The writings of Oddpoet

There are so many suf­fo­cat­ing images
On the sec­ond story
That they jump for their lives
Like glo­ries on fire
Flam­ing the sky
With the back­drop clouds
To liven the enter­tain­ment
For eyes dry
And clouded over by judg­ment
And for the tries dimin­ished
At the wake of shrouds
Revealed.



Images that wit­ness their own death
Forced still­births
For the sake of held breath
And the mea­sur­ing of penis girth
Of mere babes
Sealed upon impact
To be mem­o­ries
Held tight as momen­tary fact
And glim­mer­ings of what could have been
Of what can­not defend itself
As real­ity…
Too late
Just another casu­alty
Of feel­ing black­ened
By the great pharaohs
Elated
Berated again.



They were
But can­not be proven
Again as uncer­tain
Cre­mated for blurt­ing the words
Into the vol­cano of the sun…
What was begun
Was heard
Then spun
Into a thou­sand shat­tered webs
Weep­ing
And keep­ing track­ing of each tear
Sleep­ing on the edge of the pil­low…
Each creep­ing sil­hou­ette
Dis­solves
Upon the light of day.



There’s noth­ing left wide open
And noth­ing left
With more to say or groom…
The will cuts the
Umbil­i­cal
As death screams silence
To echo
Within the pyramid’s tomb
As a bereft womb.



©Jen2010 2–5

Tags: angst, Dark Poetry, despair, madness

This entry was posted on Friday, February 5th, 2010 at 10:34 pm and is filed under Para Poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.