Fantasy of forgiveness

The five sorrowful mysteries shudder within these pellicle walls, and they are not Enough Lost are the pleas upon deafened ears, what is the throat useful for Blood-sweat is fallen when waxen agony is traced with splintered fingernails The tattoos of repentance delivering languor for a broken mind, as meant to Nine tails cursing andContinue reading “Fantasy of forgiveness”

Sunsets

I drown myself in the nascent, crimson gloaming of daylight’s dying When I imagine draining all the sorrow from within, this is how it is Infinite fissures hidden beneath a lustrous tulle of rubescence, an oveure of self-portraits defying existence in a savagely critical form of art, with the overwhelming innocence of mindlessness; irenic andContinue reading “Sunsets”

Rocking chair

Cool air, disturbing hair, the breathy whisper of convenience; rocking in safety and boredom; shackled to obedience and fear A foot brushes carpet in the darkness of a screaming mouth; hoarding silence as gold; looking through the soul to only desolation outside Hunting for treasures in the dung of afterthought; finding, as expected, only dung;Continue reading “Rocking chair”

Whether the storm

Alone in the frigid cold, the stars her only guide, while consternation constellations in every direction, threaten to hasten the end Whether the storm of tempests rage against the sky, the shifting plates fault the land, the rising oceans swallow the continents piece by piece Or while ravaged by the fire from an untamed sun,Continue reading “Whether the storm”

The many gods

Tongues and fingers light the path, flickering this way and that, casting hawkish shadows upon themosaic of dimly lit memories Twisting language and shifting grips,searching for the righteous wordsand propitious angles, hoping thepast is forgotten, thus forgiven Begging and bargaining to their one of the many gods, to be favoured above their brothers,flattered above theirContinue reading “The many gods”

The march

One beside himself;hand over fist, disgorging the shrapnelto bestrew his perditious path He tries in vane to tamethe memory-go-round;the golden ring long begone, yet his mind it shackles still There’s infinity in every footfall,of his never-ending journey;timelessness preempts salvation, with a deafness of damnable knells The solemn march of a good soldier,forging into the beknownstContinue reading “The march”

Buried memories

What buried memories have I? Those that would drag me to   their perfidious depths;  where the skeletons of sanshi await   to cradle an ancient woe Those that would evulse tears unbidden,  ignite the searing guilt,   encite the burning questions;  lead the rings of fire to shed shame   amidst blush and fluster They who would turn a deaf earContinue reading “Buried memories”

Left behind

Dreams departing like webs on the windEach new endeavour more transient than the lastErstwhile wishes begetting ersatz desiresIn a tangled bramble of silkless litterfall Every chip in the ego, births a crack in the psycheAnd the stretching interstitial tendrils grasp wildly Trying to hold onto the mind, hold fast the shatteringStill they escape the awarenessContinue reading “Left behind”

Bullet dodged

Bullet dodgedHavoc unwreakedThroat unlodgedSecrets unleaked Sight unseenLover unravagedInterest unseemedHater unsavaged Seeker unboundHider unsoughtReason unsoundDanger unfraught Path unclearFate unraveledPresence unnearSteps untraveled Embrace unfeltLove ungivedDesire undealtLife unlived art: (untitled) by Marcos Beccari

Puppeteer

As his lips were sewn by the iniquitous hand, noisome iron streaked the stubbled grey, loosing ferric wishes upon the deafened earth The pretender, the fraudster, Life, with bewitching, infectious glee, mended its marionette bespoken; into compliance, obediently broken He painted himself into a corner of his mind, with colours of ignominy and humility, usingContinue reading “Puppeteer”

Empty, too

Empty table, blocked entry to the tower of babel Empty chairs, silent interrogation from vacant stares Empty plate, I scrape the fork to stay awake Empty wall, save shoulder-shaking, shadow shawls Empty room, though scent of stalking nightmares loom Empty breath, no sound to suffer or oxygen left Empty chest, no spirit haunt, or ghostContinue reading “Empty, too”

To continue

He couldn’t write to save his life, evidenced ad nauseam; nor would he want to burden words with such an execrable chore It wasn’t writer’s block, no – not that he thinks he deserves the moniker – it’s rather akin to a nietzsche niche There isn’t much that occupies him, though he’d come to welcomeContinue reading “To continue”