Bones Under A Downpour

Location

MECHANICSVILLE
39960 Oscar Buckler Lane
United States

Running out of water,
Running out of paper,
Running out of air,
What else do we have left to taper?

//

No more chambers of faith,
Stunted and burnt.
Organs afar of misery gale in fear.
A wicked wail means nothing was learnt.

//

Jade bridges on the seafront collapsed.
What is green and glossy on the marble,
Shines a bleaker black inside.
The skies have never felt more mortal.

//

Must we chortle at this
Timid potluck we call an earth?
An underworld of mud and gangrene
Mocks at our hostility, our lack of worth.

//

Unmatching our heartless and contrived reign,
Ereshkigal herself is displeased but buttered.
She caressed the skulls of who she once loved,
"Wasted delight," was all she uttered.

//

See yourself in the waterfall,
Color yourself from dust.
What came first was once true,
Has now fallen deep below the crust.

//

A collar of spite clings to repetition,
Free with only a dying wish.
You're thin with a veil of bones,
You can't argue with a mind diminished.

//

Marvel at the enmity between the waterfalls,
Rusted warships might fly with the downpour,
But all the same, nothing but shame,
Enthroned to a hopeless seashore.

//

Teardrops in a cave,
A drowned canopy of wisteria,
Ginger flames of a dying sunset,
And a screeching flourish of flowering hysteria.

//

Imagining, imagining,
Clueless, colorless ashes, piled.
Bones, pebbles and pure, wash away,
Underneath the waterfalls, exiled.

//

Hear! A harp hums in the hereafter!
Unbridled olives sing from the ground,
Glaciers of memories trampoline,
A new gentle earth surfaces safe and sound.

//

Bear and bide the insufferable tide,
Lose your eyesight in a pastel light.
Somber, dim, silent, sinful.
Listen, you depress the darkest night.

//

But what now can benight the loveliest place?
Of the grandest and bluest and purest
Jar of burning and choking glass?
Nothing, the stained glass shatters from the deepest abyss.

//

Lift - rise the shards.
Follow the cries of the faint harp.
Wrestle the currents, hover the stars,
Become the beginning from the mortal dark.

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world

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