It started on D - flat,
succulent & succinct
soft & rhythmic
loaning hearts pats.
the wail of the piano
caressing the voices' glissando
riffs tampered with the tune,
notes trailing tracks of crest,
demisemiquaver pruned
by the demigod crochet:
parts of belts
accompanying baritone,
baroque & tormenting bass
nursing decrescendo,
an atlas
And then clef,
embellishing the melody,
encore spill the best,
swift fortemente
Hearts lured,
esophagus of the musician
shifting. Pure
steps moving in pleasure,
as the lyrics complimented
the melody
A coda:
a flat accompaniment
severed the passion
as the keys & notes did melt
tumult in rhythm,
sundry languages inflected
the lyrics.
like concerto grosso
of courante on
bagpipes, accordion,
harps, obeos & paino.
now we're stuck
in the maze of this music,
no virtuoso could make meaning of
the tune, lyrics or melody
but we're moving our bodies,
till those that gets weary
goes to hear death's string.
19:09:22:18:47
We are not welcome here...
So fly away in your own little world,
good riddance. I've had enough
of bartering with pain for pain,
and flowers, in praxis, exhaling
the breathing of lies, to
fill the room like a lawyer's stench,
and 'Hear ye, Hear ye- I've got some news
from my side of the bench', there's a cry
of accusation: 'he lost a woman,
that never loved him, barely knew
her too', the prosecution stifles a laugh-
"well that should make it all okay!
Perhaps I can sugarcoat
my disapproval with the loss of some
precious ruby that I could have had,
Ohhhhh the gem should've been mine,
but I was too much of a coward
to steal happiness,
in pearls that were my eyes,
cried out when I left home
to work, and heard my father preach:
How'd ya like them apples?"
and I'm appalled, because I just
wanted to write a ****ing poem...
not stand trial to a sentence
of the mind, against injustice,
but what is just
a poem
that can never stand alone, or
a man.
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