Suterbrook

An invisible author stares at a blank page, the sun shining
the first steps into a different reality.
Beyond gates of seperation, where road meets dirt, sweat,
combined screams of human and metal - their galaxy.
Fresh faces approach the boxes, nervous but driven,
unknowingly sacrificing more than time.
The incarnations laugh at the young tenders - all the same -
and accept the stones in need of grind.
Minutes become days, hours become weeks,
in the world of what is the Family.

Unparalled divorces not only chambered, but outside
physically, mentally, emotionally.
The gradual mold of an artist finding himself,
styled like an ancestor in negative; Metis.
Weekdays spent in hell, slaving alongside tortured souls
who are blind to their own imperfections.
Yet still dancing with the succumbed,
the scum and the succumbing. Life lessons.
Noses stuffed with plant, brain tangoing with chemical
and weekends spent in a different kind of cell.
As simple as an overnight formatting:
personality taking the backseat while the mind begins its work.

Demons come and angels go, warmth disappearing to another blank page,
autumn becomes the fall of consistent sin.
The colours inherent to this new soul, a dictionary of wonderful friends
seemingly following the wake of silent wind.
Or was it me? The butterfly already birthed from
his crystalis, this crystal wish of crimson flavor.
But the chains and bounds remain an integral part of Learning,
the future a distant, unobstructed wager.
And then like the Red Sea parting, like the crucifixion,
like the final purge of everything unholy in this not-so-distant dimension...
They were gone.

Overflowing from the substinence of substance:
white, green, and everything inbetween,
The world is a prettier place in colder times.
Aware of the constant, the absolute power that is progress,
time or dream, all breaking at the seams,
The world is a prettier place in colder times.

It is only the devils that remain while the single hell-chosen soul
spends eternity all alone.
Turning the days to minutes, and the weeks to hours
befriending those trapped in prismatic tones.
Speaking in tongues, catching on with a catch,
A bilingual rodent no longer hiding from his shadow.
Each second counting towards a precise knowledge and great new friends,
Culture integrated into personal gravel.
And then like the Berlin Wall, like the border crossings,
like the karma scale inverted on itself to establish another obstacle...
They were gone, too.

Hell ascends as more of a sanctuary with each passing day,
for misery takes on insistent forms - the Duo.
Home no longer home, but a snowball of black energy;
growing... growing... growing... an argumentative cesspool.
The demons transcending the fires itself as if to haunt me,
my independence a concern to the unconcerned.
The inevitability of running further downhill, the screams of human and metal
replaced by the screams of the herd.
Connections severed, dismembered, insanity lost forever.

The invisible author stares at yet another blank page, marvelling,
his Dynamic having changed completely since chapter one.










July 8th, 2008 - March 20th, 2009

Author's Note

This poem is basically a summary of everything that happened to me within nine months of working on a construction site, coming fresh out of highschool... may not seem very exciting, but there was a LOT that went on.

Reviews

[c.m.]

I too read it a few times....I guess it's one of those you don't quite get a hold on the first time, but then the second and third time you're just stunned. I can't even pick favorite lines because the qulaity of them all is so over the top. Excellent work.

[Katie]

I agree with Coyote- I had to read this twice and the authors note helped. The description was so intense you sucked me right in. Amazing.

[Coyote Poetry]

I like this poem. Set-up and description was very good. I'm glad you told me what was being described in the Author's note. I read it twice. Had my vision seeing many different things. A excellent poem.
Coyote