Fear of Angels

[SoundlessFall]

Pale imitation or Promethean child?
Within this scabrous façade,
My skin of steel, my feet of clay.
Motes suspended in Sun rich vein,
That bleeds its light in stale corners.
Where cherubs pick upon the fallen,
And love lies crumpled now.
A rose unopened for a broken vow.
Am I not immortal?

Ghosts drink freely from the font,
The stained glass echo of moments lost.
Memory’s stones will weigh me down,
No gems upon my mortal crown.
Now shadows set where time has passed,
I see through eyes of broken glass,
And life weeps out where walls are thin.
A heart torn open where the world came in.
I have no fear of Angels.

[TarkovskyMirror]

I like this alot, however its style is indicative of my own poorly received poetry. Perhaps by presenting uncompromising creative vision, we lack the ability to relate to the emotions of readers...

On John Keats: Unfinished

Seek not those jewelled figures young Junkets glimpsed,

Etched fluctuating 'mongst constellation;

whilst sluicing 'twixt peaks exposed by heav'nly

Ploughs immersed, graceful in irrigation;

But pine to loaf clasped by tendrils of breeze,

As blade-bedded lambs of chlorophyll glee.

Yet lapse on occasion, nod spirit's plea

To circumvent contour, belie disease;

As Phosphorus' tease the cloud tundra sea,

Paint essences brood through natures fine freeze.