And all the saints were dead

They left as dusk fell
but found no seclusion in
the darkness
because the electric lights
filled up the emptiness
and left them dazed, unaware
of the stars gleaming far above
their beds


Who knew
that the time would come
when we might fall down to our knees
praying softly to the
ghosts and spirits of this
degenerated world

Did we find redemption in those whispered
secrets, passing over
the Underworld


They left as the dawn approached
leaving dust behind
and entrails
scattered over crumbling pavement
with teardrops on their fingertips,
sweeping
against the fragile skin of
      sedementary mindscapes


I only wished for something less than
what I saw, what I felt as
the hands were turned
back and molded into
unrelenting sorrows

Were yesterdays eating at those broken bones?

In places where only I had feared to tread, we held
candles in the moonlight, with dim lit eyes and
upturned faces, the cold wind
biting against flesh, burrowing deep
        into our spirits

I felt the smoke like liquid ash,
 turning and unfurling,
with simple strokes and gestures
You led me
    into the pasture, your milky skin bathed
with romance and moon kissed embellishments


Yes, they left us as the world fell
down into the depths
      of uncertainty
cruel and apathetic
to the burning woes
and curtained echoes

Their tears dropped into the sand leaving
hollow imprints for us to
ponder

Once again, we'll find that we truly are
alone
and they have left us to our sins

Author's Note

This came with a sense of doom. Tell me how you percieve it

Reviews

[OutsideSyntax]

This is a mindblowing and extremely vivid write... a vague impression I would have of it is - A sense of brutal disillusionment shared with phantoms of the illusions past... drawn out into what would seem like an eternity in a few short moments of being hopelessly aware, in one last grim attempt at clinging to the things we take for granted in our day to day life with all that ballast of misconceived corporealness, all the while collapsing into the oblivion of an inscrutable, unrelenting and impersonal reality. Just my two cents ;) Definately a very mentally adept write.

[Jonathan De Elvira]

S**t....god damn it this was dark...

[Zeitgeist Manifesto]

This is a spectacular story. I saw despair, resentment and some anger.
It really seemed like there was unresolved feelings because of admiration
and the feeling of abandonment conflicting against one another. It felt to
me as if the darkness and negative influences of the world were beginning to overwhelm all...

but that also meant that all of that conflict must come to a head and force the universe to create another hero to balance it all out.

As dark and hopeless as the setting could be..there still is an undying element of redemption. Excellent work!

[Randolf Ramos]

It is true, we are overwhelmed by the terror that beseech us, but the it is our own perceived reality different from others but the true reality is indistinguishable from the rest that we are our own making , thus such overwhelming state that keeps us busy never opens our eyes that there is something more on the other side of the scheme if we just take a look at every side where positivities reign, then we are emancipated from our reality that is an illusion from the rest but still we are in reality.

[Kelsie Eileen Stark]

Excellent job! This was beautifully written with an pinch of darkness- and little bit of hope. Great joB!

[Ed Hart]

that's what i call good smoke

[Robin]

you weave a personal element within this piece , a relationship of the persona to the collective soul , and yes , a drape of dark undertones fills these images .

[NoneOfYourBusiness akaK..]

Penned with expert care~ thought inducing crafting replete with gripping images~

[Coyote Poetry]

I don't know. I believe a lot of saints left on Earth. Just hard to see them with so much negative in this world. In my lifetime. Met many good people who do great and kind things. I believe a gift given in private. Not for praise or to be recognize is what good people do. Henry Ford had a sister. She gave 400 million to charity. Her only rule was her name to be never used. Many saint and good people . I like the poem. Made me think. Old world need healers and good hearten people. They are out there. A excellent poem.
Coyote

[Bard Constantine]

Certainly paints an accurate depiction of the mood of the world. The things people believed in turn to ash; pretty paintings are torn down to reveal monsters that revel in the torment of children. There's a lot said here about the loss of trust and a sense of hopelessness... written masterfully...