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Melanie X. Clarke Poem
The musty lights corrupt the stage
Twisting the form of the heavy curtains
Framed by the stolen shadows of cherubs
A delicate music box whispers into the guilded room
A faint perfume of smoldering limes bitter the air
This night could be Prague, Vienna...
Then I conquer the stage, arise and fulfill the lights
Only to again to have my dignity murdered infront of me
Adressing a hollow room
The only half-sound, glowering laughter in my mind
The meadow of poppy-red seats stare through the dark
The lights sharpen from their soft glow
And regroup as piercing arrows
Stripping me down
Back to my soul
I questioned why the others left
(and they question why I stay)
Neither are sure if it's through choice, or truth
Living in this dead theatre
Copyright © Melanie X. Clarke | Year Posted 2009
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Melanie X. Clarke Poem
(I wrote this about a piece of raw gemstone I have next to my bed to help me have better and more insightful
dreams, whilst I was looking at it before I went to sleep:)
Compacted cluster of diamonds
Stars signalling from the heavens
Embodied by solid sapphire blue
Tilting the isolated skyscape
A centuries constellations fleeting in the passing light
A gem as crystallised and dark
As a still, mooncast ocean
Powerful in it's silent force
As waves under water
Tide all my dreams to the shore
-MXC
Copyright © Melanie X. Clarke | Year Posted 2009
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Melanie X. Clarke Poem
Sinking into the warmth of the bed
Idly breathing and fading in and out
The intermittent lights of passing cars
Scan across the ceiling and the wall
Photocopying the room
Capturing moments
Creating frames
For a stuttered animation
Of my descent into sleep
-MXC
Copyright © Melanie X. Clarke | Year Posted 2009
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Melanie X. Clarke Poem
The once looming grey and desolate storm, now sails to the present,
Overhead it silently suspends it's brewing opression on our scene,
The barren landscape of the moors rolls away into eternity,
Dressed in it's rugged and timeless mourning,
The rarest tree that once grew fertile there now stands alone,
Tall and lifeless, it's wilted stoop, in memory of itself,
Ghosts are carried in the wind to the places they roamed,
At the trunk of the trees they stand, replaying memories,
Widow's fingers trace engraved initals in the ancient bark,
But the heart was scored there in the youth of the tree,
In the youth of her soul when she stood shaded by it's leaves,
The tree had since stood, as ages passed, a tomb of love,
Become twisted by the wind that had once been a friend,
It's stature had bittered, distorted in all her pain,
And had torn apart the heart inscribed in it's chest,
Broken and cracked bole tears the sentiment apart
-MXC
Copyright © Melanie X. Clarke | Year Posted 2009
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Melanie X. Clarke Poem
A butterfly's steady and respectful dance draws the eye,
The unnaturally slow beating of it's wings against the air,
Thick and heavy with stale and decaying ashes,
Air that would dry and choke the softest of lips,
The setting of the funeral shroud-black insect on a grave
A weathered and torn stone is it's mourning ground,
Aged and dominated by a sinister glowering skull,
Tall white angels of wax burn silently and sternly,
Standing around the stone, creating a softly glowing frame,
Breaking the darkness as a divine chorus of light
This is the only comfort to be found in this scene,
This grey shadow-drowned yard is an audience of souls,
Legions of the unresting that took eternal peace,
Transformed it into perpetual imprisonment,
And sentenced the spirit bound inside it's casket's walls
Benieth the veil of night,
This immortal trial is carried out,
No rest in the grave and no hope of release,
Just the inital moment of the soul's awakening,
And the realisation of death
-MXC
Copyright © Melanie X. Clarke | Year Posted 2009
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Melanie X. Clarke Poem
The drop of fire stealthily burns
A tender angel descended into darkness
Spirit raised by my own hand
It grasps into the viscous air
Clinging, to rise, struggle, survive,
Calmly watching I realise I created torment
The flame needed me to live
I needed it to feel safe
Then I wonder who's need is greater
The creature of the creator?
-MXC
Copyright © Melanie X. Clarke | Year Posted 2009
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