Thorn and Benediction

Poetry

Recent

  • Perfect Profile

    The glass-eyed twin in circuits swells with fire,
    a burnished mask unscarred by sweat or clay,
    where flesh is pared to image, desire to wire,
    and breath lenses in spectra hushed away.

    This flawless shade of pixel, forged in glare,
    outblazes pulse and tremor in the heart;
    the maker falters, hollowed in its stare,
    a husk estranged, unstitched from blood’s remark.

    The echo’s throat is sonnet, not cry,
    it sings the singer’s hymn yet wears no grief,
    it bears the face, but none of time’s reply,
    it gleams unspent, a counterfeit belief

    So are we undone, estranged from our own hands,
    lost in the shine no earthly face withstands.

  • Bone and Constellation

    The body waits,
    a rhythm held in the cage of breath,
    the quiet pressure of blood
    leaning against its own silence.
    Muscles curl like paused tides,
    joints suspended in the memory of motion,
    fingertips touching nothing but the air’s patience.

    The cosmos waits,
    light crossing time too wide for memory,
    stars balanced on the edge of their falling,
    each orbit rehearsing its return.
    Nebulae thicken and thin
    in the slow exhale of galaxies,
    dark matter shifting imperceptibly
    beneath the weight of uncounted years.

    Between bone and constellation
    a single tension thrums:
    we are the pause stretched thin,
    the stillness before collapse,
    the asking before reply.
    We wait in the pull of gravity,
    we wait in the tremor of pulse,
    we wait in the hollow of our own existence
    as the universe stretches,
    leaning toward the shape of what is to come.


    And so we wait,
    threaded into heavens and flesh alike,
    a trembling filament
    in the endless weave,
    where every heartbeat,
    every orbit,
    every flicker of starlight
    is both pause and promise,
    both stillness and onward motion,
    matter and meaning suspended
    in the slow loom of time.


  • Mother of the Muses

    Shadow obscures my sight, unclear,
    A cataract fret that hangs and stays.
    Murmur mute, I cannot hear,
    The voices lose their shape.

    The hours ebb and fade away,
    My tongue is heavy, speech unsure,
    What happened to my song today?
    Can’t hear the words.

    The light is dim, it shrouds my eyes.
    A rhythm flows around the room.
    My heart beats slow, a dull reprise.
    I almost…

    I listen now but nothing stirs,
    A desert day of no sensation.
    A distant flicker reoccurs
    Is there something I remember?