Symphony

Still I feel a symphony of agony,
though the blind see it not;
consumed by self-serving inter-
pretations and cheshire duality,

a moment not taken to vivisect
nascent dubeity for the benefit;
ensconsed in backstabbing morality,
mercurial quicksand, planting seeds

in a wasteland, only to witness the
struggle; honesty would bear fruit
consentiently, yet the witness too
struggles unbearably; primacy,

duplicity, ravenous infelicity,
incapable of common culpability;
hallmarks wherein a maniacal,
unjustifiable personality is born

art: untitled 25 by Peterio

The box

Dust in a box, uninteresting save
its progenitor; in truth, a mere
pacifier for those grieved souls

Redwood blonde, lined by age, once
a titan of might, now molded into
an honorable death, at Its behest

Lifeless plaques, shiny tchotchkes
of distraction, adornments scarred
by dates past and words empty;

Human constructs, ill-befitting records
and sentiments, impossible attempts
to define worth and pure happiness

Descriptions of the nondescript, a
paling comparison, an appalling emb-
arrassment, inadequate and iniquitous

A wooden coffer subduing a life any-
thing but wooden; ash of a bridge to
goodness burned, of inimitable affection,

of contagious élan, and forevermore
unattainable humanity, an uninteresting,
eternized box of dust; priceless

art: Sorrow Floats by Susan Hutchinson

Spaces

He paces throughout this prison,
barred by the abandoned spaces,
only remnants of remembrances,
naught remaining in periphery

breathing subject to parsimony,
being always reticent to continue,
heaviness of heart to aching joints,
he can’t embrace the empty spaces

rather he zealously oppugns reality,
avoids the missing yet not unseen,
at the mercy of the vacant spaces,
caged by the enclosing nothingness

his stride transports him memoriter,
closing his eyes affords a wider view,
the vast open space of the eigengrau,
graces him with anamnesis anew

art: Nigredo – Morgenthau by Anselm Kiefer

Forsaken

Plight unseen within his sombrous
haunt, he whispers wolf as not
to draw its attention, for it is real
in its agency and monstrosity

Turned aside, his whispered cries,
as part and parcel of an Alicine
adventure on his dark side, despite
the blantancy of a soul barest lain

A horse carriage canters within his
cage, each beat of its hooves staves
the stalking of lupine predation; the
vacancy in his eyes, an unbidden

disguise, vacillates from deepest
despair to the wonderment of this
guardian; he takes not the hand of
Faith, Hope’s deluded sister, nor

of Hope herself; instead he’s simply
succumbed to the latency offered by
an inexorable stampede and a disused
throat ripened for its ensuing slaughter

art: lama sabachthani by Peterio