Radiate Autistica

Nobody ever called me Sunshine
Like a recluse I endured
The sound of solitude
The place where love

Meets alienation, dear alienation
A Nation where I had myself
Like an autistic poet
Mumbling in the social dark

With a longing gone unsatisfied
For the friends I never made
I am not sorry for my soul
For it can live a thousand times

But for a message of the
Humblest of moods, I bid thee goodnight
Nobody ever called me Sunshine
Like a sophist of the imagination

I swallowed deep, the sense
Of this was how I was, an existence
Private was all that I held dear
Strikingly anonymous, lonely and profound

I bore my grief with gentleness
I never excited anyone too much
My presence didn’t light
Your brightest smile, my smiles

Were invisible, as if for books
The light in my eyes was pure
It was a shadowy room
To be an island unto oneself

I’m tired though, of being
Overly familiar with myself.
Without too much joy, pride or
The feeling of being free.

Concept Credit: http://carynedmond.wordpress.com/2014/01/02/142/comment-page-1/#comment-31
Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/swimming-in-rivers-424271515

Eros in Retreat

I am waiting for my white butterflies
Summer’s babble of small noises
Where I can feel insignificant again
Behind crickets and proofs of God

I’m hoping that timely intervals
Will save me from this grief
Amidst the healing weeks
Of mourning and mornings

I have the patience of heart-breaks
That fly with delicate wings
Of youth’s love-sheath so tender
Bemused by nature’s glory

I am waiting for my sampled flowers
That have no flaw, but their unchanging beauty
That diamonds are only accomplished
After eternities, epochs long enough

That they forget what they once were
I am waiting for my single aims
To be accomplished in-between
The death of memories, it shall be sweet

To no longer recall who I have been
Or why art mattered, why love was cruel
And how the seasons fell, little squire anti-climaxes.