Delusions of Grandeur

Many of the first drafts of poems by J.T. Prescott.

30

Rusting knives

seems safer

as the edge becomes less sharp.

But, in dullness it still kills but

slowly though disease.

The beating heart is much the same.

As it loves so it no longer pines,

but all the same

it can be broken

and that feels like 

death.

29

Coat me in melted sugar

to drown the bitterness.

Polish me to a blinding luster

to erase any blemish.

Take me away

to forget what I was.

28

Want or want not,

on the rare occasion 

life gives.

How peculiar the day

when the birds fly backwards

yet who am I to argue when

they land on my shoulder.

-J.T. Prescott

-J.T. Prescott

26
-J.T. Prescott

26

-J.T. Prescott

23 (I keep butterflies in empty beer bottles)

I keep butterflies in
the empty beer bottles
that dress the edges of my consciousness,
that repel the disdain of the common,
that consumes the triumph of the considerate.

Vulgarity is but perspective and beauty deserving
no better a frame.
Iridescent scales dress the paper filaments
obscured through nicotine stained glass.
Like an old opium house
raggedy at the seams with nary
a straight timber, images dressed through a mirror
seem only as distraught.

Age,
age and
age again.
Frozen in silicate slag,
it lines every empty
heart.
Hearth of the transcendental
beckons to the immortal to marvel
at rippled reflections of reverence
faded in time like worn burlap stretched out among
the sun.

Across fields
established as a cruder mockery,
the emptiness of life abandoned into
glass.
Spectacles to the cosmic swirls that
trace the couriers of angels.
Rose colored.
Amber and fluid.

Trapped to unto and
from, life, death and
everything in-between.
A transient traveler of existence
and none at all.

Kept in the most I can afford
to keep it all the same
in bottles of trodden efforts.

So I keep butterflies in empty beer bottles.

Love and tragedy have always been one in the same.

But first I must drive you mad, because no one sane would love me.

22

We’re running from the things we buried long ago.
When we still had the ignorance to believe it could be so.

Since all the sleepless nights
that drag us from the sides
of that which we wanted
in the days still uncounted.

We’re running still
from things until,
we cease to hold
that of long ago.

jtprescott:

-J.T. Prescott

I saw a phoenixbreathe the breath of freshlife. Stepping from deathinto the threshold of a new day.I saw a phoenix spread glorious wings and take flight from thingsbefore the clipping could begin.I saw a phoenix return to the splendorthat once was, is and should be never once torn asunder.I saw a phoenix.
(Version II)

jtprescott:

-J.T. Prescott

I saw a phoenix
breathe the breath of fresh
life. Stepping from death
into the threshold of a new day.

I saw a phoenix spread glorious
wings
and take flight from things
before the clipping could begin.

I saw a phoenix return to the splendor
that once was, is and should be never once
torn asunder.

I saw a phoenix.

(Version II)