METRONOME
The Arctic winds blew
The bitter cold slew
High in the sky
The birds of prey flew
The Heavens reached down
Wings, white as whey
We gathered around
The metronome played
We walked in the clouds
We died where we lay
Still begging for bread
Hands frozen, we prayed
The pendulum swung
The traitors, hung, swayed
We gathered around
The metronome played
Before the sun rose
We crawled and we cleaved
The flesh under snows
We ate, so we breathed
The sirens, slow wailed
The traitors, shot, brayed
We gathered around
The metronome played
872 days of cold, hunger & death was the siege of Leningrad. When the radio was not playing patriotic music to boost the morale of the citizens, it broadcast the beat of a metronome ... The faster the beat, the more imminent an attack.
One day at time
Just like going rhyme by rhyme
Predictable as a metronome
Mental health is like living under a dome
Sometimes life is hour by hour
Praying the next minute doesn’t turn sour
Keeping yourself safe is a daily challenge
Any sense of normality is to be scavenged
Reality adjusting in the neuro cells
Voice telling me to say farewells
Fights don’t need to be physical
However the long lonely nights are critical
The mind doesn’t rest or stop
There is no switching off or drop
As the mind spirals down
Gasping for air as you drown
The body itself is heavy
Wishing it was over already
The daytime passes as if you don’t matter
Feelings heavy and lacking laughter
Drifting into the background
The mind doesn’t stop or rebound
Just other people can keep you steady
Day time becomes less deadly
But as day turns to night
It brings back the fight
Just to stay alive
A battle just to survive
The sequence on repeat
Every moment sinks further in retreat
A down fall predictable as a metronome
This is the feeling of home
When mental health breaks
The metronome clicks~
Tik Tok Tik tok tik it ticks
A matter of time
~ metronome~
tick
quick
melodic
measurings
August 7, 2020
6:30pm PST
The Metronome
The metronome spilt its last sound
like lead dropped on dark clay
never to be picked up again
where once it beat in rain in sun
and his hospital bed scented
with an air of gentle hands
with sounds of gentleness
we all whispered behind soft lips
of times without end
distracted from the present
before the metronome spilt it's last drop
like lead dropped on stiff clay
no click no clock
where once it beat and beat
a metronome
ticking on the piano –
empty bench
A fistful of a metronome is an organic matter in a metro dome. Fish not a pirate ship and swim swim swim. Great isn't it. Marvel at the many passing floating cakes that arrive. And mirror not a choice of words fir remarkable is never found in a plastic case. It is quite unnatural you see. And unnatural means not characteristic. So upon playing charades with rain drops be aware the shape they create upon landing. Mission beams from above. Callously charming chequered chins. And it is not to be said that a yawning yacht equals tiredness. It is the laundry from a vested belt that breeds the spawn. So suit on a sawn off **** gun attends a hockey game and the pistol in a pink top scores. Underneath the ironing board. Sails snails and pails. Squalid yet atmospheric. And indifference is neither a sign of acceptance nor thought. Ho ho ho to all that. Ran the hahaha out of range earlier. Dare to dance with the signal box then? ***,, correspondences Z
metronome
keeping me in perfect precision
with the demands
of the world
to conform
to stay
in the restricting confines
of this awkward box
while the
world
twirls
Be-beating in my bosom like
a time bomb waiting to explode
with crimson coated copper-veins
and no deactivation code.
Fl-fleeting from my carnal coat,
the life I was bestowed at birth;
with every passing second it
diminishes in earthly worth.
Sl-sleeping unaware of this,
the fact that every breath I take
is gravitating me towards
a most inevitable fate.
Dr-dreaming of a future where
my mind's desires blossom true,
unsure if I will have the strength
to carve that path and see it through.
Wa-waking from a hardy sleep,
I leap from bed into the hall:
eight hours I had slept that night,
eight hours toward my casket-call.
Sh-shining happily outside,
the sun grants me another day
to walk amongst the still-alive,
at least until I pass away.
Tu-turning are the hands of time,
a minute grows into an hour;
each passing day I wither like
the petals of a dying flower.
Ti-ticking all my life away,
a subtle process we all share;
although, I find it comforting
that such a fate is strictly fair.
Dance to my musical heart beats,
Hold thy breath to release my ticks,
Capture my whisper in your move,
Together we climax in joy.
Wind me in your desire for more,
Determined to replay each lap,
Squirm in passion to my aura,
Bound to pulse on my beaten track.
Pendulum, 440 hertz or software mode,
Dogma will keep one in true form.
Eyes weaving through rusted lace
raindrops snow upon the cheeks
the same same blank face
you've known for weeks
Not a soul to embrace you
deaf to each breath you take
numb to every heartbeat thats true
blind to the smiles you make
loneliness succumbing your stares
insanity hears your silent cries
obscure ropes and anonymous glares
metronome voices massacre the mind
Memories evanesce into the dark
Abyss cradles your weary heart thereof
Is there not another emotion
Of being unloved?
I can’t sleep
Thorny thoughts teeming
Feral fangs of conscience
Rabid with impatience
Questioning my answers
Because I have none
I can hear it prey
On my amniotic sanity
Salivating the palatable silence
Metronome midnight
Pounding my constricting chest
With an unmerciful thirst
To feast
I feel
Ravaged and discarded
Like a mangled core of Eden
Speckled with blindness
Desecrated with fate
Opaque prophecies
Of disheveled doom
And earth
I lie in sweat
Cold, bereft
Concrete voices grinding
The aniseeds of distress
Blanketing me with torment
Devouring any hope
Of putting my mind to rest
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