Someone to hold

I dropped onto my empty bed,
It's so empty, that traitorous bed!
"Choose!" I demanded haughtily,
"between the jealous air and me!"
By God! that lecherous bed said naught,
Why would he? He's always warmed,
By my willing body in his arms.
If not, the naked air is in his folds,
So he always has someone to hold.

Musings of a died soul #7

The placelessness of paceless time,
Is but a graceless wish,
You see the more you crave unstructured time,
The more structured it is.

Musings of a Died Soul...#6

My coffin smelled like scented blood,
Like sandalwood grown in warrior mud.
I torched the case in murderous rage,
And lit my bones with fury alone,
The wood then burned and the ashes soaked,
In the orange light of the blazing oak,
But it seemed as though the fire was broke,
Because while there was fire, there was no smoke.

The China Man

There once lived a China man,
Not chinese, a china man,
His hands were oh-so-hard.
But when he broke,
and became but shards,
His hands, I saw, were far from sharp.
They were china hands, not chinese hands,
Their texture was not like silk.
Ragged, yes, and rough enough,
But much like words, they were blunt when sharp.
They were, I'm sure, like all things glass,
Made of pain and fragile past,
So that when they broke, they awoke,
Memories that had long been ghosts,
And now, newly born, they made soft,
The porcelain womb of the shattered sop,
The sop who once was a man,
A sorry affair, known for his hands,
And when he broke his hands awoke,
Memories that reshaped his worth,
And now the broken china man,
Sits on my desk,
Without his hands.

# 5

When I was still alive I'd thought,
That being good was better than not.
But as I slept, good but dead,
A lightning notion struck my head:
If Life was time to do my good,
And Death a coffin to rest within,
Then perhaps Heaven's been misunderstood,
And is, in fact, reserved for Sin.

# 4

Once I owned a flawless face,
So perfect that it had no place,
In a world where beauty was a waste,
Disgraced, I had my face erased.

# 3

In my hand, when I awoke,
Were remnants of a heart that broke,
It was foreign, cold and made of stone,
Still, I stole it to replace my own.