Yin-Yang, Or The Human Condition (Different, One)A Poem by R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe) A collection of some of my greatest works in a while. Possibly unfinished, I love adding to previous works, but entirely ready to be read. I hope you enjoy!
Ying-Yang (Different, One)
A Beginner Dreaming Blindly of Segregated Colours (Irised)
I am a beginner dreaming blindly of different colours Cyan a whimper breathing primal oblivious to lonesome lovers Babbling brooks of catacombs Rooks on the chessboard A cashmere of stratospherical lust For the rusted blossoming Of the bronze sun in a terracotta sky, Under iron armoured clouds The battleground of gaudy saffron harmonies Avalon’s belladonna sonata The marigold halos of a hurricanes Glades sprouting teeth of jagged jasmine Weapons abandoned, Consumed by the jaws of night In the belly of madness The fuchsia of a hallucinogenic stepping stone Skipping across the hieroglyphic heavens I walk and climb over the remainder of my life A mountain worn down by the thistle winds of change Finding the crevices of my heart untouched Unasked for, the roots of my youth Gnawing of branches The caves in my body empty Like a glass palace, silent The prism of the light at end of the tunnel, dark The shadows I cast aside like dice in my kaleidoscopic heart The champagne cornflower on death’s row Imprisoned in the mimicry of Gods’ love My ultramarine eyes of depths of dreams The nightmare I no longer In the wake, face the tide of battle The people one an ocean one with every wave A monster of pure-blooded anarchy Only far too willing to shed itself Like a crimson chrysalis On the canvas of the earth Thirsty for war’s metamorpthesis This demon of onyx eclipse, obsidian ventriloquism The hands of fate shackled to the table Of sanguine casinos Playing the same game, over, and over Praying at the cathedral of chance And victory, and torment, and Never quite finished Never quite out of things to gamble away Hoping to take home lives Homes those lives leapt from Like grease, a flash in the pan Becoming one with the fire Branding the wet russet timber only cowards Extinguishing the seed of hope they once burned for Coldheartedly ablaze Until the rest of forest rusts red as the bronze sun too The metal in our heart-beaten out of shape By the hands that
pray Blacksmiths of the honeyed flame Messengers to the phosphorescent Nephilim Enkindling oblivion Are we nothing but the fading flicker of hope Yet to be bathed in the brilliance of despair? Will my colour bleed from within On the pages of history like an iron brand? Will we too, fade, like they did? Will we fade together Under the kindling of one cold flame, Beautiful? Or will the ash birth its own auburn peace flowering black? From what was once whole Irised?
Messenger of Nephilim
Do you choose to take the middle path of the coin just to walk over the edge? Flipping through the pages of an empty library of being To suffer through joy is the privilege of disability, segregation hoping to despair in pleasurable pain? If nothing were to exist, there would be no time lost, or passing For the future’s past would be but a moment, now Do you surrender to what is the war within, the white flag of a black sky? Ego, analytical, emotions without judgement jeering Friends, we enemies, a spark in a dark room in the middle of a luminous city night The void of a full stomach, a taste of everything to come and pass us by A freight train of thought-full mindful madness Too much white noise In the soundless conversation of musical notes talking to themselves Written in the grim knowledge of dark ink Upon the melancholy dawn of ignorant bliss, lightheartedly
(Yellow)
Heart racing homo-sapiens Oracles of deplorable homeostasis Metamorphosis ancient Magnum opus mother nature Rigour Mortis reinvigorating Ballpoint-blank pages seen naked through the lens of a kaleidoscope Justice is blinded by judgement Our second wind first watched As the earth stood still and died a whimpering breeze Of frayed feathers that never flew like flags Of the separate sides of the coin Enlighten darkness of the saintly fiend The two-faced fairy-tales of figureheads Flipping on the ellipsis of a coin Infinity’s ending, the reborn compendium The coming of left behind The soothsayers’ dealbreaker The viewpoint of blind love The hatred of a flower bud Blooming bioluminescent To wilting umbilical amaryllises To eldritch belladonna to dawn-breaker’s hoards of Morningstar In the chaos caused by law The law that caused chaos Nocturne’s metropolis, solitudes hallowed jaws The devil in god Diabolical apostles of unclean holy waterways Drowning in gospels and pews, Babylonian muse Binding double-helixes of tied tongues Knots in stomachs Butterflies of a noose licking its lips A polytheistic abyssal shapeshifting gypsy Swallowing the glistening light Of your world The blackness smiles, rippling In a beautiful way that only it can And you are cold in your fading moonlit glow Under a black-blanketing sun Forged of dual dagger hearts worn on the sleeves of gods Devils of the aluminum womb
(Blue) Nightmares that dream of enlightening darkness If you drop a coin with heads looking down to earth a centimetre from the dirt Is there the telltale sign of the odds stacked against you? What is the chance of a missed outcome cast? Is there empty certainty? Without a shadow of doubt hiding from the sun? Or are both outcomes blind to our human eyes An overabundance of anything can poison you, too sweet, to sour Light and dark both in extremes will leave you blind, but in a way You can see spirit mediums in the twilight What is the difference, where is the similarity Why do we draw these bloodlines amidst the all-consuming dunes? In the sands of time? Will the fingerprints tell us Plastered alabaster as an asteroid of pale veils of nightingales Or a ray of grey glaring into the depths of the night Just a shade of the moon’s shadowland Glimmering obsidian guillotines of the universe’s cry Stringing up the strands of dandelion leviathan silhouettes of ventriloquists Dancing wrapping daffodils on the glyphs of the Milky way Were the fingertips grey clouds that were neither ink nor page? A double-crossbreed to bear like a child of god’s angels And devils’ hellions rebellious to try to find some closure In-between the yes in no The right in wrong The black in white The good in evil Will the feathers of this bird of many shackles and ribcages Ever be more heart than wallflowers that lost the will to find their way But still choose willpower through lost mementos of dreamcatchers On the outskirts of the city But nowhere near the border of solitude These boundaries that do not overlap like the sun and moon in an eclipse, and still Know that both is the same as being neither And one is the same as the other I’ve been on the fringe so long in the empty nothing Of something between worlds at war with their opposite sides of the coin of apocalypse Without the outer-rim Of two different conceptualism’s mirroring each other My mirror becomes a vast open window between both somethings Of or neither side It’s similar, in a weird way, friend of strangers Stranger than my friends Now, in our different similarities And similar difference Are we really such off colour misrepresentations of knowing yes, saying yes to know Now, are we really so different? I’m in your face like a mirror image
Elevator shaft of Everest’s sky Under lake Eerie’s spiritual ethereal delirium The depths of madness, heights of avarice Reaching for the gladius of a lavender sheets Of a ball-point-blank journal sunrising in this piece of mind, immaterial Puzzle, labyrinth, question Exit, hallway, answer This little peace of heaven in the dusty succubus of an underworld Phantasmagorical pandemonium, holy metamorphosis, the shadows of a ghost Tie-dye butterflies sired on the isles of kaleidoscopes Eclipse the eucalyptus of braille ukuleles in maelstroms The billowing sails of nightengales a halo’s holy grail Is the word of god a life sentence, or free speech? Is the murderer executed to save lives? Born to die another day No rest for the wicked Yet the night is young and so am I in morning for watching the son set in his ways Let a fire-place warmth into my cold heart Will it not beat to count the seconds in the first place burned to cinders? The apple of my snake eyes, taking a bite out of the dice and rolling three sixes The healthy sickness, the punishment for wishes The virtue of the right to be left behind the forward from within the outer circle of wicked Does difference bring us closer together to being a far cry from parting with silence? What does it mean to be between two somethings Is there something else that we know nothing about? Are right and left synthesized at the centre Or was there no centre but an emptiness that connects two separate ideas Something so difficult for me to grasp sitting on the tip of my tongue Do you hereunder stand for this? If I take this lying down are we black and white? Is my tongue a pen and yours a page? Who is writing? Who is empty? Grey Are your words silence, and my poem awestruck Left without words? For what that silence says under its breath, taking place to placeholder A meaning hitting home to nothing, nobody Are we speaking different music, different colours, different love Empty, yet so full of ourselves, or each other, or in-difference, one whole to fill Or grey?
The ichor of white wine waters And the shimmer of the calm black night brings warmth and joy The hands of the grand piano play a tune of rune clouds The woodwinds orchestra orchids soaring tumbling Through the world of pallets, people being painted In the darkest and brightest colours Painting each other in the humanity echoing off words Each from every mouth, unravelling tomes The sound of unknown composers singing The world's upbringing Every seed of dreamland forming in the hearts of flowers Flames that do not burn each other into oblivion Colours that will never fade away Swirling painted spirals unravelling in the minds of the young The leaves of the strawberry sunset, a forest of clouds The branches of our canopy Touching the glass ceiling sky, cracked prisms of light Feed the darkness bright The white eyes of sunrise crying tears of golden joy The teal fields of Elysium dancing The skin painted Its own canvas, given by God In the colour of angels made of every shade God's kaleidoscopic gaze, as the family tree touches the moon And the children of the rain will bath in azure, and Somehow Learn how to pray, again
One
Kaleidoscopic phosphorus The colossal of the glossy polaroid picture of life The saffron acolytes blossoming in Apocrypha Daffodils and asters opalescent as the moon Astral castles in the incandescence bloom Messenger of Nephilim vessel's of the womb Pestilence of evanescence remnants of the gloom We sit on cliffs made of glass and steel cable rooms The omniscient image of our past outlasting in the loom The people stand on metal, the devil mines the moon Never came to rebel, against the malevolence to consume We are one, in a strange way, I am Different pieces of the puzzle left unsolved We are one, in every colour blurred Worms that squirm under foot of ancients shook We are one, in the core but lost in the prisons of our minds We are gone, through the limits of our time Our limited supply We are dead, like a star, collapsed, inside Like a planet turned to stone We are bone The remnants we have worn From the cosmos we were born Alone And I am one Of many ones And zeros In place, holders of our grief Fallen giants of the seed The red sea of our kin The devil buried under earth, within We thought we were a different breed The crimson apple of the withered tree The eden of our pride The depths, the summit, of our lives (We are one, in that we were born to die alone) (Atop our silver gilded thrones) (A desolate sepulchre of destiny's requiem beckoning) Home (Or challenge your own fate, arbiter) (And endlessly swim in the tides of battle) (Drown in the undertow of a cruel world's many souls) (You won't be the first to suffocate on the tongues of clouds) (A loner crying rivers in the crowds' roar like a waterfall's mouth)
Resolution (The Good In the Difference of Opinions)
© 2020 R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)Author's Note
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R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)Burlington, Halton, CanadaAboutMost of my poems can be differing lengths depending on the time you want to spend reading them. You can avoid reading anything brackets, or read it all. If you want an in-between, you can read only th.. more..WritingRelated WritingPeople who liked this story also liked..
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