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Poems by Lace Wilson

Timeless Spiral

The fingers of shadows
Find ways to seep through a soul
Even the most empty, deadened breath
Leave trails of life
A heart's mist will animate a soul without a touch
Intuitions release inhibitions where dreams lie
Captivating without a try
Thoughts cloaked with fear
Are left unknown
Untouched by eyes
Unfelt my sensation
Left to be examined by a weeping spirit
Shown to your soul-an angel
Learned by your heart-a dream
The beating of a heart that you want to stay
A drowning feeling that you wish would slip away
Yet promises are left to rest on your fingertips
With each gaze
With each anticipation
The sensation that wallows inside your soul
Is felt sleeping inside the depths of your mind
You're left with one last chance
One conceived hope
An unprepared heart closes its eyes
To a darkness of an undying peace

Message of the Stars

The trees whisper your name when the winds ask
The rain repeats your name when the skies bow
I see your eyes in the faces of children
I feel your breath on my lips
Your tears layer my window
Only glass between your hurt and my touch
I search for answers in the heavens
Since they have known you longer than I
You lie silent in my arms
My eyes lie silent upon your brief movement
The shape of sound appears
Colors can be heard
My heart reaches yours in the distance
My lips meet your smile at just the right moment
The glossy moonlight sets the stage for a divine trance
I see more than I can see
But I never see enough
The holographical universe is a talented magician
A magical artist
With you as the brush and my heart as the canvas
A beautiful picture is painted
This picture being the message of the stars

The Field, The Flower

The possibility of change so far away
Swirls of anger inside my body
Fighting the pressure to be realeased
Voices so loud
Leave my senses craving for a lonely silence
One even lonlier than the loud voices
The deafening screams of hate
All incorporated into a massive circle
Of barbwired imprisonment
The escape is nearly impossible
Though a bland field
surrounding a flower
is beyond the cage of razor wire and voices
So beautiful and deserted
The feild moves farther away
Beckoning for me to conjure up the courage to remove
the fear I possess in here
Yet the field is so tempting
The flower so beautiful
I would be a fool to remain
I need quiet
I need those eyes
That penetrate this wall of
sturdy impossibilities
I need that flower in that field
So perfect
So fine
So complete
Everything that I am not
Everything that I have never been
I press firmly
against the barbwired restriction
Blood flows from these open wounds
Dying to be let free
The pain is nothing I think to myself
As I watch my blood trickle into the hard ground floor
The field
The flower
That is all I need

The Future I Have Heard

The warmth of my hands
Show me how I taught myself through
Illogical landscapes with you
Scribbling on napkins
in foreign ports
All sorts of patterns of thought
That I don't travel anymore
All kinds of people that I don't write into the score
When I watch you turn from me
And quickly walk away
You're so far from
admitting I was urged
From under your deep weather
You may never hear
The future I have heard
The sound rebounds off the highest plateau
Of the people I will meet
And the people I will know
If I go
The fruitility of your lips
jumps from a styrofoam cup
The liquid gone
The conversation strong
The leaving is the hardest part
I have to endure
Sentiments like shadows grow long
Your tears collect outside my window
Like a determined storm
I am still the worst
company that I have ever kept
I just didn't want you to see
My weakness as I wept
I still define myself
by the places I have been
I just didn't want you to see
me traveling in between
Because, to me
I'm not doing anything to you
I'm just not doing
what I used to

Reflections at 30,000 Feet

At this height
Indiana is just a concept
A checkerboard design
of wheat and corn
Imitating the foldout section
of my neighbor's travel book
At this stage of my journey
I would estimate
That the distance between myself and my feelings
Is roughly the same
as the mileage between
Washington and New York
So, I can lean back
And melt into the rough texture
Seatbelt tight
And get lost between my arival
And today's lunch
I'm a little bored
A little older and strange
I remember as a dreamy,
backyard kind of kid
Tilting my head to watch
those planes engrave the sky
So steady and straight
They imply enormous concentration of good men
But now my eyes flicker
From the clouds passing by
to my stumbling penmenship
I begin to drift off
And reflect on the lifestyle
I've adapted
The lifestyle where men throw
harpoons at something
Much bigger and probably better than themselves
Wanting to kill it
Wanting to see great clouds of blood to prove they exist
Imagine being born and growing up
Pushing through the world
For 19 years
At unimaginable speed
Imagine a century like a room
So large
A corridor so long
You could travel a lifetime
And never find a door
Until you have forgotten
That such things like doors
It's better to be up here
Sailing through the air
At 30,000 feet
Reflecting on what I forgot to know
Remembering the smiles I have embraced
Avoiding the incessant chatter of the passangers behind me
Here I am
At 30,000 feet
And closer to the earth
Than I have ever been

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Biographical sketch: I'm a transgendered teenager from Nowhere, Pennsylvania. My mind is constantly caught between an abyss of love and hate. (It makes for interesting poems, I suppose :-)

Lace Wilson recommends:

The Rose That Grew From Concrete by Tupac Shakur

Reason: Tupac was a brilliant writer in any sense, whether it be poetry or musical lyrics. He and I
share the same background and feelings - of course that would make it my favorite.

Recommendations for writers:

Hmmm, I don't really *think* when I write poetry. I just take a personal experience, thought, feeling, etc and place a pen in my hand. The emotions write themselves - therefore, no poem is ever "bad."


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