Rude Awakening (Tempest of My Enemies)

This is not the original poem. It started writing itself, and turned into an epic, a magnum opus, if you will. If you want a shorter, to the point read, click on Rude Awakening (Original)

Despair spreads like a disease of philosophy

I am a secondhand clock, a ticking time bomb

Second-guessing every hourglass

 

Time is my asylum

I sleep to the alarm bells

I awaken to melancholy scythes, Death cries

 

Enlighten me with you damning schizophrenia reanimated ammunition

Take a shot and choke on a bullet, might as well go out with a bang

Reloading necrosis, where the living lie down and die, I’ll take my last stand

 

I wrote over every drop of blood-stained on my memories

I tout only every firearm that stole my livelihood

Sometimes people just put the fire out to burn the witch with shadows

 

Sometimes the darkness scorches and scalds diabolical more than any madness

The Holocaust is a philosophy of despair marinating devastation in the hysteria of caricatures

And it sounds like silence, and whispered oblivion

 

And my armour is so empty of knightshade halo’s malevolent covenant of bloodhound angels

Bound by the anarchistic antithesis of sickness bewitching cataclysmic crucifixion

Decrepit Armageddon this secondhand insanity that was brought from father to son

 

Until it was naught but torn fabric eradication to clothe the fraying of my soul

Until the see-through pieces of the shattered glass I wore became me

Heaven or Hades, this s**t was my gravy salivating megalomania

 

Amputating amalgamations of hatred from the nightmare’s of transparency

Gregorian chants necromancing gladiators of flesh

Who eat at each other’s throats until they speak scripture in ellipsis eviscerated love

 

Through the lips of their victims eclipsing existence above

I do not speak sacrilege through the sign language of my hippocampus hemorrhages

My hands contorting orifices of metamorphosis intercoursing chords of railroads

 

As the sadness abracadabra’s the miasma of shattered dreams

Even my nightmares are a reflection of the beatings, too weak to push through

Reach peaks of butchered views, a piece of music entombing illusions with the fuselage of bruises

 

The war engines of their hearts, the biomechanical animalistic jurisdiction of their words

As I regurgitate the resurgence of hurricanes, alone in my Hell

I used to frolic in the wilderness of a pilgrimage resilient with the wildflower endowed to gallows

 

I used to hang with the maelstroms, and then I sank with the insanctuary’s jailor

Vanquished by the humanity that tore me from the page

And forged me like a blade of glass, blasphemous as rage

 

I only broke because I was meant to

I only spoke because a remnant said to

Of another man who never was

 

Falling short yet came so far

Sleeping in an open grave

Found his death and lost his way

 

Even if I were to change

You still would need a man to blame

Even if you turn the page

 

You burn the book and break the rules

I remember times that weren’t as cruel

If you think I won’t bite back then you’re the fool

 

Your lies are but a baseless tool

Disguised behind a rhyme or two

Designed to take a life for you

 

I’m not so soft to die aloof

Burn brighter than your lighter fuel

Fly higher than a mountain view

 

Deciphering all Chlorophyll

Reborn dirge to soar through burgundy eternity

Flourish before I turn to ash

 

Kill your future before I forget my past

Know your castle is just made of glass

Buried mass of aftermath under the grass choir of graphite black

 

I’m the only soul you ever had

The rose is always ironclad

The thorns of a travesty, the madness of an avalanche, phantasmagorical oracle of asphalt agoraphobia, all alone again

 

Take my life I’ll take my stance

I could not stand to die again

And haunt your memory till the end, beginning to see what got me started, the gamble that you bargained?

 

There won’t be a world I’m not a part of

There won’t be a worm without a martyr

There won’t be a bird without a meal

 

There won’t be a heart that hasn’t healed

There won’t be a poem half as real

Bad omens while devils sell their deals, I leave my memories a blemished revenant in the fields

 

Unending till you feel

The sound of dying demons, reverend to centipedes

Screaming as you’re kneeling, knocking at your basement door

The never-ending war, redemption bleeds a century

Infinity's soliloquy

Every heart of mine a guillotine, my spine a spiral Valkyrie, every step I took a balcony

Every death an alchemist's sabbath

My final breath amalgamated avarice

Intertwined with fate as weightless as your hatred, dainty as a reincarnation of a weeping willow's manifestation

Ravaging evaporated, the scabbard of a scavengers vagabond

A life of song, to the silent dawn's menagerie

The seance disembodied bottomless to the solitude of a hypnotic tune's hallelujah, an avenue for mavericks

A method to your madness

A breath into the blackness

A stain upon the salvaged fabric

An alabaster catalyst, the abyss within the plastic caverns

The eclipse before the shadow

The peace before this battle, the salve to heal animals, the mouth to reap the cannibals

Your voices just don't itch or sting, I no longer feel a single thing

Numb to all the sin and suffering, treading requiems, regretting everything

Dumb to the heartstrings strangling me, abandoned dreams, rotting leaves unsettling

The tempest of my enemies

The dread that tempts my nerve endings

The hope's effigy we're severing, the despair that threads rebellion

The rope that hangs my eulogy

The broken wings illuminate the dagger's of a canopy

The insanity ragged magnanimous, the dragonfly reanimated

Author's Note

I promise I read every single review, and I generally will reply to them. I look forward to my next review, because it helps me learn. Even if it's just one word, I promise, I will be happy to hear anything you feel needs sharing. Whenever you write on my shortcomings or breakthroughs, or the themes of my poems, or share ideas and friendly criticism, it decides my next poem to an extent. I will listen, learn and be thankful. And 99% of the time, you'll get a reply unless you're trolling me.

Reviews

[barleygirl]

Sometimes your poems feel as if the narrator is expressing most of it in a vacuum, not so much connected to other people, tho others may be referred to, it feels like a situation only the narrator can see & feel, being described to us. This poem felt different becuz of the part starting with shorter lines. Here you begin to address another person directly & I can't remember that happening very much in your poems. I like it. It isn't that this has to be a human person being addressed. It's just that the entity your narrator is addressing could represent whatever is "in there" -- whatever has been stifling for years & needs to be put in its place or just cleared out altogether. On a different note, I was thinking about how your title speaks of an awakening, yet your poem speaks often of death. I really respect this juxtaposition becuz it has always been my constant longing for death that has kept me more alive & present, than any other aspect of living. When lots of people read a dark poem with references to death, I bet they don't see as much life in it as I do. The fact that we die, that we LONG to die, that some are AFRAID to die, these are the natural waves of being human that makes life feel so intense. Your word-crafting is especially strong & bright & captivating in this poem (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[wordman]

pretty intense write,looking in a mad mans mind

[Robert Trakofler]

in one way or another we all inherit insanity learned or otherwise this poem is about 5 poems in a row I digested it last night before going to sleep and reread it today I especially like your three line phrases at the end much can be seen in them the fractures of your perspectives in the lines leave me a sense of questioning if that is the intent but it is raw like a paint pour leaving the viewer a bit skewed in its define I get glimpses of it only for another layer of obscuration of drip lines of pigment your thought flows are very much to me like viewing a paint pour in fast forward

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I'm glad you like both of them :)

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Thank You! For paying back with such an honor with this poem.
Sometimes your metaphors and imagery is excellent, so was well reflected in this poem! You expertise in spreading the tint with words. This 3-lined uniform structure gives a new personality to your writing style. I didn't thought it'd be so soon, so Thanks Again!. :)

https://inkgirl.webnode.com/l/she/
For now I've only released the images, I'll publish with this poem soon.

Keep writing.
Good Luck!