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Poem

A thunderstorm booms from your lungs 
with every breath, to silence the violins 
meant to accompany the beat from your chest.
Keep your gaze held straight upward
and witness the crash of your eyelids.

It will stir the extravagant constellations 
that roam in your eyes.
Such a beauty the stars are, from a distance,
but inside, they are much closer to colossal balls of fire,
and, it seems, they have managed to incinerate your soul.

It leaves an aurora unlike any other,
many would say it’s like the flames that cascade Southern’s sky,
but to me it is more of what it leaves behind, in ashes.
The darkest of blacks, it mirrors the charcoal depths of the ocean at night.
But, perhaps, the most striking is the fall of all decibels.

The stories, the fables always seem to resonate in Midnight’s quiet.
Always the same moral, can you recall it? Not I.
When trying to remember, all that can be heard  are the laughter screams,
and the opposition will sing, oh sharp tragedy,
saturnity, all they seem to write. 

You have come so far, 
can you see it in the moon?
Stare as long as you will at what it reflects, 
but always avoid it's source,
for its disgrace will singe your mind.

I know you can see the silhouettes.
I know you know they're crying.
Look the other way, remember what you are.
Their tears will fertilize the flowers,
and who are you to care?


Remember all of your scars. They all used to bleed.
Now they drip bitter wine.
It's all to be inscribed, 
in the headstones of the zoo-cage boxes, 
that hold the beating hearts.

Surely, I apologize, I know it's claimed your eyes.
The droop of your spine will drop farther, I tell you,  give it time.
I cannot save you. Your mind is leaving.
Its simply for the flies.
I say to you demand your pardon, Sinister has no goodbye.

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