Are we dead?
Disconnected in our palms, forgetting
To look up at who sits across from us,
Living under the shelled blanket, keeping
The world far away from ourselves,
Trying to capture every moment, while losing
Them all, to the passing ticks of the clock
Tied firmly on our wrists,
Why log in, when we’re so close to living?
Lost in the long press to function,
We hide from sight, while thinking we’re seen.
©DorianPoe2016
Torn paper, left in the shadow of ruin,
No matter the words stained there
A fire, breathes out from the lost rage,
It doesn’t belong here, what was once
A place of ease and passion,
Yet the fire rummages within this place,
Breaking what once was,
Gaining speed and strength in its swift
Movement through the deserted light,
It swallows everything, leaving it all in ash
Unrecognizable remnants of memories
Out of mind, buried in the flame,
What was once a home, is now
A cemetery, with no one to mourn
For the passing, the vanished life of all
Who laughed within these walls, cried
And shook in the comforts of loving arms,
Step out, beyond the chaos of what once was
And see the world, matches the home in ash.
©DorianPoe2016
Reduce silence, demands the moment
When he kneels at her presence,
Clutching his heart, trying to suppress
The spew of his emotions,
Feeling the chill of her gaze upon him,
And the heat of her breath, swallowing him,
She then started climbing down
From her pedestal, her steps
Echoing, through his armor, pervading
His self bounded steel,
Yet all she has to do, is haunt his wound,
Placing her hand,
Upon his quivering shoulder,
Then reaching in, for what he tries
To shield, from her invasion
Upon his shattered crest,
Every time she grabs hold, his breathing
Halts, as if he had forgotten how to,
Iced over and left for the stalking truth,
He is deathly afraid
Of the world.
©DorianPoe 2016
The heavy shade suffocates the morning
As I wonder out, from my lavish cradle,
Having only the finest cloth, grace
My pampered skin,
Consumed, in my possessions,
As I blur out the rest of the world,
From my glass house,
Original paintings kept in a closed room
Just to brag, of my ownership,
I surround myself with these marvels
And made famous by them,
I have it all, yet nothing still,
Only I sat unaware, until a crash
Upon the vacant canvas perched above, Sending down a reckoning in it’s storm,
And when all had cleared, my glass house
Stood high, and intact of my possessions,
Then came a slight tapping
Of tiny stones, scratching my home,
A lost boy, amongst the wreckage,
I come out in a stampeding rage
As another stone, leaves his hand
Shattering a pane of my possession,
When I turn back, to release my fury,
There’s no boy, vanished into the fog,
Sweeping, echoes the destruction
Laid upon by a nuisance,
Until he reappears, lightly tapping
On my fragile door,
I slowly march over, with red burning
In my eyes, yet the boy waits,
He doesn’t speak, no apology for chaos
But a piece of parchment, handed to me,
“No stone has less value than the idols
You carry in your heart, weighing you down. ”
When I finish reading, the boy is gone,
Vanished into the nothingness
From which, he came,
Later that night, another storm
Beckons beyond the range,
Flashing, lighting up the entire canvas,
This storm, brews more fierce than any
My possessions can withstand,
I begin to pack, wrap and move my gems
To a safer hold, but it’s too much,
The bellowing wind brings warning
With the storm, right behind it,
Smashing against my home,
Shattering more than what the stone did,
Waves of monumental hight, pounds
Against the inside walls, tearing apart
My woven cloths and sheets,
Lighting from Olympus blasts through
The shields of the dark closest,
Burning the scenes, I forgot about,
All the while, I’m here
Watching from striking distance,
Who was that snotty little boy
That stole my life away,
It was him, that brought forth Poseidon’s
Cruel and unusual punishment,
For all I did was live within a museum
Of fortune, inside a glass house
For all to see,
Until all, is but a common phrase
Shouted out,
But I threw no stone, rock or boulder,
I kept sacred, all that made me
An island of buried treasure,
Only to have it lost to the sea,
Now, there is only me,
I once had a life, blink,
And you would have missed it,
It was filled with outrageous fortune
But, that all vanishes, I squandered
Away my years, idolizing materials,
Things that would not hold me,
Things that would not make me feel,
Things that would never stop me
From vanishing, long before I realized.
©DorianPoe 2016
In a solitary confinement, the colossal
Dismal creature stalks the scorched plank,
Lining up it’s prey upon its platter,
Paralyzed, to the plate she whimpers
Fighting against the dread of his bite,
Immersed in the pulsating moments
Of when the ivory blade
Would strike upon her, while the beast
Salivates In her blood, swallowing, by the pint,
Where art thou, dear hero?
What fairytale have you gone into
And forgotten this fair maiden?
While the silent fire ignites in reflection,
All senses, return from the abyss,
The hero rises, from the hollow black
To find the sand is wasting,
His sight, beckons for her,
As he finds the beast, swiping
His tongue across his lips,
With the maiden, in it’s grasp,
Our hero lunges, with his burning blade
Slicing through the solemn echoes
Of the beasting growl,
And strikes!
The hero rose, dismantled within
To fight against what all feared.
©DorianPoe 2016
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