feels

please
make not
me ask-
the
silence
to
resonate
dissonant
sound,
when eves
shut eyes
weaving tapestried
lies
somewhere,
deep,
they sway
through dawns
swept dusks
others softly
setting say
this
emptiness,
chaotic as
it may;
could have,
should have,
merely must
may

what crisis
identity knows not,
how closing that
cosmos and stitching
stardust have
anything done with
their everything
gone

and afar
they drift
when apart,
to memory,
succumb;
their keep,
in cherish
of thought
they pray

oh fire,
please kiss them
this evil to rest,
in folly and fate
a bittersweet crest;
their, flame
fettish waltz
any weighs worth
through poorly knit
cobblestone
country and girth
o'er brooks of ms. mary
and grace do them drift
the solace of lily
in amber embrace
a solemn serene
fades entropy
clear to focus
fell

in heavens envy
of hells apathy
rest as ye must dear,
rise as ye may,
forget not the feel
either way


~Deus fortuno

that

something
vicarious
whispers
them;
stay,
gravity
shall return
when safety
forsakes fear
and shakes
delirium
between fragmented
thought
and naive reason;

this them
they see
shall change,
resistant
to fiction,
lived once,
lost twice,
beneath
realities
faithful to hope
while hoping for faith,
that this them shall remain
when all else
shall
change.

what is love?
how dare you
understand its
immortalized
understanding
of yours;
the whys
inside;
hugged
away from
pain;
mortality;
themselves-
these never meant to-
couldn't help moments,
alone
in the dark,
disappeared,
in cold thought,
completely missing
the point,
of purgatory;
the is of this
what-
coping
with knowing not
what to ask
or how to accept
the answer
in question.

They know,
no better
than experience,
but believe
in experiences
which have yet
to be;
born of
believing
wholeheartedly,
that these could
should or would
maybes
hold purpose
in this present
disbelief,
certainly they know
that then was when
is gone
the comfort
of sheets snug
and moons warm
of ignorant
understanding,
and innocence
who never felt
the dissonant
relationships
of soul
and spirit;
better them that
never learn,
than never live,
or live
without experiencing
the love,
of something
vicarious.

~Deus fortuno

be

she
doesn't get it,
the whole of
this nothing;
her purpose
within each word,
the sounds she heard
haunting
each breathless slur
of her

she questions,
how absurd,
that sense
should spawn of
nothing but his
absent presence;
dwelling,
where answers wait
beyond now yet
before then,
when his
present absence
first became nothing
but his memory
of her

she knows,
the sights
he sees
in search
of her
how rivers
flow
when he lives
these days
and survives
those nights
drown them;
save them all,
in ships
and sands
above this place
of complacent
existence.

she feels,
emotion-
distress, yet
knows she is
no damsel.
He is
no prince.
This is when
pain was named;
when neither hers
nor his served
any deference;
these faithful games
which loved for years
to play
would lust no more for seconds

She believes,
that belief in her is
Here,
beneath covers
tucked in,
ready,
his courage
waiting
to carry them where
found was safe
and lost no longer cared to lose her.
where madness meets method-
who said
they could not be-
should they
depend upon
perception or make
their own bed
for those weary few
who defy gravity
and live
themselves to
death.
How dare fate
be so cruel yet,
too kind,
to thieve what she
graciously sacrifices,
in faith blind;
that she shall breath;
hope,
in this apnea,
resting only
in daydreams
of her.

she holds,
that moment
close to her memory,
when his absence
meant that world
forgot to
feel; to be,
before he forgets
to live,
she visits
to give
a kiss,
to return this world,
to his lips;
that he may hope
to hold
some semblance
of her.

~Deus fortuno

enough.

She seeks something;

the what inside,

but where to find

time, to seek

the will

she hears things;

sounds,

rings,

sweet nothings,

stripping her sanity

oh, so slowly,

enough

she feels;

how she feels,

when she feels like it;

with love

this above ,

below depths unknown,

by those

nearly-close

enough,

to know

she is emotion;

a thought,

the word,

holding

its breath enough,

being as she does,

doing as she believes

she is time;

still,

moving,

always

and never

enough,

the same

she

she was before,

nor shall be,

the foreshadowed

memory

of eves that ever were

and never shall be

in time;

she shall feel

as she has never,

and ever

believed;

the something

she seeks,

the what

to find;

inside

of time,

she is,

and shall ever be

~Deus fortuno