets. Keep dawn in the west, dusk in the east and the front door locked. He forgave, but not everyone. Just you.
#poem #poetry #poetic #igwriters #writersofig #poetrycommunity #literature #creativewriting #fiction #writing #writer #story #shortstory #writersofinstagram #poetsofinstagram #flashfiction #microfiction #storiesofinstagram #storyteller #newengland #northhamptonnh #seacoastnh #nhbeach #paradiselost (at Tomorrow Gods)
Cast from the simple joy of limitless embrace, she’s absent a lifeline to what’s come before. Their past was hunger and nervous voices, words left in the high static of satellite assistance and baud packets dropped, found, throttled and connected as drops of their torrid union sweat on the windows of neither’s home. The sea and the shell, saltwater’s organic pull and release is a tide gone low and now drawn so far back that the break of his desire is obscured by an unkind sun. She begs for her sky to crumble with a longing made of hurricane force; her yearning a cloud bloom bringing rain and a torrent of win. Yet it’s virtual, pixelated dreams of better lives spent with bare feet seaside. Next to him and joining him, yet only through displays and tiny speakers where names cried are tinny whispers in seashells. In her, the sound of his voice is greater than a cliff rock surge, loud enough to careen and echo through thousand mile adversity. To her, his volume drowns the the buzz of familarity and writes new passages in books without pages. There’s caught a view of him now and again, the white cresting rage of his ardor and the stinging blue of his eyes over rolling dunes that set the rhythm to each day’d cycle. She swoons fresh, relishing the thought of his return, the simple acknowledgement small eddies of his attention reward. “It’s grand scale beauty,” she decides and she can see his reflection in a distant sky as signs of his watching, and she is right, even as the undertow swallows others in digital capture. Just words on screens, as plentiful as grains on this beach. Just kisses and weakness. Strong winds will knock it all down. The rising tide inevitable and worth her wait.
#poem #poetry #writing #writer #literary_imagery1 #poetry_addicts #poetic #poet #words #igpoetry #seashell #sea #ocean #waves #beach #sand #nofilter #hamptonnh #newhampshire #seacoastnh (at She Waits)