Stacatto Effimero

Playing with misanthropy and the sounds of words. Cannot remember what I had in mind, here.

Millions of human voices,
all tin, timbre, and tears,
twist together in a chorus
of desires and fears
forming foggy hands that grasp
tentatively out
into the crowds all crying,
sighing, fighting off their doubt,
curling up their human fingers
as they beat against the ground,
rioting and cursing and
addicted to the sound,
sweating out a rhythm as
their limbs complain and ache
and dying to be free of this
before their bodies break.
Their human hearts are strained,
they are but made of twigs and clay.
Their blood fights, too, to push on through
and hold the grave away.
But mortal coils do shorten
as the copper turns to rust
and their self-inflicted wounds are bleeding
out upon the dust
while their brittle bones will splinter
and their tissue skin will tear
and their tiny hearts will strain against
the burdens that they bear.
Although the song so quickly ends
as wailing turns to breath,
their self-destruction rumbles on
‘til final human death.

Reviews

[Liz]

I really like all the imagery and sound patterns you have incorporated into this piece. Your end rhyme flowed together rather nicely. My favorite lines are the ending;
Their self-destruction rumbles on
'til final human death.
Really good job!