Alphonsus

Alphonsus,

a waxing crescent for every beam

only to be seen in the darkest hours.

but with strands of hair that gleams,

he bloomed among the sunflowers.

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how are you my very own dreams,

my teardrops from the rain shower,

and the sweetness of my cream?

it muddles me as i am devoured

by every thought that scream.

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Alphonsus,

i am, of the bitter and the sour,

but my cries are stronger than any stream

flowing around my ivory tower.

will you save me from the extreme?

or leave me like a perished flower,

still waiting to be redeemed?

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Know Where All the Bodies Are Buried

she has plucked eyes from a young child.

naive, but the imagination is growing wild.

she has stolen the mind of an old man.

slowly withering, but wisdom is her friend.
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she has a mimicked mouth of a public speaker.

talks more, and the words meant something deeper.

she has duplicated ears of a private listener.

talks less, puts down the mirror, and it wouldn’t be her.
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she has chopped off hands from an artist.

creative, but putting the emotions at risk.

she has the decapitated head of a writer.

put it in the clouds, it will make her mightier.
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she has the misplaced heart of a soldier.

vulnerable, and no, not a past holder.
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