As Simple as a Rose

Posted on by the_dorian_poe

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She moves through grey mounds
Of gusting clouds, pushing
Through doubt and confusion,
Sipping on the drizzles of faded light,
She balances herself, strolling through
An uneven, cracked dry path,
Nothing but a wasteland
That stretches, over the boundless,
Dusky raggedy dress
Reflective, of her world
Seen seamlessly through her eyes,
Along her path, she finds color
Growing out, from the dead soil,
A cluster of roses rises
From the nothing of the deprived,
She bows down, to sink
In the sight of this spurting fairy tale,
She threads one of the roses
And it melts the prosaic,
Streaming away from her,
Now, with a spark in her eye
And the rose in her hair.

****

He waters the same spot
Everyday, at the exact time
He lost everything,
Before that moment, the world
Had a different bounce,
The sky, expansive and wondrous,
Before that moment, he never knew
A splinter of pain,
But within that moment
He was flooded,
In a crash of light upon
What is now, the eternal dessert,
He waters the spot
She was taken away,
He grows for her,
He continues to change back
What was ripped away from him.

Nightmare II

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A sudden clasp around my heart
Making it a struggle, to dig deeper
Where she lays,
A whisper of smoke
Creeps beside me,
Drawing the heavy shade
Upon the peephole of the shaking door,
Stalking the lurking of a buried secret
Residing, in the casket
Along with her,
I keep going, focused
On the pit I’ve dug myself into,
And as I go deeper
I can feel the sand crushing
Upon my back,
Forcing me into the earth,
Choking on every breath
With a tightening wrench,
Pleading, with the never ending mine
To bare the tomb to me,
For I feel the fire of the underworld
Incubating in the crawlspace
As I strike, upon the eternal domicile,
Bruising fists trying to break in
I open to stare onto my cold pose,
Secret revealed
I am no longer living,
With the persistent chime
Pursuing my consciousness.

Toll for the Ferryman

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I’m banished to the unspoken,
Where fevered nights last beyond
It’s toll, paid by a dark smile,
Dragging the chains belonging to those
Fused to the brittle walls
That sharpen their daggers,
Only to dig out their own hearts,
I’m at the dock of a screaming river
Where lost bleeds onto it, carrying it
On it’s paddled tide,
From out the fog of despair
Comes the stalking boat,
I dig through my pockets, empty
Still digging,
Hoping to carve the toll I need,
Non left upon cold eyes,
As it nears the huddled dock
The boat thuds against it,
Shaking my insides,
From out the nothingness of the cloak
That rows the floating carrier
A hand of rotting bones
Spilling maggots from its reach,
Pulls for me,
Waiting for my part of the barter,
The cloak senses my silent beggary
Without even facing my way,
An open palm slowly molds
Into an outstretched pointing finger, but
Not at me,
To a black cavern
That might as well be part of the wall,
It’s oblivion in this afterlife,
I collapse to my knees
Tugging on the heavy drapery
That pays me no attention,
Still pointing
Towards the engulfed wind,
The ferryman enraged, lifts his oar
Bringing it down upon the ground
Where I’m kneeling,
Giving it a violent quacke,
Then reverts back to pointing
At my eternal chasm,
I rather the immortal inferno, but
No penance for the ferryman
Brings about, an interminable wait.

Future

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How transparent is the road ahead?
How many hands claw at you
As you mud though the prickling road?
Do you find yourself being pulled back
To the place where you’ve been burnt?
Have you been stranded here long,
Looking at the blind compass
Battling the barking low
Of what you left behind,
What do you see, on the plateau
In the still yonder?
Or are you taking steps in the preceding?

Long Way Down

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It starts to crack,
Heavy feet upon
The fainting window pane
That he, weighs himself upon,
Forced and enclosed,
Looking for Houdini’s key
As the twisted arm
Of the counting man
Does not hesitate to tick,
Each crack bellows louder
As he frantically searches, for the exit,
The clocking hand racing
Towards the finale,
Eager to see him fall into the pit,
Where he will be swallowed whole
By the beast that stalks the end,
How can he free himself
From this entanglement?
How does he mold back
The glass that has suffered?
Feverish cracks continue,
Shattering the glass he perched on,
The click of the killer clock
Is gratified.

Think, write, create

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You live within the storming forest
Where the leaves, hide
Characters, the taller, and older
The trees get,
Still wild and colorful
Inside the shrinking woodland,
They get harder to see,
As the shrouding thickens,
The tightening fist
Holding the fragile cluster of trees
Excreting out creativity,
Forcing it to walk the plank
Into the lost.

The Reasons

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She waits for him
On the island suspended
Above the ugly,
She waits for his warmth
To burst above the horizon,
She patiently counts the ticks
Of the echo
That builds upon her anticipation,
Needing him
To calm her soul,
To nurture her dry heart,
She waits in the tundra orbit
Alone, amongst the crowd of stars,
Until he lays beside her,
She beckons for him
So that she can grow,
She does all this
Without realizing her strength,
That it is she
That is needed by him,
She is the picturesque illuminating
The hidden dark,
She stands taller than the
Light reaches,
He can not compare
To what she does to him,
He burns passion
Above the methodical
For her,
She is his reason
For the short winter,
But when she’s gone,
His fire, grows silent,
The lap around the earth
Is to once again,
Find her
On that solitary island
Where she waits for him.

Watching it all Fall

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Where are you while everything burns?
The disintegration of the visceral
And the annihilation of cognitive,
It’s all being blown away
While you’re caught, in the breast of the beast,
A transformation to wasteland
That has buried the sun in the fog
Of burning brimstone upon perception,
The ticking clock begs for your immersion
As chaos pervades
Beyond the gates that once,
Stood so tall,
It ticks, and ticks
Clawing at the mundane membrane
Concaving into itself,
While you gear no struggle
And flush no tear,
You swallow into filth
Watching yourself murder consciousness,
Still, is the tick
As it digests the pendulum
Breaking away into nothing,
You step out, unsure,
Blankly reaching to grasp
Coming up empty
For the gray, vanishes
And you find a sprocket
Bleeding in your hand,
You’re too late.

Hand in Hand

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When slits from life
Cut too deep
We’re found thrusting up defenses
Warriors against the sinking,
How do you crawl out
From a grave excavating?

Her and I stand ready
To take down the beast
Flying toward the castle,
Blade in hand,
Guarding the tower
That leads to our heart,
Crusade against the filth
Of the world that blends into darkness,
Spilling onto the canvas
Collapsing it,
Weakening it’s view,
But her and I press on
With our armor forged in our union
Rising against the oppressive stalk,
Without her, this fight alone
Would prove futile,
Together though, we tread
Above the devour
Of the endless black sea,
Dauntless amongst
The ever present Raven.

The Growing

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Deep, in the forgotten,
Stems years of drugging,
Bringing to surface the beaten
That stands on its stiffened tears,
Lost in the collection
And it’s echo,
The growing
Stumps
And bows,
The ashes fall around
Blanketing those underneath
And evading those outside,
Keeping warm the terrors
That keep the watchful one
Perched on bust,
The growing never rests
Suspicious of it’s friends
As he buried himself
Deep within hollow roots,
Its a lucid plane
Beyond it’s stance,
But the cloud’s brew
Thickens the gray,
As it shivers the dry growth,
For the growing
Sees further into the dirt.