Howls Of The Lost Lunatic

howls of the lost lunatic

the ecstasy of forgotten time

of the void impalpable by feeling 

of this cavity in my heart

this disaccord of light

that bleeds through the dark 

that touches the depths of these caved in walls

that touches despair’s budding shadow

soaked in this arid guilt

while we’re pushed in the gulf of hysteria

searching for the words

to our own lost poetry. 

© Margaux Emmanuel 

the river

Let’s go down the river

treachery 

the liquid flows

ever so rapidly 

this undefined blur 

screams imperishably 

let’s flee down the river

perhaps die hastily

© Margaux Emmanuel 

a bird’s haiku

Serenading sky drunken poet in disguise clouds blinded by lies.

© Margaux Emmanuel 

hunger

Faceless swains embrace each other before me. I sigh. My shriveled lips hang apart. Alas, they shall never meet again. 

One lover goes left hesitantly. The other goes right reluctantly. An ephemeral bliss. When all will have been said and all will have been done, an eventide will cease to darken one joint path, but will darken two separate ones, forever altered with the reverberation of a known solitude. 

And I watch. 

Lingering appetency. 

So here I sit, idling for eternal oblivion or eternal rest, humming too loudly a requiem to my juvenile years. 

But I cannot seem to make the lay rhyme, once again. 

Despondency comes and sits by me. 

But my mind continues to lumber, aimlessly, searching for colubrine parity, this inexistent equity, in this world drunken with disfavor. 

© Margaux Emmanuel 

the forbidden oddity

A child plays in the courtyard of a damned palace carrying out turbulent fantasies.

He paints the walls with a smiling mediocrity.

He’s thirsty for the sky’s sweetness, but his superiors dance around his enclosure saying that he’s too frail for the monstrosities. 

So he sits in front of the gateway holding an unwanted levity.

Forsaken paint sulks, welcoming an unknown uniformity. 

A child waits in the courtyard of a damned palace swallowed by disability. 

© Margaux Emmanuel 

a vision

​Bankrupt fingers abrade lonesome chalkboards. Maimed hearts are stolen by an ephemeral breeze. Wounded minds meditate upon the adrift boats of the past.

Then, thoughts disembogue, and everything around you stealthily disappears.

© Margaux Emmanuel