In Sound

There is a stench around me,
the leaves respond to it with a yelp,
and glowing emotions become scarce.
The eclipse is eternal in its place,
the sun buried in the horizon,
rotting with other dying stars,
A cemetery for our joys.

A remedy is found behind voice,beats,
and string's screams.
Woven in the flow of rhythm.
My heart races to the connecting
cries.
In every pound is ten pounds,
with booming volumes of a revival,
scaring away the nesting bats.
the voice takes a woman's shape,
with smoke from her lips.
creating a thick shroud,
blind to all and myself.

With all in black relief is ice air,
circling my lungs.
cut from the best memories,
the joy comes.
mind stretched far from heart,
my head as mushy as clouds.
My palms scream for expression,
I look to them confused.
Perhaps a dance or banging on walls?
A hand of prayer?
I will just remain silent.
with atoms from fresh bright stars,
in me ready to blow. 

Reviews

[Kristallo]

"With atoms from fresh bright stars, in me ready to blow." Profound. I always love to read a writer who infuses the universal sciences in their writing so flawlessly and artistically as you have done here. This write was refreshing, sad, and vibrant with astounding imagery... "My palms scream for expression, I look to them confused." Idle hands are the devil's play thing, they say. But yours seem to have found a cathartic outlet in these well played poems. Great write.

[Mr. Lou]

gee thanks!! i wrote that while i was grooming my dog. effortless. just kidding