Walking Gods (of a Grey Tomorrow)

A theme loosely connected to the song "The Sound Of Silence". But entirely my own. The idea of urban decay spreading through civilizations becoming a placeholder for gods.

The pieces of my shattered heart

Fit into place like a mosaic on the wall

Along the crevices of brick birthing graffiti under a burgundy sky

Split down the middle like the cracks in your sidewalk, hollow

The sewer grates filled with ambrosia

Of the comatose feet pitter-pattering ceramics

Interlopers that moved like ancient skyscrapers

On the backs of monarch butterflies, turtle cities

Walking the earth like a stairway to heaven

Or a path back from limbo’s windowpane teeth

Biting on the crisp air of a sun’s bullet

And people watched as the pieces of me became mirrors

And I realized everyone was like me

So strafed, so coldblooded, so hopeless

That they had to look into me like a dead horizon

To see themselves as who they were,

Not just pieces of a hole

Sinking into nothingness

Leading into the depths of ones’ soul,

Where the light at the end of the tunnel

Is only a flashlight dropped by a poltergeist long ago

When the hearts on our sleeves were beating

Like angel wings on the hollow asphalt

Of an empty room

Alone with nothing but our metal frames rusting in the rain

And the people who could only look upon the damage

Knew I was the one to plan this

And they laughed at my own sin

And tore my canvas up within

With their vials of bibles

And the madness spread its limbs

And crawled on halogens rhythm

With its frightening schism

A nightingale’s religion,

Kaleidoscopic Apocrypha's prisms

The bright nightmares

Preaching for Elysium,

Dreaming of the living limbo’s city symbolism

Written on the subway walls and catacombs

Growths of the apostle we called home

Shadows left to roam the tunnels with no light at the end but darkness

Dismembered heaven masquerading

Mosaics of blasphemous Rorschach’s

Basking in the asterisks of crucifixions basilisks

Blacklisted abstract afterimages

Guillotine pilgrimages scars upon the sheet metal concrete alter

Such a sad viewpoint to give the world to look from

Said she, one of many who were my paintings

Blind to the colours we bleached this world in

Willow wisps of sainthood

Satan’s maidens, men and women so desolated

Ripped to pieces of puzzles

Mazes of braille holy grails, stars no one wished upon

Desperately trying to put themselves back together

With their fake love

Falling apart like an old apartment in the city’s infinity

Spreading heaven through the viridian oblivion of waterlily incubus

Ventriloquists of amaryllis

Thorns of flowers penetrating each other

Brotherhoods of asylums siring violet wildfires

In the gardens that pale to Eden

Led to Armageddon in search of Elysium

Shackled by our freedom

Imprisoned by our labyrinthine squalor of steel onomatopoeia

At peace with our see-through priesthood, and our gods

Our urban churches, our high-rise cathedrals

Our newspaper psalms, our apostle colossus

Our walking Gods of stagnant imagination

Cremated in creation’s damnation

Lost in the dark alley drunk on holy water

Watch him pray on the weak

Watch him let our silence speak

Let him share his poems

And omens of clovers turning auburn as the strawberry cogs of dawn

Let the suffocating dusk of another day under the electric sun be warm

The steel cables Cain and Able strangle each other

Let the brothers interweave and deceive each other

With their withering words

Let the murder of the trees give new birth to crows

Entangled in the telephone pole graveyards

Holding each other on the borderline of madness

Let the city be divine, in its decrepit sadness

As it spreads its renaissance atop the gospel of a wingless Holocaust

Let the offering of hearts

Shine like diamonds, shattered hymens in the dark

Let the deflowered gardens harden over

And rot with the sarcophagus

Offtune communion of steampunk wombs

Giving birth to walking Gods

Let these behemoth cities stalk the wilderness of the abyss, hunting angels

Umbilical vermillion fields under the stampede, the green becoming brown

Steel wires of a crown, and bearing this concrete cross

The goliath of dandelions,

Ivory leviathans, gliding across with wyvern of a scythe

Let this city Jesus die for us, let the metal man be our god

Let the neon onomatopoeia

Led us on a ballroom waltz scattered in amaranthine

Let the cyborg asylum spread with outstretched platinum arms

Let us build ourselves another walking God

Grey Tomorrow

Such a sad viewpoint to give the world to look from, you say

Spreading heaven’s malevolence

On the slippery slope of mountain Valkyries

The bloodlines in the sand written in cursive ink

Immaterial imperialist phoenix of double helixes

Ichor of psychokinesis

Reaching Elysium in cathedrals of Prometheus

Sanguine amputee’s of a blood moon’s sunburn

Umbra’s of homunculus flounder onomatopoeia

In the lavender avalanche of sunsets

Yet still, I hang my head alone

Holding a candle to the campfire of a blind man's lullabies

Sung by midnight-mother-tongues in belladonna’s lungs

Strung up by the branches of guitar strings

Parhelion’s armada behind kaleidoscope’s shutters

In another underworld

Nocturnal hurricanes churning whirlpools

Flutter like butterflies at heart’s summit in the stomach

Chrome exodus test fate under the experimental wake

Onyx psalms of renaissance

Steampunk dream-drunk angelica

Crescendos of mementos

In the heartbeat of concrete tempos

Hymns of nymphs and Nephilim

Singe the breath of brethren

Rhythm’s infinity bending iridescent

Unendingly hallucinogenic

Neogenesis phosphorescent incandescent evergreens

So we can say we smoked trees

In the ifrit striptease of calligraphy’s debris

The passing day buried before death

Rippling abyss licking the fingertips of a ludicrous eclipse

We leave behind us

In the walls that bind us

Like ivory riptide of scythe skyscrapers

Tall tails swallowed by the world serpent

Again and again

Splitting the cities of oblivion’s civilization  

Writhing in the ever-turning clockwork maze of flagellation

Priscilla’s wildebeest guillotines

Basilica wilting in silken vermillion umbilical womb illuminated

Cerulean tranquillity

Building pavilions of the bones of matadors

I stand on the greatest silence known to man, the empty tick-tock of time

The sound of death's heartbeat drumming faster, cardiovascular

The end times were here from the beginning

Every moment fleeting

But I was already gone, long, long ago

Wishing for a metal god to pray to with steel heart

I never did take the shell casing

Of my spiralling spirit recirculating its interpretations

Out of my revolving chamber of point-blank pages

Although justice never served

Unravelled on the platter of my tongue

The doors to the void

Let my words feed your empty mouth

I no longer scrawl poems

Across the graffitied prison walls anymore

I just hang the pictures

(That left me framed)

My rusted wire-frame standing still

In the dead of night under thunderclouds and rain

In the inside-out shambles of a melancholy exoskeleton

Deteriorating ethereal double-helixes

Of cathedrals to Prometheus

My eternal inferno of metallurgical turntables

Face the light of day

And even the brightest future has a dark shadow

And alone in the darkness

I am still a shadow of what I once was

Connected to this living body, bleaching the sky grey

Letting the cool breeze tickle the sickles of ellipsis

Harvest the old memories with my sugarcane

Walking on the skin of metal gods until they turn to ancient

Cardboard ruins built above us, elevators to the stars

And the highest mountains become speedbumps

For the men who waltz on corpses

And have no love under the iron sun to weld into mercy

For there never was mercy

Only the grinding gears of a grandfather clock

Screeching gospels of oil crocodile tears

Smiling slums of sheet metal

The face of the earth slowly burning black

The shell of the butterfly

A shadow of tomorrow

All my own, all yours

Us high-rise orchards of metamorphosis

We cast-iron dice

The odds stacked above our heads

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]

The beginning of this poem harkens to me about how it might feel to live in the overcrowded mindless unconnected masses of city life (being a country girl myself). I feel this is how impersonal it might be when people are barely recognized for their uniqueness, but rather just seen as a writhing glob of humanity without individuality. There's some great rhyming in this poem (altho you don't mention this as being a rhyming poem). Further, your poem seems to express the many mind-boggling complexities of life, as seen where the masses roil, & which is a big contrast to the simplicity of country living & cannot even be compared. One time I went for a job interview in downtown San Francisco & I was overwhelmed by all the skyscrapers & wall-to-wall and floor-to-ceiling concrete, glass, & impersonal crowds (being a country girl). I knew I could never live or work in a massive city like that. This is how your poem makes me feel, like I don't belong to that pounding, expanding, thundering style of humanity which is often considered the only kind offered these days! (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[wordman]

the pieces of my shattered heart,no,maybe it happened long ago,maybe you killid what we had

[.]

It's a very nice poem as always. I suggest to use new words instead of the ones that you've been using in most of the poems, for example- ripped. you can use a substitute phrase too it'd sound original. You've used your words now you can use words from other literature too... That's why learning old and contemporary literature is helpful. You can also use words from other languages and you've done that in a few poetry.
Just suggesting new ideas. :) This is more of a suggestion to drive ideas more than a review.
Keep writing,
Good Luck!

[R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)]

I'll start using some different words, I was having trouble writing until I wrote this, so I know that I can improve. Thank you for reading! :)