Mad Hearts

I do not want your tulips.
Their cold bloody breath does not compare
to a waltz to the moon wrapped up in your floating arms and torso.

Woman!
I am a madman at sea drinking an unfavorable elixir of brine and shine of moon.
Tell me the time and I will bring you a viper’s heart.

Love is a jackal in the forest after a fire.
It doesn’t belong there; it treads in ashes searching for bones.
Don’t let the hunger consume.

(napowrimo day 9….also, for prompt here: http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2017/04/twitter-me-gothic-poem.html )

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10 Comments

  1. Rosemary Nissen-Wade

     /  April 9, 2017

    Oh, divinely executed! Wonderfully Gothic. (Hmmm, 2 = Coleridge? Byron?)

    Reply
  2. I love this, especially:
    “It doesn’t belong there; it treads in ashes searching for bones.”

    I found this prompt delightfully difficult. You have done it justice.

    Reply
  3. Fantastic! Like Rosemary, I also thought the second stanza was your interpretation of Coleridge’s–I suppose it’s projection on my part, since the sharp interjections and the thought of mind altering substances made me think of “Kubla Khan”.

    I love the images you’ve gifted us with, especially the ones in the last stanza.

    Reply
  4. sanaarizvi

     /  April 10, 2017

    Such a strong and powerfully penned poem! Sigh…❤️

    Reply
  5. This is AWESOME!!!

    Reply
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