29 May 2008

Quietus.


Remove the thorns with your own bloody hands
There’s no-one to help, not a soul
The fear gripping the ribs in painful bands
You shuffle forwards, retch, cry and moan

The air is empty, lingering with the promise of getting worse
Dry, damp, cool, warm, still, and breezy all at once
A gale whips up the alien leaves with an alien force
Blue to black to blue to black, bruised by fists and cut by a sword…

Back in the coolness of a musty room…

The blood seeps up the skin in beads
Like sweat but only darker, filthier, thicker than water
Your face is contorted with rage, distorted with pain, covered in sweat sheen
A battle lost, then a battle won, life’s not a bed of roses but a throne of thorns

Your heart thumping in your head, the emptiness of your emotions
Making you ache for the love long lost, a lost... lost cause
A dreamer still inside you, toying with the foolish notions
Of a world past gone, of happiness dead and born, of grief ungauged

The ruby red beads on the jeweled bracelet run loose, dance around
Moving about with ferocity unbound
Untamed, unchallenged, they pounce about with the air of a egocentric maniac
Who pushes people about, running into them, flowing, weaving, for him there’s no turning back

You jump back to the bruised alien leaves, back to the sad distant moon…

The leaves still dead and worn, blue to black to blue to black,
The earth hadn’t sheltered itself, had looked up, frightened but pride intact
Been bruised by the mighty sky, by the hailstorms it sent towards her
The leaves been bruised, but unseen, her head still held high

On the ground now, smelling the earth, her beautiful smell
You clutch the stones, the leaves, the twigs,
You shook with fear while the air stood still with incoherence
A beetle crawls towards you, up on your hand
He still had a life to live, his ending unplanned

The moon sat serenely, indifferent to your ghastly stare
Lumbering away in his sleep, dreaming of nutcracker fairies and cashel blue cheese
His face cratered, seemed destroyed, dark blotchy patches forgot to turn red when it cried
The numbness attacked your legs, creeping up to your chest, engulfed you, the pain ceased. And it was dead.
While in the still, silent, orange glowing room, the rubies made a glove for you
A beautiful glove with a hundred rubies and nothing else, the hand was no longer tense
It marveled at the redness of the royal hand, a red glove of rubies shimmered as it sped
The opaque redness dripped down ahead

The stinging pain like a nettle bite, spread across the fingers,
Shooting up through the forearm to the shoulder to the neck
To your smile
As you take one last look the room, your signs it still bore

Everything heaving up in a great uproar, the heart jumping, thrashing to get out through your ribs
The jumble of thoughts straightened to become a thin line
Broken, it traveled in straight lines, green to black to green to black
The whiteness shushed the noise in a sweeping motion of a ruby hand

As the eyes close, the silence morose,
You feel happy as a child on his first bicycle ride
As everything slows down to an imaginary race
The hands turn cold, the memories lie in folds

Everything turns to unbreakable ice and you feel…
And you feel your heart and your soul fall dead inside.

3 comments:

  1. i'm thinking of closing my blog already, awesomeness...

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  2. This comment has been removed by the author.

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  3. Well, thankyou, but you needn't do THAT! :)

    ReplyDelete