Poetry by Cornelius Fortune

"Morning Alive"

Twilight suffers through my

bedroom window -

trickles down, in brief nuance,

as the rain patters against

cold glass: frost circles,

creeping, where dim lights

shudder in the city below,

disguised as bright bulbs,

with eyes that see, still

unseeing, to the fog that

thickens in a pool of unbroken

moonlight, toughing the edge

of the world; reflecting itself

in rivers, and oceans that

shimmer, but do not stir

And those drowned

beneath its depths, raise their

eyes and wait for warm flesh

to eat, warm blood and drink

My heart is filled with an everlasting longing

I lie back in my bed of damp soil,

and forget the rest, until morning -

a morning of blackness, and richly

layered shadows, slicing through the

skin of night, like razor to its task,

pruning with delight; the time I feel

  most alive

I lie back in my bed of damp soil,

and forget the rest, until morning -

the sky is bleeding with rain, and

it lulls me to sleep,

running through the veins of the earth,

as twilight suffers through my bedroom window...

"Twas Not Enough"

What moves? what strikes

my heart' s bitter strings?

are pulled to naught

and filled with dreams

Of nights well-spent with Moonlight

shone,

  confer to me your heart

of stone

It hardens, and my eyes doth dwell,

  amidst the garden, distant spells...

are woven, trusted, tried and

  bruised, "Enchanted spells,"

  they are to you.

To see more clearly,

distill the dust

within your mind 'twas not enough

As edges bend to curl and fret

The sentiment of stale neglect

The furnace burns to shape the heart,

from widow's eye, doth tear depart...

Blaze they more,

  These subtle words,

Blaze them, listless,

  sore-disturbed.

The little girl

  With eyes like fish

  who tore her dress, and tossed them mints

Her scaly arms

Her waxy face

Reflected in this curious place:

The sculptor's shop

   they moved without;

The crowds, to see;

   The moon, to not...

with smile, he gazes through the window

casting shadows.

sweeping indigo

All a show for those to know

  In puppetry, masks, and stories told:

"'Twas not enough!"

"'Twas not enough'

The marionettes, could say these words,

  with strings uncut and painted lips,

  'Twas not enough to make much sense.

"Rain" A poem told visually in comic format.

Only in Stories from Arlington. Buy it Here.

Cornelius Fortune.

Read his bio on the Stories from Arlington website here.

Other poems in Stories from Arlington incude:

"Death Factories"

"They Have Awakwend the City"

"Sleep"

sleep from the kiss

a thousand heartbeats

slowed, assuaged

in this deathly

chamber where you

sought death in my  bed

and love in your heart

Who brought you to me?

here, where the spiders

abound between webs

hundreds of years spun

the  cold winding corridors

black and crumbling

and enriched  by your

sweet, heavy lips,

parted, and bloody from the

tasting of my own heart

sleep dearly beloved, before

the morning touches thee,

and renders thy flesh to ashes