prophetic-prisms

[prophetic-prisms]

[prophetic-prisms]

Share a Poem - by OFJ

[prophetic-prisms]

A pale moon arcs over my home

bathed in milky dark

star specks and quiet

ever

It reigns

tall, soft, and haunted

pressing into my skin

in moon marks

I cannot sleep in the still

I set on the windowsill

inhabiting the habitual

cower and crystalize

engulf into routine

Its done this all before

so I can anticipate its path

I tell myself as much

I say

I can assume where next it’ll appear

with accuracy

I will access this avenue

my eventuality

a fastidious future rule

and I know you’re supposed to

wish with stars

but spinning in the cyclical

I sit in silver

I sink

‘this time it will be different’

sick with vision I still reject

my self fulfilling prophecy

paradox

yet I itch

I itch

I itch in my bones

I itch in my soul

I know I know I know I know

what’s going to happen to me

I know it

but please

deny me these times three

I will not go back to sleep

I will chase the moon across

the bleeding dark of sky

I will not let them see me cry

I will not let them see me cry

I say

two truths and a lie

I am no astronomer

I speak soft words into nowhere

I weave winding desperate rhythms

I sing static

I scream

I cannot calculate

astrological angle

I cannot compensate

for the soft rotten parts of my brain

leaving me aching and incapable

I move on

I spread my sun singed hands

skyward

yellow tone flesh

I swim in open air

I open my mind and let flow in

the visions

the spin of light and color and sound

and in I see

myself

cloaked

blue

in a new moon

I am begging

may the night spit

hum in my ears

an exorcism of my exhaustion

drown out the banshees wail

of wandering thought

I shake I hiss I tremble

I kneel down with my head in the soil

I rage

I ache

I lie

because I will be fine

I will be fine

for I know the night is not endless

I will awake in patchy haze

with sticky teeth and weeping sleep

I will feel the creep of dreams leave

I am my own keeper

I am my own keeper

but the night keeps me awake

and I sleep till the evening

and the quiet clings

how it clings

this won’t make any sense

this isn’t a pretty poem

this isn’t an ode

this is emotion without a home

this is a commentary

a circular thought

I feel the itch

I feel the itch

it keeps me awake

I cannot formulate

I cannot articulate

I can’t

I only feel

I am watching the moon

as I know I must

it reigns

familiar, dark, and haunted

for I am prudent

I am perpetual

and ever

I am

unwanted.

- untitled, by OFJ

[prophetic-prisms]

untitled by OFJ

[prophetic-prisms]

untitled by OFJ