a silent, fallen reprieve

the sun rose from heaven’s ashes,
and bathed the stairway
in glorious white light,
contrasted against the ebony
of the window frames,
and the missives of stone that
bore the brunt of the my soul.

I stood there, naked as a sparrow,
weighing the skins of moribund men;
I stood there, aghast
as light shone on the blackened walls.
soot and dust, thrust,
at the dawn of a thousand new days,
and I, below, must now helm
this decaying decree

outside, clouds full of ashes eat the sky;
and the flowers fall to the earth and the
birds drown in stagnant seas.
forests collapse and the trees indulge
in their colloquial vagary.
as caves full of three strung men,
in their blind disparity, are flung
to the edges of earth; and consumed
by limbless concretes of man,
and papers painted white.

I stood there, and I could hear,
the piercing cry of her only angel;
buried in the sands of the beaches,
with trumpets blaring and the angel
of death singing, on his steed and
whispering to the clouds to run
by his side.

I stood there, and from the frosted glass
I could see, the reprieve of Adam and Eve,
the return of man and his somnolent,
philistine, soliloquy.
I stood there, the floor tottering under
the weight of the glories and sins, that
I bore; in that grey cloth full of bones.

The bones of old men,
the bones of righteous men,
the bones of wicked men,
the bones of men who raped and pillaged,
the bones of men who burnt and destroyed,
the bones of men young who sought carnality,
the bones of men young who lost themselves
in that appetition,
and the bones of men who fell from the heavens,
but regressed into perdition

I stood there, as the tower quivered,
and I could hear; the conjurer whisper
with withering slight:
“Prometheus! Thy words reverberate,
in glorious austerity! Oblige!”
and lightning burnt the tip of their toes,
turned into sand with blood for bear.
I stood there, and I could hear,
chanting; in the tongues of snakes and lizards.

I stood there, as the unsufferable noise maligned,
and I could hear, the distant whims of an apostle,
for us; for the old men, and the young men.
Words minced, they slipped off his tongue and
danced like madmen, scurrying to the sounds
of thunder and molten rain.
“Our lives, sought! Destroyed! Our penance,
our sin, our purgatory!
Cursed be their children, and their wives!
Cursed be they with the boils of Egypt!
Cursed be their tyranny, let it be their fallacy!
Cursed be their filth, their tiny muddled papers of gore!
Accursed be they, and their thirst for infant
blood, for our dissolute land.
Accursed be they, for our infants muddied bodies
lie on their crowns; on their figments of gold
and diamond.

I stood there, and I could hear;
the vultures convulsing, awoken from their
age of coalescence.
To feed on the smoldering
ruins, to feed and then be aflame.

I stood there and I could see,
ships full of flesh and ash, drown into the sea.


2 thoughts on “a silent, fallen reprieve

  1. Your use of big (pompous:)) words does work,. I think the problem is with the editing. I dont think much attention is ever given to editing what is written. Remember Finding Forrester? ‘You must write your first draft with your heart. You rewrite with your head.’ and i agree with Sidrah, poetry (and writing for that matter) is not something you should let go of. You’re among the very few who seem to have a genuine talent for it.

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