Midnight MeadowA Poem by R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe) A not so short poem of a lost child. And a curious meadow. Sestina, several lines, revisited, ending with some extra lines to finish.
When the lights all go out Though the tears may flow through the night sky like a cloud No one has to see my façade rip itself inside out as streetlights bleach I can rip the mask from my smile And every droplet is blood I shed like a husk of myself And my stomach of butterflies is a meadow
And the tree limbs that tangle like hair in an empty bed of meadows When my bed of roses flowers into a rainbow in my white void blackout Though the colours may bleed like the sun on clouds I see you leave me in the dark without any doubts to hang onto as they bleach Themselves new, onto so many shades of pain that look upon my shy smile And see me as a memory of when the alley crevice’s held myself
I guess I can only love myself My love for you pales in comparison to your hatred’s meadow And maybe I was born to bear that weight, to stretch my words on pages out Like a winged bird in my hands, that tries to reach the clouds When everything is finished, and you, your world, is truth turned to bleach Will you ever learn to smile?
Again? To beat yourself into submission enough to be assertive? To smile? In the face of it all in its crushing destruction as if I hadn’t learned myself? Life is harder than money, pride, love, cannot be pinned down, made to blossom a stone meadow Life will not sprawl itself out and offer you its belly, will not rip its heart out And give you a piece of its virtuous vice of concrete clouds Do you think it wouldn’t stop to crush you under its feet?
A piece of flesh mangled between its gears; an eye made to weep? Do you think it will not lick the tears from your face and smile? Do you not see it bare witness from my bout that tore me inside out and not see yourself? There is a garden out there made from children’s bones, antlers of the dark meadow Seeds that do not come out of the soil right drown there left to dry like asphalt inside out A scab on its bleached sky, vestiges, your wings wishing to make a canvas of its clouds
Fresh plucked bouquets of finger nails, and lashes; werewolf men watch from clouds Well then fly child, fly! Do you not know what it means to fall through the deep? To dive into the landslide and smile? Do you not understand when you see me drowning in but an inch of water as yourself? Do you know what banquets they held in the shadow in the meadows! How the sound of music at midnight bothers from wicker trees, reaping the seeds in fallout?
And my stomach of butterflies is a meadow And see me as a memory of when the alley crevice’s held me close Will you ever learn to smile? Do you think it wouldn’t stop to crush you under its feet? A scab on its bleached sky, vestiges, your wings wishing to make a canvas of its clouds How the sound of music at midnight bothers from wicker trees, reaping the seeds in fallout?
When the lights all go out And the tree limbs that tangle like hair in an empty bed of meadows I guess I can only love myself Again? To beat yourself into submission enough to be assertive? To smile? A piece of flesh mangled between its gears; an eye made to weep? Freshly plucked bouquets of fingernails, and lashes; werewolf men watch from crowed clouds
Do you see? Do you see it! Do you not, see?
In-between the darkness, the shadows, how they gleam How heaven lives off hell’s carcass Even the gutter is a stream Newspapers of faces, the filth of all their dreams Some people never learn to scream But even now, I wish you never had to leave
You know the devil was a narcissistic martyr? He was another kind of fool How he fell thought as an angel he was godhood Touched the bottom of the pool When you have no life to barter I guess you never get to choose The animals we choose to slaughter The meadows, an emissary For those with nothing left to lose Especially those who hold the sunset in their eyes Like another kind of swallowed firefly The decrescendo of all our family ties Hanging from telephone lines You, a shadow, we left behind The night we unwind the spiral into a straight line Your heart a music box, the meadow hanging dry The sound left this shiver, down my spine I hear a quiet child cry, fading, singing, from the midnight’s mouth The meadow’s choir, a bell, a trumpet, the sound of hell's choral The bark of Arkham's howl, the undertaker’s hound In the meadow, outside town You were a smile upside-down You wore the pebbles like a crown
© 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..Writing |
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