Banana Pepper

random title, I know.

 

Small, unharmed song, untouched by nerves

Shining meekly, tainted gray; framing all my curves

The paper, masked, it bears none but withered little me

Counting half notes, treble clefs and twisted melody

Raging symphonies of damned hide underneath my bed

Inept to anything I write, surging through my head

Not one clown laughs, not one eye stares, not one false witness screams

Not one tune comes to mind, not one song comes in streams

I roam the corners of my tattered skill, inferno of my day

And find nothing of the sort, of course, I waste my night away

Variations of apparitions, devils of my eye

My pupil hums an unknown tune, my iris wilts to cry

My nerves, again, they surge, they seek a proper word to host

A song, a poem, an anything, a lyric at the most

Desperation, turn to stone, live alone, a homophone

A verb, a vowel, a noun, a sound, a base to start a line alone

To refrain from sounding cliché, maybe my cliché is new

To refrain from referencing to death, or blood, or morning due

I cannot profess my word at hand to start a song, I choke

Capable to do an inch of what I can’t provoke       

Reviews

[Wildecat]

All good things take time. You just have to be patient. Nice write.