poetry

Cloudless Rain

 

Do you sometimes stop and feel the rain touch your face?

However, looking up you saw a clear sky, cloudless heaven and the bright sun glaring, like a sarcastic remark on your feelings.

You half expect people to stop and offer you an umbrella

But, you forgot no one dies from rain, unless it is your fire that’s underwater.

Everybody’s walking yet, you still stood there.

Waiting for the imaginary rain to stop.

For the imaginary hands to hold you.

For something to make sense.

Like a movie, a moving panaroma of the world sliding out of your mind

Grip tighter,

Snap.

You are the actor playing the greatest role invented.

Bite your tongue, right foot forward, left foot, right foot. Remember the steps to the choreographed dance,

now more fluid, let your self relax to the lies.

Walk again, wipe the rain from your eyes. Put the grin back on. We’re on a tight schedule, a decade less til the encore

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To The Wolf,

You were awkwardly beautiful that day. Every word you spoke felt like howls. I did not know where that refined savagery came from.

You speak of things simple minds think as just stories and tales.

But, I heard you. I listened and felt the narrative dripping from your fangs. Those tasty gore you live for.

They thought it was a play.

I know that was your history. Your life. Stripped for all to see. Decorated with the carcass of a once glorious culture. But still, Atlantis sunk.

They were mesmerized with your poetry. Vibration of your voice resounds the home you’ll never see. Your pitch was so sullen and haunting, I can still feel the chill.

When you looked back on that day, did you see the burnt bridges and the dried tears etched in the ground?

Did you get to smell the smoke? Remember it burning your lungs and kissing your lips. Does it cloud your eyes? Follow the ashes – the only reminder of what used to lay there.

Come back to us. What do you see? What do you hear?

Nothing.

Only glazed memories, thrown into the deep. You smile as it reflect the sky, your feelings, yourself.

All the audience witnessed was incoherent sound coming out of a troubled soul. They saw insanity. I saw it too, and it was beautiful.

 

 

Path to Autumn

No redemption for the guilty, the crowd chimed.

Would that be for all ages?

The jury snickered trying the lyrics of the dead man’s tale.

A pick-pocket, a murderer, a failing grade

stood at the same line.

Inadequate that was the line they rhyme with every felon.

Inadequate food! Inadequate money,

inadequate time, work, thrill transcending to a metaphysical journey.

Then nothing, all the soaring plane that connects us meant nothing,

for all of it is inadequate.

Sweat will be for naught, for all of it is inadequate.

Might it grow so loud that it sparks mutiny?

A game played by the machine gun veterans.

Roulette if you will. More intricate, more designed to suit.

No empty barrel for the victor it was so sly it was sweet.

Humming the last song of the day may it be a decade less.

The symphony played with a duet.

Do you know why you’re here?

A nod, a shiver, a blank stare.

The uncoiling of events dictated by tongue.

Hunger makes one leave his inhibition.

The last guard of the rabid self.

The world lost touch or did I?

Humanity gone awry or did I?

Nothing to account for but the beating of empty plates.

Better to leave infested with bullets, it’s faster than starving.

The first wish come true resounding a BANG!

Silence, head turning, another sinner fell.

The way it gone with a thud, only remind the eyes what is to come.

Painting a summer’s day with a long begotten heat.

The way they fell was like autumn.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Not breathtaking as the season, nor silent for the soul.

Just as peaceful to delude safety.

A grandeur feat to mock the truth.

Splendor, term force fed to the crowd.

Free –falling from the orange sky.

Only to be seen again on yesterday’s paper, tomorrow’s sepulcher.

A horizon limited by the tan heaven.

Then nothing for all of it was inadequate.

Nothing to do here!

The speakers reverberated.

Herding to the next attraction.

Glitter did not make part nor the idle costume.

It was the words they sang, forever.

Do you know why you’re here?

A nod, a shiver, a blank stare like a silent dance required to tune the show.

 

Bloter: Panda