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The Madman, "Yes, three days, three centuries, three aeons. Strange they would always weigh and measure. It is always a sundial and a pair of scales."

Sunday, December 21, 2014

(124)

Towards the light
Stretched sweaty hands reach
Only just,
Falling through funnels
Of purple
Violet
Red
Acid clouds.

The Light shines dimly in memories of forsaken minds
Bubbling and pulsating
Through stretched bands of asymmetrical heart beats,
Fitted feet dance to rhythmic taps
On shiny oiled wooden floors-
Hollow cavities in pompous chests
That pump purifying scum,

In corrosion, leaves of withered winters find brotherhood
Trees, of wood gray with wisdom,
Dig roots deeper than sin,
Where nothing lives
Nothing leaves
Only clings and grips
And holds on till cold vacuum flows like heavy sighs,

In the narrowest corner of final nothingness
Sits and counts
A naked ugly baby demon called Truth
Who winks his eye like hammered nail
And buries a tiny drop of vitriolic venom in your soul
And laughs so hard the shell of cosmic bubble bursts
And rains shattered reasons and memories that made sense one day
But today only cut and bruise consciousness,

Till oozing out of spongy soft conscience,
Guilt stinks up the skull with green
And causes itching inside the skin
Ripped by maddened fingers feasting on fuming flesh,

There’s only the Soul left in all its naked fullness
Standing with head hanging
Before the naked ugly baby demon called Truth
Crying like a new born shame
While the Truth laughs,
Dismisses it all
And flies away.

5 comments:

  1. Beautiful Personifications.Love the Poem!

    ReplyDelete
  2. There seems to be a constant battle with truth these days. So much to think about in this piece. Nice work.

    ReplyDelete
  3. why is the truth so hard, when it should be the most natural thing in the world...

    ReplyDelete