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I hailed from a shadowy corner To the rise and the fall of a chorus Devoid, of any shame I’ve been lead Through the smoke-laden halls Into a lair of poetics And mercy, was freely dispensed I was slowly enthralled Then involved In the frantic affair Scrawling Screaming Then simmering, Satisfied and silent
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Shame always wrings me dry. Like a mangy sponge; Forgotten and shriveled In the bathroom sink.
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I have finally quenched the fuse That would have fed me to the flames, Tumbling and wheezing as shrapnel I have taken a parcel of ease Where the wooded frames of tomorrow Will shelter, The growth of young dreams Stalling the pillars of smoke That will someday leap From the ashes of a fragile peace…
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These days I resemble The vault of the sun Obscured, in silver skies Mirroring, the death of its arc In the same faint shades of red That spill into black I lunge for the heavens Again and again All to burn off the veil Of stagnating sorrow Forevermore, Seeking, A breach, In all the worry
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Floating, on a gradual wind Is the sweet-relief of words Repaid in full A parcel Offering, peace of mind Having braved the great plains For the salted breeze of the west The rise of her vital signs Will move me to scrawl Into rivers of sweat Drawing me close To being wholly engulfed By her…
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Won’t time Simply drain away Giving up new ground To the hush-filled hours I adore? I’d prosper, Gratefully Like a youth on the eve Of purity lost Won’t time simply budge From atop the heave Of this dying form? So that I might be flooded With certainty at last
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I am always tied Into a series of homemade knots; Always waiting For the curse and the crash Of calamity’s voice
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How can I compose While consumed in awe By the lofty tales of a bard? How can I sing With tearful eyes, When I’ve been razed to dust By a whirlwind of truth? “Perfection,” Rips through my mind And I must indulge Getting good and lost In the curves Of her heavenly songs
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It’s a straight shot Through a den Of unchecked illness and squalor The embrace of clutter Is a putrid vise for the soul As you dance, with each maddening voice That foams at the shudder Of your wealthy frame Show nothing But a hardened scowl Or cash all of your chips Into the seething gutters…
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Originally posted on Raja's Insight: Photo Credit: Pixabay.com ? Ode to the Talking Drum Fair instrument of melody, I salute the mind you possess, keeping dance in your custody, and your own notions you express separately, among peers in Ayangalu’s hands. Mighty are the rhythms you’ve got, conveyed beyond a thousand mile; you are cousin…
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