Ether Poetry
It needs a fatal attraction,
past our pursuit of props
into the Elysian field of our thoughts.
It needs to be so deep,
it burrows beneath
the structured buildings
of insecurities,
deconstructing the foundation
and finding the well of
lost memories.
It needs to make them spring forth
and crystallize on the eyelashes.
It needs to be southern wind,
up from within and bursting
forth through lungs, past the skin,
and out into this world; beyond metaphysics.
It needs to sting, writhing as is streams
from the pen, like it hurt to not be written,
melting through the paper into
our mouths to escape as a spirit’s spark;
Igniting the mind and burning the padded walls.
Floodgates are open...Now Empty yourself.
And the after effects almost disable speech.
Vomiting ghost until your
haunting past is a mirror to your condition.
Pieces of flesh will lie among you,
bleeding still because Emotion’s
frantic pulse is eternal.
Your brittle fists broken,
although once rusted open,
are now closed and clenched:
Raised at the sky in passion; ecstasy.
You screamed and the Divine screamed back,
both weeping for the understanding
of each other’s being.
You spoke reality into existence.
This isn’t a mere uttering of words;
This isn’t structured poetic devices and pros;
This isn’t the quenching of recognition or approval.
This is silence broken… no, shattered;
This is truth spoken, inscribed into time.
This is existence pondered, questioned,
and responded too by a person who
recognizes their finality.
This is poetry.
Reply With Quote
