All I See Is Rain (And Other Poems)

Relatively simple poems. I'm having issues lately. Not a dry spell per say, more that I'm struggling to write anything decent. Temporary issues right now. Hope they will leave me to my writing soon.

All I See Is Rain

I’d like to cry but all I see is rain

My very eyes a windowpane

My glass tapestry a picture-frame

The colours only come in waves

I am drowning in the deep

But my eyes will never weep

I am the lonely soul no devil reaps

I wear rose-tinted glasses

I bear children only blasphemous

I am the echoed rasp of jasmine rhapsodies

I am the burned-out lapse of a gas tank

I am the stars within the clasp

I am the praying hands, a gallows mast

And I am the godless one to laugh

At all your little failures

Your martyrhood, your saviours

Your wars, and your salvation

Sabotaged unsalvageable diablo’s hatred

Who haven’t seen the truth in what they are

Who haven’t seen wide smiles of a hurricane scar

The open mouths are stretched out lips

Angels in the manger of eclipse

The little sky upon my back

The sacrilegious Atlus a practice of my sacrifice

I am the handle

You are the knife

I am the grassy pastures under alabaster cashmere clouds

You are the scythe, you wear the hollowed volume of a shroud

We were the hands that dug that burial mound

Under the spriggan of my fingernails

Under the feathers’ nimbostratus of your limbo’s attic

Your little Vatican to matadors dancing in insanity

I’d cry tears of laughter

‘Cause all I see is rain

The radio static of a windowpane

The blood that never drains

That marked the soil in harvest of the moon’s shadow

The war may be over

We b******s in the saddle

Could know no more than battlefields

For we dig on holy lands

Until we’re sprawled out with the damned

You just don’t know who I am

I am the one who cried tears of blood

Saturated statements in the muddy sun

I am the one who soiled your crops

I am the everything you lost

I am here, and you are gone

Ballroom dance, I carry on

And walk the roads that you abandoned

Slithering tongues and empty lungs that you have slandered

I am the son of weather patterns

Unravelled spun, spiralling violins of what weave become

Our number no longer creaks in the night

My mangled hands have found no fight

And if my fingers could take flight

And write a poem somewhat bright

I’d make light of what you’ve done to me

Even nightmares have their dreams

Let the stars go back to sleep

Let them fall like flowers from the sky

And I will tell this world of roots and withered petals

Goodbye

And the rain will leave our bed in sunrise

And those coals will finally die

And we never will see eye to eye

I refuse to ever open mine

Let our fallen branches, braille angels intertwine

I won’t break your wings, the armour that once wore my spine

Axel masquerades realigned

Livewire choir, leave it where it lies

An open hand to hold is just a vice

I cut my ties of knotted roots

You scythes made hearts that metal follow suit

My word is not a gift to you, it is a sentence

You lost children, that I don’t remember

Do not pretend to be an ember

You are just a drop of rain

Oh so many leave their stain

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Devil Crying

 

On this endless field of grey

We walk it all the same

Planewalker of the frayed

Nightstalker bound by chains

Free to sit alone

I have my plastic throne

I do not give a f**k

My jagged edges have gone rough

Sharpened starlight on my claws

And open doors, like tomes of jaws

My smile is a scar

That someone else has carved

On the graffiti of my chopping block of wraiths

Living under the fossiled horizon of a rockface

My shadow the outline of white bone chalk

My hourglass hands still aren’t a clock

Where did the time go, where did it come from in the first place?

Murder of crows and clovers, under clouds that flock

To the electric line across

For my words, I’m at a loss

And still, I sacrificed

So much

 

 

Solitude

She wore the umbrella stiletto's of my marshmallow cerebellum

The manifesto’s of a memento’s semblance 

Statuettes of shadows outcropped like an empty farm

Thunderstorm underworld’s of stars that never saw the dawn

Doubleheader off the rails of a maelstrom

Immaterial chandeliers of ethereal engineering

Neogenesis tempestuous renaissance

Onomatopoeia nocturnal reaper inferno terpsichorean

Guillotine blitzkrieg of parted seas that will never meet again

Guardians of a discarded Hanukah of marmalade spades

Herding murmuring hurricanes like cattle shackled to Ragnarok

Why do we never talk my friend?

Do you want to kill me once again?

I am the channels of your sin

The mantra of your forgotten kin

The snake under your fragile skin

Frayed pages in the wake of mayhem’s second wind

The lantern amidst the darkness

The oblivion you hold within

The fates of your own harvest

The marvel, the harbinger of hulking ships

Between your heartless ribs

The diablo of your flexing muscles grin

Under the peeling succubus of your painted skin

Even when I merely play my part

No one wins

Wonderland

Bathed in the emblazoned guillotine of double-helixes

I go to the deserted audience of cathedrals for mass murders of crows

The collapse of euphoria's cornea corridors

The third eye of the maelstrom blinks in and out of existence

The whispering crucifixion

Of the spiralling unravelling cataclysm in my head

I play my part

The pieces of the puzzle

Fitting different sentences into my flesh

Bargaining hearts like wordy poems

Reemerging from the metallurgical purgatory

Play the organ of an aurora borealis

Every piece of me is a concerto

This piece is just another ripped out fingernails’ halo

I've been taken apart so many times

It's hard to know what I've put together

What equations I left out like an unwanted wallflower

What part of me isn't good enough to part with

Cut me some slack

From the flower of a slipknot blooming in my stomach like a butterfly 

Rummage around the foundation of my self-hatred

Find the bits that cast me out

Hear the words that brought me down

Feel the silence from the crowd

Know I never capsized on a cloud

I'm probably somewhere in the ground

Like how one stands tall

So they can look down

At people who slither

Pitter-pattering the patterns of a Rorschach lantern

And candlewick of pandemonium

Smoke and mirrors flickering in and out of the lungs of a dream

Drinking in the moonshine like red wine, serpentine

Even these devils, so divine

Leave me lonesome on the borderline

Loathing cornucopia of rhyme

The shattered mosaic of a Frankenstein

Man-made monsters

Maybe monsters make the man

Angels sprawled out in the sand

Of another’s wonderland

The flower that blooms violet

Under the eyelid of a full moon's piper

An island of violins in the quiet of the rising tide's of iron strings

A siren or aspiring king

The iris of an eclipse, the remains that cling

Songbird hymns in a diabolical rhythm

Together in our schism, writing new religions

I have long since been imprisoned

This mere image

My own plane of oblivion, is here

 

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

[Re-Pete]

my, such intricate writing. i can sense the moods and feelings shift as the writer struggles to reach what he wants.


i think the line
I am the son of weather patterns

sums it up.

rain and tears are cleansing and the sun always comes out again. nice work and your worded imagery and pics are amazing as usual ... :)

[R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)]

Thanks, glad you enjoyed my work!

[.]

You know, this is so beautiful actually. I'm really envied Jack!...though I know I can't grow up to you but I hope that one day I'll.

[R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)]

I'm sure you'll grow up to be a great poet. I already think you are.