The Breath Is Quick

an inspired poem of inspiration

Reasoning- all passion, no beauty,

the greatest composer

dead behind the dream for the self,

limbless in a mind-flesh labyrinth

faceless and bleeding from the mouth.

Ideology and his inceptive posse,

he's short with the short-hand bearded blind,

sitting on his chest while the symphony plays

out of time.

The low melodic voice of soft

brown hazel eyes inspires

the skeleton to breathe.

The art of imposing one's soul

where another lacks character, or,

filling one's searching heart

with expression.

The breath comes quick and weak,

expelled with a force from

over-reactive lungs as

squealing ghosts that explode

in the cold

with no apparent damage.

Possessed to live another's sweet dream

unknowingly, empty save

for untouchable reason,

hollowed out by inhuman wanton,

something spirit, faithful credulity

in a secret master's infatuation.

Retaliate against the world

and its residents, spreading the

same story the stirred

the cellos and violas.

It's sweet music. And so passionate, lives

a coward soul.     

Reviews

[Justsimplyjulia]

once again, you have managed to take my breath away with your words Poe.
Fabulous write.
-Dragon

[Frieda P]

I'm reading this and thinking it's about someone specific, captivating read...like that line a lot.

"limbless in a mind-flesh labyrinth"

Hauntingly mysterious, well pen'd.