#imperiallefty

Shallow hallelujah

a liturgy of slow breaths, sleeping so

sounding to the skies above

( & cries below, below, below )

the bellowing of the churchbell

some subway train

the corrupted engines

some lost rain

in this, the wind blows slow

like a sleeping breath

in the skies aglow

& we lie below

hurt our knees on hallowed floors

trying to find our [ sleeping; above / below; churchbells; trains; engines; rain; slow; breath, in - out - in - out - in ]

catch

these whispering desires

our dying flames

these shallow halellujahs

ice cubes clacking

against glass

empty hands curled against

your thighs

the bells aren't just for Christmas

sometimes angels

don't get their wings

tonight the lights in the sky

reflect the lights in the windows

lonely bodies

glowing bright

=====================

Prompt: "Call Off The Bells" by Early November

Thanks, @imperiallefty 🙂

A promise between poets

Her:

Let me wander north, toward better moments

and rest within your gaze as you appraise

my gentle touch upon your shoulder--

a moment of clarity, but my eyes show

a need for more.

Let me wander your streets, your halls,

your tombs within hand's breath,

and always in sight of you.

Him:

Let me swim through blue grass, and blue notes, and bruised mountains.

Let me take a deep breath, deep and drowning with the fragrance of your change.

Let me trace your finger with my wanting and never shed the weight.

This is wanderlust in miles and air and enduring.

Her:

I demand to know the haunts you creep

and paths your soles carry you through.

Let me live your forward momentum,

lead me by hand and voice and intention.

Take me through your city, through experience

and whisper how you wish to view me

when I take in your secrets. Then

let me know you-- and trace your words

with my tongue, your stanzas with my teeth.

Him:

I demand you recognize the face reflected in muddy puddles.

The fallen arches and arched spines of a city enraged.

I demand blood from full lips and names from full eyes.

I am a walking secret, the embodiment of a skyline at night.

I am light in the distance, a beacon unbecoming of hope.

I demand your tongue on a silvered platter, wet and waiting.

Her:

Take it. Take it all,

my attention, my focus-- the very buzz behind my eyes

that lures me to your grip, your ferocity

and hold me in place with palm

planted firmly upon my collarbone, my neck.

Give me permission to taste the crisp air,

and take away my privilege to stand.

You may have every gasp I make,

each made for you--

but only if you let me taste yours.

Him:

Red lights, red eyes, and late flights. You have my permission to run to them all.

There is already too much air between us, so swallow it all. Fill your lungs and float on.

I can only take what you give me.

I can only give what you ask for.

I can only be what you see.

Her:

Then let me be the waking desire,

while you retain the command.

Let me be the footsteps

betwixt your teeth.

Him:

all i feel is weariness, sadness, wanting to be free but feeling tied to her presence. i’m so ready to be done. to not feel guilty when i call someone else my best friend. she clearly doesn’t feel any remorse in losing my friendship, and that’s fine, but even though i wanted to be amicable, she made it very clear that she was done. so now her memory is bittersweet. disappointing.

i was always jealous of her. we were always compared to each other and i was always the one following behind. her singing was the melody, mine was a harmony. her musical talent was featured, mine was overlooked. she was the star, i was the cloud in her way. now that i’ve finally found my own moment, with people who appreciate what i can bring to the table, i still feel her standing behind me. and not in a good way. like i feel a guilt for being on a stage without her.

i don’t even know if she bought my book when it came out.

our years were spent slowly growing apart, never talking, never seeing each other on holidays even though we could have. it was a slow growth but it was meant to occur. we weren’t in high school anymore. depression and living alone changed me. hopefully for the better.

yet she was angry. angry that i was okay with the change that growing up makes. angry at not being among the first to know when i eloped. she was among the few months later crowd. because, after not talking for a year and a half...i didn’t consider her as someone in my support group. but suddenly, my marriage was about her. my happy moment didn’t include her. it wasn’t happy news anymore.

all this to say that i’m learning how to move on but i’m doing a poor job of it. i’ve unfollowed her but still stalk her page. i feel drained when she pops up on my story. she’s one of the reasons i’m growing more and more ready to log off, to disconnect, and yet...here i am, stuck in an addiction to old memories and the perceptions of others.

I can see the city sprawled out in front of me from my balcony. The sky is dark velvet scattered with twinkling diamonds inviting me to dare to dream. Whispering to me to fly, to be more than I believed myself to be.

Yet the cold, with its unforgiving claws burrows into my skin, holding me fast, stealing the warmth from my bones. Keeping me grounded. Refusing to let me be free. Mocking my attempt to wish for more, be more, struggle for more.

“Sleep.” It whispers. “Stay here. Stop struggling. Accept your lot.”

And the thought is tempting. Ever so inviting. What would it be like to finally rest? To come to terms with who and where I am and just…. Be.

With that thought, that whimsy, something in my soul cries out and I cast my gaze to the stars once more. Do I dare? Should I dream? Who am I to…

“Speak your wish.” A voice echoes in my mind. It’s deeper, more resonant, commanding. I can’t hear the whispers of the cold over this new voice.

As if it senses my confusion, the voice speaks again. Softer. No less commanding for the lower volume, but the entreaty – for that is what it is – doesn’t reverberate as it did the first time. “Speak your wish, dreamer. Acknowledge the words written on your heart and know that nothing is beyond your grasp.”

The words written on my heart it said. I don’t have words written on my heart. Mayhap the words the voice spoke of meant the ones etched, carved even, with a blunt knife and endless worldly woes. The ones that bleed when I’m wrapped in solitude, when I know the true meaning of being alone. Why would something so powerful demand I speak those words.

Before I can ponder any further, they are past my lips.

“Cradle me, silently and softly, until the summer dawn forgets my name.”

Warmth. Beautiful, revitalizing warmth flows from my center, breaking the icy cage that held me fast. A soft, comforting weight falls over my shoulders. A lover’s embrace. Warm, welcoming, achingly tender. Holding me fast. Cradling me, just as I’d asked. No words, no jibes, just warm, silent, acceptance.

As the sun rose, I knew, with absolute certainty who carved those words into my heart. I remembered why I had done it. Sometimes, when the night is darkest and the stars seem so far away, you need hope.

My heart may bleed. My bones ache. My body be weary. But through it all, I have hope carved into my heart and I know I am not alone.

What do you allow to slip through your shadows...

Is there room for the light of a new day that can chase away your shades

Can you begin to see light at the end of every tunnel and around each corner

With this do your shadows then begin to simply slide further away into the recesses of your heart and mind, leaving you room to put on a good face until the night returns

In the light of day do your shadows plot to keep you awake in the night reminding you of all your faults as they dance in the darkness of your now lightless being...

Allow in the light, so much light that it leaves the shadows and shades of your life nowhere to reside

Make them flee from you in such away that they can only return as a passing thought that is quickly whisked away without any concern of their existence

What do you allow to slip through your shadows, there is nothing allowed to pass them by but the light you hold that makes them run away if you want them to...

@writtenconsiderations

Image: Google.com/ slip through the shadows pics

our only earthly chance

to know who we really are

and how we arrived

at this ghastly jagged edge

of fate and the

Performance by Richard | Poetry | Mitti Ke Rang | 12 Hours Non - Stop fu…