Found From Within The Talon's Side

A flagrant volition—a violation, an action and a scowl—determined aggravation from the tongue of pawn—intrigued by the rapturous ideology presented in the late—by an allegorical phantasm of chance, an echoic beauty—one whom not even time could prevent the inviting allegation to conceive it’s concocted arrhythmia to the weather-worn hopes of one as he—

 Held in awe, by a desperate princess, bearing fruitful presents and an unholy proclamation of some love-stricken scheme that preyed endearingly, to every impossible shard of dream ever awoken from—

Encased was a promise, a scented sentence if detected, for this vow, was considerable in all it stood for to the two at hand, yet dynamically catastrophic by those in opposition.  This love, between two such as these, was in fact, in direct disobedience of the caste each were forced to lead their lives upon.

Sufferance would indeed be remarked. Damnation would, in all effect, be set in spades, even as twin bounties corrugate between the sky and all the Heavens it protects, and the reams of suet still freshly stifled, as the heart’s contents remained—where still set the bone, strangling upon the saltiest of teardrops ever wrung.

Vitality was denied through end of breath. Parturient strands unabashed by the chaotic consequence at bay—unintended for, yet persisting nonetheless, were its strides—a collateral

Striation, bound by sinew’s string, looping through the bitter entanglements of the amnesia stricken torso to which the factions fortuitously release, divide—segregating lower lip, pierced by steel and ember and the upper manifestations—the mutations estranged by first sin’s blaspheming kiss.

Protracted involvement. Sacrilege upon the altar of the

Withered. Flesh of songbird, broken wing—yet clung it had, dearly, paying ultimate price to perform it’s duty, clinging tightly with pride, onto the message placed within its’ talon’s

Side.

Tuesday is once again upon us, and that, of course, brings about the greatest night of poetry around.  Open Link Night is a world-wide phenomenon, where lover's of poetry get to read, listen to, write and share poetry of all type.  Make sure you stop by D'Verse starting today at 3pm.  Cheers!

 

A Spectre's touch

You aren’t like me

never have, not at all

It’s also true that you’ll never be

and that’s a truth I’ll happily call

The devil in a junkyard

His henchmen out at play

creepers lurking in the scars

scaring the lightning bugs away

Bone justice’s betrothed to us

Here now we’ve been wed; forever joined in vows just bled

Never strayed can we be, forever is not but a rhyming melody

What began as lust, now owns my unrequited trust

I don’t care about those painful words that they speak

I ignore the lies; I damn their pain

You’re the only one I’ll ever need; you’re all I’ve ever sought to seek

And if the truth aches deep in you, we’ll damn it all and start anew

you might strike fear within some,

seeing the ghost that you’ve become,

but I’ll never flee, I’ll never run

…and yes, it is true

You aren’t like me; you’ve never been and never will

For I’m dead to life, or so they say,

And you’re alive, living life through all I believe

A spirit resting peacefully still

Hidden from a world

Whose truth

Only you can truly see

Amusia

Where once velvet chords would tremor

Like the veils to the feather of a tungsten floor

Breaths of inhalations deep, slowly

Columned their way, unto

The secret side of inner peace

Today, a cold statue divides,

As would the wall if still erect,

Coinciding with the concept of birth and death,

To which delusionary visions have been known to house

I had grown so very fond of sound

Therefore,

It does not surprise me at all

That Amusia

Should strike

It’s deafening, defining blow….

Like so many curtain calls

Destruction tends to enjoy

Standing above

It’s bloodied prey.

The Ravaging of the Caravan

I awoke to a single calm

I bled fast until the ring was gone

Traffic patterns

Of triumvirate’s wail

In pastel, my inner river floods—

To harmonize the many hours spent,

Amidst enchantment’s bell

Caravan—

Ravenously bleeds,

Lost in the moments, in the while spent,

When I left to relieve the most basic of needs,

Left to curtail, the spurring ache

That continuously writhes in me

As I followed the steps I’d made

Back to the coven of my peers

Brushing back the pine that sways

Unlocked the key, and swiftly in slow-motion,

The gates closed behind me—

Opening a passageway,

To some demonized reality

Hellbred for Halloween

Midnight vanity

Children,

Monsters,

Scourge

Pop-star repercussion

In this,

That latter place

The republication of

Acuteness

Thoughts converge

Convulsing apathetical

By riddles cawed in masks of straw

Violence in the vigilant

A village of weight

Upon

The Vigilante

Stuck sorting through each mask

Stars dim their twilight

Feigned superstitions

Unearthed inside

All days to follow

Pay the fare

For scorpions tears

Black-winged scales

Dragon's teeth,

Dissect & Stare

Blend, stir, chill, and serve

Sanguine seeker

Ashen, to the parched

Landscape—

         Where taste is beholden

         By thirst—“young kids, what they know”

Stirring…

“Every time some damned whack job writer talks about sexy vampires or cool demons, we get a cult of reenactments”

Sauntering throughout each chalk-lined imprint, the—

I guess, now, newly appointed, or acting, in the very least—

Sheriff can feel the breathing, singeing, of each hair upon his neck—

“Get back, that’s what the yellow line is for people, just get back, NOW, don’t want no more unnecessary tonight—it’s freakin’ Halloween people, go bob some darned apples or whatever you all do these days”

Vegetarian (of circumstantial foundations) vexed in frustration

For philosophy stands, tonight, in disregard

Hallowed day breeds hollowed eve

Parents clamoring for condemnable treats

Forgetting tricks comprise the second half

Spillage

Senses flare

                  “I MADE A PROMISE”  “A MF’N promise”—

The tension tinges to a flair.  Shift’s been long extended now, “Don, I mean Sheriff, whatever happened didn’t happen here…been over the area twice now, somethin’ obviously happened, but this place is dry”

“SO WHAT YOU WANT ME TO TELL PETE’S WIFE AND KIDS- GO KNOCK ON HIS DOOR AND WAIT FOR HIS MISSES TO ANSWER, PROBABLY WITH THE KIDS BY HER LEGS, DRESSED UP & READY TO GO-HE SAID THEY WAS GOING TO BE THOSE DAMN LITTLE VARMINTS FROM THE GEICO COMMERCIAL- THE OLDEST ONE—(sniffles, wiping tears) he’s got the megaphone…Pete says he’s got the Command down pat…and I don’t have to tell you, miracle that kid’s even made it this long, with what he’s got and all…SO ROW, ROW, ROW…What the F’ Should I tell them, Trick or treat, WHAT THE F', YOU WANTA BE THE ONE”

None of the uniforms say a word.  Heads are hung, eyeing concrete over the extensively jagged pause, severed only when

Don turns back to them, streaming tears abandoning, “ You all go home, be with your families…"


Not knowing if they should listen to the Sheriff or the guilt, the officer's fidget amongst themselves, until

Don reprises the demand, "You all deaf now, just go…THAT”S AN ORDER”

Looking up the sky reveals a raven’s plummet

In-spiral spheres, the drizzling afterglow lost in cosmic drift. 

Pinprick tingles length of spine,

Down the legs and up the blades

Look around and realize: I stand amidst a cavalcade of temptation

The sheriff eyes the women marching the strip.  Are they working? Why the hell would anyone dress like that?  It gets you thinking, doesn’t it?

Alas, I am much too weak

Turning around, reopening the yellow gate, Sheriff Don stares into the side-view mirror, of his friends car, “Pete, damned you, of all people, you should’ve just gone home…" 


Poking about the gravel, looking for anything, anything at all, "Gonna hafta get this towed back to station…”   

That’s when he noticed…

He was showing, 
just a bit, but still,
 a tooth was escaping lip,

“kinda figured, anger does it to me every time…thank God it’s tonight”

"Wait all year for the one night,

The one damned night,

Get to be myself,

And I’ve been so darned good,

Damn, you Pete"


Sheriff Don called in the tow, waited for those scavengers to arrive, "Gonna cost a fortune...oh, yeah they love this... f'n overtime"


After all was silent once again,
He felt it,
That same feeling he first felt 200 years before,
Hunger, pure hunger

"Holiday my ass...

At this point, F' it,

Might as well,

Restart the fast

In the morn, after all 
it is M'F'N Halloween”
 

This Halloween themed piece is also being shared over at Jingle Poetry at the Gooseberry Gardens for their weekly Poetry Picnic.