Broken Record Named Music Box

It is what it is man.

Broken Record Named Music Box

 

 

 

Broken record named music box

 

 

Born ballerina of gangrene evergreens canopies

 

Prometheus views humanity

 

His head cocked looking sideways at the shallow cemeteries

 

At the cathedral’s once aquamarine

 

Sheen sanguine phantoms shadows of an empty battlefield

 

That buried silence in a radio-static cage

 

Dangling freedom like a tangled flag of tongue-tied slipknots

 

Over the children of the midnight hour

 

Speaking twisted unchained sentences let loose to rampage

 

Like a skipping stone across the world’s surface

 

The ripples of time’s abyss eclipsed by the stone hearted moon

 

That does not bleed morning unto the final hour

 

Under cover of midnight

 

Sleeping in a riverbed of coals

 

Like half a family of fallen stars in makeshift embrace

 

Shapes of swirling clouds vortex

 

Like porcelain poltergeists haunting the shadows they cast

 

Camouflage the darkness flowering on the horizon

 

Of a neon sun’s electric perfection

 

Yesterday, an isolated shrine of cherry blossom petals stomped into a footprint

 

Forgotten memories are dead words and old flesh

 

I cannot claw my way out of this I hole I never dug

 

A pit in my stomach where the past lay buried alone with me and

 

A boy who is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth

 

You don’t understand what it means

 

To stumble down the stairway to heaven

 

And back into your empty cells

 

Like a disembodied voice echoed by

 

A life’s sentence in spoken word; dribbling judgement, the balls in your court

 

For every basketcase can be quite the catch

 

Through the hooped exegesis (calligraphy) of their double-helixes

 

Is a hollow human brimming with hope

 

Overflowing with so many ways to drown

 

Like the most beautiful seashell

 

Shavings of pencil lead to bullet-point-blank

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.