The searing sun has long been a revolving revelation of angst,
repelling songs of the skies, sung by the strings of the wings.
Pallid, poised only by muscle memory - a compositional backdrop,
past the point of revival, yet something inside me still ticks.
A trembling truth that never drifts,
these broken blues: a silent shadow with loud hues.
The bones of me, tunelessly picked out,
until I'm the aching hollow of unamplified sound.
Where do breathing colors of me sleep,
when deadly nights of the air eclipse upon the web once woven by whispers?
Death just a dropped chin and averted eye,
the slow slump of a sinner's stagnant dirge plays out.
Let those cobalt stones cease writings from vicious veins,
where wilting roses dip their thorns in starry puddles with no name.
Now begging for exsanguination of my pain,
the measure of a man captured, still, in expired offerings of disdain.
Categories:
unamplified, angst, death, imagination,
Form: Ekphrasis
Signor Fellini
Imagine us
Respectful of your shadows
Held in suspension by your cinematic mirror
These dreams of yours
Realized through creation’s gift
Offer such ethereal answers
To those of us aroused
Beyond the screen
Your genius remains omnipresent
Extended for touching by hearts and minds
Beseeching all to embrace
Granting acknowledgment and insight
Beyond usual cinema bequests
Yes Signor Fellini
You brought your vision to our eyes
Asking not we accept
But merely contemplate the little boy
Made man behind the camera
For such curiosity
You granted patience
Never asking we believe your honesty
But to consider our own truth
Your essence remains present
Resounding quietly above life’s noise
Easily accessed with but memory
Thoughtfully embraced with smiles of trust
May the purity of La Dolce Vita’s final scene
The echo of silence
From distance unamplified
Whispering from within
Ever haunt those unable to listen
Those unwilling to hear
Categories:
unamplified, visionary,
Form: Free verse