Choirs of the Eye

And so ten centuries solemnly collide Love failed and I have Lost my Name Secrecy hoards the treasure Coveted most by me As rainwater collects in barrels Sleep covers Abuse with Time Too many dream-haunted hours Leaves me with seasons swelling and growing And without welcome, fading Something makes sense in ripples Grief is the corpse from which worms feed Alas, I am not this stricken man Suspended by sunlight, shadows break Their silent vigil As rainwater collects in barrels Lucifer rose up to kiss the analgesic dawn While below, Something roll'd the stone away Something makes sense in ripples Gradually, I saw Abuse is a Name And ghosts will seem forever Less fantastic Like a kiss, soft, and wild with the delicate steps of petals fallen in a stream This swirling ballerina turns in faint and sighing grandeur Across the floor to me. A monarch plays the violin to a summer's afternoon Whilst quietly the earthworm adores the soil in winter's sparkling gloom It breaks away, growing as the flowers do. A thunderhead embraces his enraptured lover And kisses with a gale that also makes the cattails shudder. His tears cannot, as he proclaims his love, be held with lightning back; They fondly dance into an open window And fondly dance with mine. Our eyelashes weaken with a weight that is sweet and fine, And this feels like frogs and spiders in the sweet outside. Tell me why world, unfathomable and good, The beauty of everything is infinite and cruel. An airplane, a puppet, an orange, a spoon, A window, and outside Stars and the moon.

Submitted by Cyberwaste — Apr 25, 2025

One morning, before the leaves began changing I caught a piece of summer and poured it into a pitcher; This I placed in the cellar on a shelf collecting dust . Autumn, then winter, rose up from the sea, and my Garden was a garden filled with unbroken snow. No flower strained its face to the ice giants' whisper, No life coloured the vision of a newborn Spring babe. My cellar-water dripping into a pail And I lifted my piece of summer Like a piece of memory or a dream Like these, caught on film And carried it to the garden floes, The wind turning drifting stars to madness. Poured forth gracefully, this ætheric tincture Lifts winter's coat-of-arms with coaxing aromas and electricity. Used with vigilance, a Pitcher of Summer stirs a memory into swooning, And bravely, the flowers of the past will stretch their limbs into the sky While snow falls quietly all around.

Submitted by The Void — Apr 25, 2025

It never hurt this much before And I feel I'm courting Saturn The Twelve-Eyed Secret gazes through a prism Staring into raindrops swirling slow It lifts it's horrible heads With lidless orbs of limitless vision I dream with fluid movements in a lake The ripples cast from skipping stones We speak below a gushing mind Crouching in a corner, hid behind a box Full of Worms and stalking shadows Magnetism draws me to a cone of space; I sift still through hours of it's plasma Biding time until the clocks collapse Music shattered my spine on the steps outside; I cannot move; my liquid breathing Is sculpted with this binding gel On the beach, I thought it wise to SIFT through the sand that was really glass, but in the STILL of space, I suppose I never really thought it THROUGH. After HOURS OF dust had gathered on the sun, I chanted along with the fish. The bell rose up from the silvery sea, and ITS surface glinted in the PLASMA that undulated beneath it. BIDING my TIME, I paced across the waves, thinking royal thoughts UNTIL THE tears welled up in all of my eyes. All of the CLOCKS in the universe hit the stroke of eleven, and the chiming caused the COLLAPSE of kingdoms. I wept upon the bell, and my tears made MUSIC that danced across the sea. It SHATTERED MY heart to hear that sound, and the SPINE of the world must have straightened. ON THE loneliest day of my life, eleven STEPS led to the OUTSIDE. I CANNOT ever visit this place again, for every MOVE I make makes me realize that MY life has ended. LIQUID pours forever onto the bell from the sea, and my BREATHING IS the waves that wash bodies ashore. A coffin SCULPTED from my thoughts moves WITH speed atop the waves. THIS is the BINDING. The sea seems made of GEL, and I sleep within. It seems odd, I only seem to SIFT about in the melancholy, and I can STILL look back; I can hear the screaming trying to break THROUGH. before HOURS OF pain could eat away my brain, I struggled to disrupt their fold. They sent some sort of insect after me, and ITS wings buzzed up and down the PLASMA surging through my slumbering veins. BIDING its TIME, it laid its eggs in me, chirping with laughter UNTIL THE larvae spilled out from my split skin. Even the CLOCKS had forsaken me by borrowing dead minutes; I recoiled at my own COLLAPSE in ruin. I cared for the larvae, making for them MUSIC with which to fall asleep. They SHATTERED MY limbs with their beauty, and my SPINE became the nest to the horde. ON THE bed whereon i dreamt of love, my eyes formed STEPS up to the OUTSIDE. I CANNOT fathom chasing my own phantoms, as when IMOVE with the vision bestowed upon MY recalcitrance. LIQUID seeps into the roots and makes the forest grow, while its BREATHING IS motionless to those who can see. The trees are SCULPTED with silence and WITH the jagged edges. THIS saw a BINDING; it also dripped GEL from behind my eyes. Twice ten years, I and a god did SIFT twice ten years into memory, and seven STILL pulses, but frequently memorizing opal THROUGH. During HOURS OF our garbled fornication, Blameless and Faceless were wed. The mystical union was as showers, with ITS magnificent lightning PLASMA bursting upon a thirsting Earth. BIDING no TIME, ev'ry ecstasy fell, causing me to swoon UNTIL THE rapture 'came much too great to bear. Infinite CLOCKS seems a ridiculous vision; the time when all time will COLLAPSE is much worse. But these things are later. when even the MUSIC will play all at one time. I SHATTERED MY ideal of me, with my SPINE straightened for my own serpent. ON THE dry riverbed were dry fish, sand and dust STEPS dropping to OUTSIDE. I CANNOT breathe through lungs that have putrefied, like eyes that MOVE lustily over the dagger MY murderer saw. LIQUID pours dreamily over self-inflicted wounds, and my BREATHING IS as shallow as a red tide pool. Nothing is SCULPTED and nothing is WITH living hands painted. THIS is my BINDING; my masterpiece GEL dressing mediums. But come, my love, and rescue me From failure Cover me with an opium sheet Embrace me with gossamer; Kiss the moonstones from my eyes And brush the cobwebs from my bones It all sings beautifully; With all your strength believe this But I know you can't understand Why I threw myself from the glass again

Submitted by Morgoth — Apr 25, 2025

Sing to me a romance, sire That splendid trod the starry roads. All ye dust-strewn travellers, hasten To the hearthside! What seest thou, wayfarer, Upon thy journey to a citrine sun? Caves of candlelight with amethyst imbued, Opal skulls of opal creatures decorating tombs! Woods of columned water supporting ceilings breathing blue, Seascapes fill‚d with poison, lonely, waiting for the few Final scarlet denizens to march into the scorching fumes! Stalks of lapis lazuli groaning against a tired breeze, Sparkling in the quaint moonlight, and owls‚ eyes in sapphire trees, Hooting to one year of moons that hang on petals in the air! Growing ghosts in silver pots upon a silent windowsill, Built into the side of nothing built into a nothing hill! A cage that housed a nightingale was hung upon a shepherd's crook; He lightly stepp'd across the tide, his statuary effervescing. Boughs dipped their lovely heads into the lake of one-thousand tiers To admire an Absinthe floodgate, and a piquant gallery. Morning, and the dreamers fade Like lovers‚ gazes past their hour. Cannot sunrise wait forever For its time? Farewell, starry wayfarer, I'll bless thy name when dreameth I of thine.

Submitted by Dahmers Fridge — Apr 25, 2025

Dust fills my Mouth with a Timeless Poltergeist Rapping Lightly upon a Dusty Door; It Locks the Days together Yesterday This Artefact wasn‚t rightly so. Flanked by Shelves incorporating me into their Lonely Dream, I search for Tremors lying Weeping 'Neath the Broken Tiled Floor Weeping with a Broken Madness, Weeping for the Day Before. Tarnished Silver in the Cupboard soothes The Fathoms of my Aching Silver Beard; Like Shining Eyes scoured by A Sour Creaking Gait, Cataracts dim the Eloquence that wore The Shining Cloak of younger Pride, And This was Long, Long before their Careless Keeper died. A Revenant spread its Foul Curse to Every Living Thing With Stories trapp‚d on Yellowed Pages By Talismans of Poignant Lethargy. Tales Twilit bear their Ruin‚d Words To this Ghoulish Scenery, Slouching over Candlelight Extinguished in another Century. The Grandfather Clock once Told its Beads, While Outside the Branches Bowed their Windows slightly Out of Key. And this Downstairs, where a Forlorn Clock has long since Lost its Faith, And a House's Stale Breath sighs like the Whispers of a Wraith. Spiders Decorate an Appearance That stretches Gnarled Hands Back into a Relinquished Parlour Game; Wisps of Ghostly Languor hinting faintly of Perique Ring the Ancyent Air and Fade, Murmuring of Things Antique.

Submitted by The Void — Apr 25, 2025