A Little Glimpse into my Mind
The following poem is probably my least ambiguous and the first I've written in around five years. Corr Crumbling Metropolis
The Metropolis' mechanisms grind more monotonous than previously Yet still they grind. Corruption Capitalism Control All consuming Protests denied, serfdom a status once thought dead revived under the shroud of pandemic. Flags wave with fascist pride Statues of past virtue drenched with sin placed highly; protected above the living. unrest simmers tentatively, cracks creak beneath the fragile surface Revolt Live Encapsulate. What does it mean to be human? Faceless tapping trolls, contortions of truth, protecting their bridge of farcical Narcissism Full of loathing full of detest.
The Silent Tenant
At the foot of the locked oak door I awake from a slight slumber. The gargoyles taunts rain down upon my skeletal frame. My metropolis envelopes me in a soothing embrace, while its minions stare stonily ahead; terrified I will make their eyes bleed. A whisper has wandered from Government gallows of a strike bubbling on the horizon. As my mind meanders from reality lines of robots parade the streets; they queue for metal convinced of their decay. The towering oak door stands ajar; in a strangers arms I am finally admitted.
An Unholy Commute
The cogs of my metropolis begin to grind, A sleepy sigh mingles with human traffic. An elbow jab in a crowded coffee chain an armpit to my face underground. The great oak door illuminates my morning. Like a rigid beefeater it protects our faithful establishment, yet refuses to acknowledge its leeching tenant.
A Desolate Sanctuary
A solitary clergyman sips from my bejewelled chalice. My organ plays no tune. I weep streaking my stained glass eyes As the tenant silently says goodbye.
They ironed out your creases like a vampire waiting to strike your ghostly stare bore into me. I heard your voice echo between the worlds; All this fuss and tears, what a waste! That painted mannequin isn't me. Wrap me in a bag, bury me in a field. It means nothing to me. It wasn't for you. A cocktail of memories hung in the air, in true family fashion the music blared. Laughter eclipsed the tears. Your Bacardi bottle lay discarded gathering dust the guest of honour, forever absent. I recalled the vicious voices filling the family home Fleeing in defiance, I started on my own. Upon my return I watched your eyes swell with pride, as you wrapped me in your arms. Then you left. There are no regrets. It is just a shame Life remains neglected except in death.
White smoke slithers silently toward the heavens, while golden rays dance manically upon the purity of Seraphim wings. Stolen youth banished into the vaults below inexcusably drowning in the hollows of the past. Young lives debauched and decayed; yet still the white smoke rises. Seraphim wings anchored to their sides. Tainted. An eternal promise to reap revenge on holy hypocrisy boils beneath the swamps of humanity. A divine devotion. Echoing through the ages.
Somewhere on Winterborne Road Paint flaked from walls Bare feet padded on creaking boards A terrified woman screamed with relief Nine months of agony were soon to be over, Or so she believed. Thirty six hours late. With a wail and a hic My spikey hair and moonlike face Said hello on February the twenty eighth. Four hours shy of eternal youth. Walking through rough Thornton Heath A rickety pram that annoyingly squeaked exhaustedly lulling me into sleep Their watery eyes pleaded for relief. There in the late night cold,My young parents soon became old.
Thank you mate, means a lot xx
I relate to this whole thing so much. Never cause of hair but many other things. Mine wasn’t even as…