Ghosts

He lost the pulse of his ghost, there trembling in his hands,

Then gone on the soft spine of summer's furious winds.

.

He could have kept it there, caged between his warm palms,

But the eagerness in his soul wanted to share the stormlight

With this precious darling fluttering with moth dreams

Against the calloused skin of hands that wanted only to rest.

.

Keeping it close, in a safe pocket of heat, could never nurture

The cold violence whipping through the undercurrent of this passion,

This love that dug claws into the fabric of the universe and ripped,

Tearing lines through the open abyss and forcing the cosmos to cry,

To lament the horrific violation of the black chasm, the abyss of its heart.

This love has never been anything but hungry for destruction.

.

Because within the bleeding heart of destruction lies the ineffable truth

That he was here, he loved, he bled, he fought, and he perished

For the expansion of the universe inside his chest, cracking his ribs,

Only for the world vibrating around him to turn a blind eye and pretend

That he had never been born in the first place, that he had never

Run working-man hands through the hair of spacetime and made her cry.

But to believe that the spiralling galaxies wept for the cuts on his soul,

Would be to believe that man himself made the cosmos fall in love.

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This is actually from a series I'm working on which will eventually be published roughly called "Entangled Ghosts". Others are below. Since it's world Quantum Day, I figured why not!

The Shadow of the End

Smoke in His Teeth

Bleeding Petals

The Tether

The Strings of Night

Obsidian Water

The Cottage Window

Nighttime Pastime

I long To Be Chained