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Poison Tree

I was in love with my friend;
I spoke my love, my love did wallow.
I was in love with my foe;
I spoke it not, my heart I swallowed.

And I nurtured it in words,
Rise and set with the birds;
And I lured it with glances,
And slow spoken chances.

And it rose both night and day,
Until it became a glimmering ray.
And my love saw it's light
And he knew that all was right.

And beneath my hanging heart.
When the day had shone the mark.
In the night hoping I see
There my love, waiting for me.

After- A Poison Tree by William Blake

June 12, 2008

What we're made of, and what comes out.
White blankets that obscure, the purple and lines.
And where do we come from?
What are we made of.
Is it strong or weak, small and unsure.
Strong, brittle and thin.
The colors of a nightmare, white nights and red ghosts.
Where do we come from, what are we made of?
Red that twists and grows, what are we made of...

RegretSlow and red formed pain that screams
Dark matter holds to every strand
Such thoughts that rise and come as dreams

Fraught with tears and aching streams
Unhinged and dark are some grey tears
Slow and red formed pain that screams

Every waking moment teams
On brewing up a healing thought
Such thoughts that rise and come as dreams

A wizened voice does strain His beams
To aid the pain and sense of loss
Slow and red formed pain that screams

One day it stops and grips heartbeats
Fermented hours, days and weeks.
Such thoughts that rise and come as dreams

Until the next small chance it treats
a moment or two to have redone
A moment o

.vesta.

It is time. We feel the pull of summer along our spines
as we head into hibernation. Bed is short respite for our leaden limbs,
our singed hair. The air aches with the wait of it, where the embers
click and sing like crickets. Snippets of sound from the underground.
"This," someone says, wide-eyed with awe, "is what the insides
of the earth look like" - the world beneath, struck through with
dragons' teeth, pocked with open sores. The slit smile of the crater
in a slack jaw. Our scarred skies are littered with lights, many
mechanical suns spun into the ceiling, glinting like electric sequins.

And in the middle of it all, where our

untitled3/10/09

Here I am in the old world
banished from the new
came looking for a legend

a memory I found.
For so old was this world, I find
that none were still around

and quietly, I starred around
then slowly my eyes wept
alone I was to always be
beneath a heart well kept.

the self2/20/09

each lesson is but a hand
clutching the saw that folds the flesh
cracking the cage to the sour soul.

a fragile gentle thing, enveloped in tears
pulled and tattered edges
torn fresh and raw, festering and bleeding
convulsing and withering.

force upon the mottled skin
a breaking furrow in the ivory white
a fervor run dry, to plumes of dust.

Aching Sweet

7/24/08

Sweet amber eyes, your heart runs dry.
So sweet it hurts, so nice it aches and stings and lights and burns to dust.
Sad sunset eyes, in hazy pools of fashioned white and dry, soft dust.
So sweet it hurt, so nice it ached and stung and lit and burned to ash.
Black cobalt eyes, your words run back in lines of red as dark as velvet.
So sweet it'll hurt, so nice you'll ache and sting and catch light then burn away.
It was so hard to hold.

Dream TonightYou're lulled to sleep by a sweet lullaby,

and later, a mosaic of images

takes shape and plays in your mind

You're the creator of dreams,

whether they're frightening

(shadows looming from every corner,

menacing voices whispering in your ear)

or whether they're pleasant

(fingers entwined with the one you love;

tender moments, furtive glances, reckless passion)

Tales of anxiety and fear,

Yarns of love and joy

are yours for the taking

When sleep enchants you with its haunting song,

what will you dream tonight?

Jericho - Draft IIII'm so grateful for the DD, guys! Unfortunately, I had to remove this poem so that I can try to publish it elsewhere in various poetry journals.

The... Last Night

I felt you... last night.
You left the covers at my feet.

I looked off a thousand miles...
As you walked out the door.

The room was so gray that night.
And I couldn't feel anything but cold.

You violated me, in every essence of the word.
And now I feel nothing but cold.

If I tell anyone, the cold blade I will feel...
The cold... I will feel.

And if I cry... you'll give me something to cry about,
Won't you?

I don't want to shower...
No matter how hot the water is,
I'll still be cold.

And I don't want to drink water,
I'm so lost.

In this...
Cold.

They don’t even want me
Not even to hold, not even to kiss, not even to scold.
We don’t even want you, not when you’re alone
Distraught and tied up, beaten and shown.
One side down the middle, we need you alone.
Tied up in a knot, treacherous and done.
They don’t even need me, not even to run.
To say it to others, not even for fun.
They don’t even want me
Not even to love.
Not even ok, but mostly undone.
Not even my words make much sense at all
You don’t even want me
Not for a precarious length of time
Or forever, to smell my hair, view my lights.
Don’t touch my face, they don’t even w

sunday thoughtsyou are glowbracelets
and fireflies and oatmeal raisin cookies.

you are thunderstorms
and comic books and afternoons on the bleachers.

you are constellations
and crinkled denim and nights spent on the park bridge.

you are the best thing
i could ever hope for and i love you more than should be allowed.

memento mori I.
Death has been standing outside my house all night.

Last night I wiped my eyes against the cool glass and I watched him out the leaves of my window; watched while he circled the perimeter, his hands dancing near my rosebushes, giving light touches to the leaves and breaking them off along the neon vein lines. I touch the patches on my face and I try to make out the lines on his body: hooknose frame, dark lidded eyes, nailed mouth. The ceiling of nighttime rushed over him like a blanket and a smile, and I fell asleep with the crook of my head against the sill, images of his dead-star hands floating on my eyelashes, dripping off

The Story of Winter"I have to give you something," he says. He stares at the expanse of stars above us. The night is cloudless, inviting. I think I would live in the stars if I could. "That's the way these things go. A deal is a deal."

"Right," I reply. He's so focused, I wonder what he's gazing at.

"How about winter? I'll give you winter."

I study his features. Still so intense, like always. I'm not sure if he's teasing me, or if he means what he says. I'll never find out; I'll die not knowing.

"Winter?" I wish he would look at me. "You can't just . . . give me a season. That's not possible."

He laughs. I love it when he laughs. His cheeks d

SnapshotAs we lay across your backseat,
You called me cute for giggling when
Your hands wandered across my stomach.
"Well, it had tickled."
We kissed, and I wound my fingers through your hair.
Your breathing quickened,
And you held me tighter.
We quibbled about your fingers brushing my bare back,
And you pressed your face into my chest,
Refusing to let me keep running my fingers through your hair.
In the dark, we flipped over and over,
And I laughed
Because I had no idea what you were doing.
At one point, I sat on top of your legs,
Looking sheepishly down at you.
Then you shifted again,
And we laid side by side on the se

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that dead deceit

by ~sparkbearer, Aug 21, 2009, 12:47:26 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

Behold, the night born of a whim.
A certain fancy holds
Attaches with the string of stars
Unleashing ambers, liquids, golds.

Sit close by her, voices deep
The whisper of a thrill amongst
Unknowing crowds of knowing masks
A pleasant rush from lips that drunk.

Not hours next would truth be told
Or paper minds left to decay
The creases deep with blood to fold
On this night, a lie betrays.

Her head upon the dock does rest
And all the atropine now fades
The moon alights a deadpool blue
So to the ground will be her grave.

The soft and desperate plea alights
And demons snare the bleeding soul.
A murmured fall of dying flocks
That flew straight from the aching hole.

that dead deceitby ~sparkbearer

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

©2009-2013 ~sparkbearer

_{A poem I wrote after a painful scene in writing for one of my characters.}

=Jerepasaurus Mar 9, 2010 Hobbyist General Artist

Zomg! I r on my cellphone! Tedius as hell- no qwerty & sm screen! ;¡€¤¿%£)¥~*§ wth. Ha!

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~sparkbearer Mar 9, 2010 Student Photographer

lol HAAAAAAAAAAI

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~KatTragique Sep 5, 2009 Hobbyist General Artist

Your poetry is astonishing!

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~sparkbearer Sep 5, 2009 Student Photographer

Aw thanks

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~KatTragique Sep 5, 2009 Hobbyist General Artist

no prob :3

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=Jerepasaurus Aug 23, 2009 Hobbyist General Artist

AH AH AH CHELSSSS????!!!
IS THIS FROM THE ONE THINGY...THAT ONE SCENE...YOU KNOW??? DDDD8

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~sparkbearer Aug 23, 2009 Student Photographer

Yesss it isssss

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=Jerepasaurus Aug 23, 2009 Hobbyist General Artist

;_; I feel so special when the rps influence such emotion in your writting.

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~sparkbearer Aug 23, 2009 Student Photographer

awwwwwwwwwww

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!RainbowTitties Aug 21, 2009

_{You're writing is so beautiful and pulls at the heart.}

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