The Window

Melted candles atop a resigned dresser Wilted roses lying atop a white cloud The flickering of fires and shadows mesh well with your Batting eyelashes your heavy words and your breathing in rhythm with the cadences of muted car alarms and the silence in between the silence of random gunshots [And yes the window is closed shut as to keep away the pain of reality] The scent of passion is Indistinguishable from the color of roses and I rest my hand upon your Luscious pink hills and your saccharine green valleys And your lips are reminiscent of Cupid's salted arrow Bated breathed and hushed voices Fleeting touches and orange eyes Broken white pillars and icy blue roads sirens say Your voice is of the fertile rivers of Euphrates [These dusty sidewalks are faring well adorned with dried and caked blood and are quite flighty for the ransom of stolen dreams have been held high And lives torn asunder through the mark of a bullet send chilling echoes across the once gentle city I have heard The moans of ghosts rife with fear and despair mourning some Apparent loss of victory or at least something akin to a victory a loss less painful in its injection of ennui O'rehead the musty roses litter round the dead bodies the snow on their noses the remnants of green leaves stain their pockets The blistering violence like broken glass scar that dream once Thought to be deferred but revealed to be absent and clash dissonantly with A derivative form of hope austere in nature blind and deftly jailed.]   Our bones are becoming too fragile to handle this weight of Delicious malcontent spirit I am being bombarded by the anxiety Of words too illicit to be spoken by these mortal tongues so rightfully Bestowed by our gracious God Words knock on our velvet doors incessantly With fervent wind blowing through the golden poplars ravaging their leaves I attempt to evade the graceful fall into sin like a Golden Apple Your touches are like the decaying fingers of dawn that Warmeth the widest plains of amber waves and I fall in your oceans and embers once more.     [Upon these dissonant tones flying o’re the ramparts of bleak darkness with The persistence of rising fear serving as the sole light of the flighty streets the memories of Corrupt hath lain their brittle hand over the graves of the weeping Those same Bloody streets are shining black with eminent death Broken street lamps Gangster shadowed in billowing fire Outside the cracked glass of the Lovers' window]