honeydewhymns

they/them. chronically ill poet, witch & seer. animist & anarchist.

Grid View
List View
Reposts
  • honeydewhymns 14w

    Whirlpool Whispers

    I wish I didn't miss you as much as I do. I wish I could just let you go, leave you alone, let my memory of you finally rest. I wish that I would've done things differently.

    Maybe the gods decided that you're meant to be the biggest regret I carry, so that I remain grounded.

    But I still look up at the stars like they are pierced holes speckled in the night sky, a cosmic colander draining the world of it's beauty.

    In your ocean I wouldn't care if we had floated or drowned.

    I just wanted to feel weightless.

    ©hauntedblossom

  • honeydewhymns 18w

    For Him, My Daemon of Dusk.

    I told you 

    in the soft summer afternoon,

    how I believed in God. 


    I held your gaze

    and we parted ways. 

    The metal bat 

    we found abandoned

    held upon your shoulders. 


    I prayed the day wouldn’t come

    when we would grow older. 


    Maybe now

    you think of me

    and recall my smile

    or my tears. 

    I will confess

    this joy and sorrow

    only grew across the years.


    Today, in a blink of an eye

    I caved, felt the joy of you. 

    Felt those butterflies in my lungs

    remembered those times

    when we were young. 


    When this hungry world

    didn’t tear at our flesh

    like a vengeful ghost 

    refuses to rest. 


    And now 

    for all I know

    this love and agony

    was only hallucination. 

    I’ve homed this sweet disparity 

    as if loving the emptiness 

    would mean our salvation. 


    But through all these years

    my seeds of grief were sown 

    into the ground, 

    reaping harvest after harvest, 

    leaving much to desire

    yet less to be found. 


    Soon I looked to the sea

    witnessed a salt kissed 

    horizon of demons, 

    dancing in the waves

    eyes boring into me. 


    This ache of knowing

    I had no boat to steer

    to navigate that which on land

    seemed deceptively clear. 


    To know the moon 

    was your only master, 

    to feel wary of the storms 

    only nearing faster. 


    To feel the boon of 

    being a coward, 

    teasing your heart 

    just along the shore.
     

    And yet, I was the one

    left wanting more.
      

    ©hauntedblossom

  • honeydewhymns 21w

    Devil's Snare

    Six feet under lay the seeds. 

    Pockets of potential, dormant, 

    who rise according to need. 


    They are the seeds of wisdom, 

    which we wrought under 

    a steel pressure, the forge 

    of pure intuition, visions 

    of a better tomorrow. 


    Still, we find 

    the same pairs of eyes 

    ever burdened with sorrow. 


    Still only a few can accept, 

    that a sacrifice made 

    is rarely a promise kept.

    Illusions prey in light of day, 

    never falter until a sky has wept.  


    But the prophet

    who strikes them down, 

    isn’t a mercy often found. 


    Our machines still pierce

    through hallowed ground, 

    drain the earth of her blood. 

    And yet, our holy temples 

    preach of everlasting love. 


    Save me your piety. 


    When we all get drunk 

    to forget our enslavement, 

    there is no such thing 

    as godly sobriety. 


    A rebellion is afoot, 

    a hearkening, beware. 

    For the devil’s snare 

    runs now among the fray. 

    And the very air we breathe, 

    instills young dreams of today.

    ©hauntedblossom

  • honeydewhymns 29w

    Dream Killer

    I once met a man,

    who inspired me to live

    with my eyes wide open.

    Never once foreseeing

    when light would come,

    blind my mind

    in its stead, cindering

    dreams, scorched in red.


    I have grown accustomed

    to sewing my eyes shut,

    just to know what it is

    to feel his shadow.

    Sorrow and rage, and

    their delighted hypocrisy,

    were never strangers to me.


    Sometimes I think

    I am like my father.

    Such acute obsession

    with mending things

    once they are torn

    beyond recognition.

    The foolish man

    will entangle himself,

    weaving a dead heart together

    because he can not bear

    the sight of the bloodless one.


    My skin is pallid now, 

    with limp arms that

    only ever wanted to hold you.

    Don’t come back for me.

    Don’t hunt me down

    in the black of night.

    The moon has no color,

    and she is a friend to me.

    But you, the sun, have created

    a kaleidoscopic wilderness.

    One I can no longer fathom,

    or navigate, without

    the warmth of your embrace.

    ©hauntedblossom

  • honeydewhymns 36w

    Bloodshot Eyes

    When scarlet spirits

    kiss the sky,

    like the pink

    of bloodshot eyes.

    There is no time

    left to cry.

    Their hot tears seep

    into dry earth

    and crumble empires.

    ©hauntedblossom

  • honeydewhymns 37w

    My Mind is an Animal

    My mind is an animal.

    I see the world 

    already devoured.

    Prowling the land,

    making my journey inside 

    the belly of the beast.
     

    The drive, traffic lights.

    Red green yellow, 

    a bitter symphony 

    of breaths 

    and engine stammers.


    This is the way I love you.

    Hunting, 

    in between moments. 

    Careful affection carved 

    from a dying oak of harmony, 

    placed on the urban shrine

    of your memory. 


    And to my sadness,

    no drop of working sweat

    will ever graze my lips

    with the same sweetness

    as your name. 


    I have done my mourning

    of our passion instilled

    in a summer rain faraway. 


    The art of knowing 

    a love is no longer, 

    is seeing the sun rise

    on this house made of oak;

    a haven for your haunt

    but never our bodies.


    ©hauntedblossom

  • honeydewhymns 40w

    The Land of Milk and Honey

    How bone chilling it is

    to be desired as deep

    as the ocean can know. 


    He meets my eye 

    through a parlor window.

    The rain slicks the pane, 

    obscuring his frame 

    so that my heartbeat 

    joins in rhythm 

    with the thunder. 


    Then he steps inside, 

    his gaze brought to light.

    Those brown eyes, 

    a sickly sweet honey, 

    his smell more enticing

    than fresh stolen money. 


    It didn't take much

    for my body, my hips

    to melt under his touch

    his hands, his lips. 


    Soon, the heat will return 

    in the Summer

    and he will go home

    to some other lover. 


    But when the snow

    touches ground, 

    our love is abound. 


    His kiss on my skin

    is a flurry of sunlight 

    kept safe within,

    for my hearth

    has no other flame but ours.


    Godly ministers

    will condemn us of sin, 

    but when our bodies embrace

    no one can tell 

    we were ever apart. 


    And I swear on my grave, 

    I see heaven in the lines 

    of his face. 

    Landmarks of laughter, 

    grief, unwavering labor.


    And I knew 

    from the moment I met him

    that our love would be as rich

    as their Saints could ever savor. 


    ©hauntedblossom

  • honeydewhymns 40w

    A Siren's Psalm

    I have met Death,

    trembled before his face.


    It is the Fate of one

    making love to a fool,

    with a mind too clever

    to know Grace.


    Still I scorched the church

    when I vowed to never,

    raised up Hell, all

    to mend his pain.


    I awoke, my

    life force drained,

    my lover escaped

    in the night.


    Yet body remained,

    strange and

    flushed with color.


    Soon night returned,

    again I yearned

    for the skin of another.


    I preyed on the hearts

    of prideful men, with

    spines so weak,

    beguiling to bend.


    Tainted his blood

    'til he reeked

    of burning candles,

    flesh as ghostly as

    his bitter end.


    With a chest as hollow

    as the dark wood, perhaps

    deadly devotion

    can be understood.


    We exist now

    as mere apparition,

    lips embrace in ocean waters


    whom kiss the sands of time

    at shore, and births

    once more, a Dream.

     
    A hope and a hunger

    buried within, as

    restless as the sea. 


    ©hauntedblossom

  • honeydewhymns 40w

    When the Orphan Becomes A Mother

    I hold you in my arms

    and none of my limbs

    act as a cradle would.

    And yet, you leap

    into my grasp,

    bury your face

    in my shoulders.

    I spend the nights

    wondering, as you sleep

    if the darkness will ever

    swallow you whole

    the way it did me.

    If I ever had

    to sever the cord

    connecting one’s

    soul to this world.

    If their grip on you became

    e’er a touch too rough.

    I’d do it for you, my love.

    You are the light that

    ensnares all my doubt.

    And if we had nothing

    but a corpse

    left behind for shelter,

    a house you’d gain.

    And as the house is weathered,
     
    forever would you still remain.


    ©hauntedblossom

  • honeydewhymns 40w

    Revolution

    Our faces belie the ache 

    for change, the churning 

    of heartache and hellfire. 


    We deny our desires, 

    yet know them as true.

    Our hunger pangs ooze

    from our bones as a muse.


    Our tracheas torn, 

    an endless gust 

    of wind escaping. 

    Valiant voices 

    disperse the lies, 

    the ones they tell our young. 


    Woeful wanderers

    walk down the street, 

    phantoms of themselves.

     
    Our blood pays the price

    for time under the sun. 

    It's shadows erect

    plasmatic pulpits

    which siphon our hope,

    command none to run.


    Communions of passion, 

    carefully stoked 

    over cold lonesome nights. 

    Agonized hours resisting 

    the daemon of fright. 


    A renaissance of rage,

    smelter and forge

    warrior blades 

    who refract light,

    break illusions

    who dwell in the shade.


    We speak our stories

    illuminated by campfire, 

    of humanity freed.

    Oh, hallowed was the sight

    when mercy became our creed.


    And now we gaze

    at the moon's eerie glow,

    recall how blindness

    and fruition of faith

    is all we'll e'er know. 


    ©hauntedblossom