Numbers

Numbers

 

Walk the twisted debris pile,

Gather up sweet distractions.

Sordid little trinkets to

Outshine dissatisfaction.

Dark attractions slither smiles

Across a cold pale visage.

Red zeroes on balance sheets

Bleed through the pure white bandage.

 

Sculptured wreckage spins so well;

Fancy mental carousels.

Wishing wells run dry to stone.

Hell is on the telephone.

Bills unpaid and grand charades,

Pock marks dent the sweet façade.

Dreams collide and nightmares wake;

Butterflies to razorblades.

 

Till the soil and spill the seed.

Manufactured needs grow tall.

Crops cast shades on rooftop thoughts,

Watered with iced alcohol.

Seasons change and treasure rusts,

True winds blow and walls fall down.

There you stand, completely nude,

Save for your dramatic crown.

 

Diamond rings tied like nooses,

Neck-snap traps; struggle’s useless.

Out of power; out of time,

Corpses hanged from credit lines.

Yeasty lies won’t kill hunger,

Beastly tides suck you under.

Thunder rolls to mark the end,

Of your lightning fast descent .

 

Numbers don’t abide pretense.

Author's Note

Rhymes and sevens: Changed scheme every other stanza to pick up tempo....to convey panic. I still suck at rhyming poetry. LMAO!

Reviews

[Kerry O'Connor]

I don't know why you claim to suck at rhyme. There is no-one else I know who would rhyme nooses with useless. I love the fact that the rhymes are not always entirely true - it gives a more gritty feel and is more in keeping with you authenticity. I love the wholeness of this poem, but stanza 3 is my fave - such images.

[John Jackson (El Juero)]

Corpses hanged from credit lines. Dude, that says it all! Bellisimo!

[Deactivated_BurningDemo..]

I really don't understand how you think this could suck. It's amazing. Not only have you conveyed the point very well, you also managed to make it a interesting read. If this is bad, I'd love to see good.

[Jennifer Lenhardt]

i think so many could relate to this... when "The American Dream" has vanished and the money's all gone, what have we built our hope on? Hopefully - not numbers. Thought provoking.

[cfix]

Hell is on the telephone.
Bills unpaid and grand charades,
Pock marks dent the sweet façade.

I like this stanza, this is a well written write.
Boy, I know this feeling. Well done!