All I hear is RATATAT
The way he says Lenore, my love
is like an unheard melody to the nape of my neck
gently rapping, tap, tap, tap on my core’s secret chamber door
As I bleed out my tiresome soul under the pressure of life’s floorboard
He’s not weak,
he’s not weary
He’s my blackbird singing out somberly
Uncover your thoughts in the dead of night with every refrain
collectively, complex, completeness
Every blot on your landscape
Permit my fervor nonetheless
He’s a dream within my dream-reality
As the crow flies, he’s tenacious
He’s not weak,
he’s not weary
My raven has risen each time he’s fallen
Nevermore there’s a bluebird in his soul
that’s dying to fly out
About the Creator
Saroyan Coles
I want to empower others with my writing. I have always dreamed of seeing my name, on something.
Keep reading
More stories from Saroyan Coles and writers in Poets and other communities.
Two Wrinkles In Time
It is pointless to run, my darling, because sixty seconds ago, I will kill you. My blade will have sliced reality open right in front of you. It will have first pierced it as it would a bed sheet left hanging to dry, flapping in the wind on a Sunday afternoon. But the metal will have drawn a line in the air that the ghostly tear will have followed. Then I, La Dyablès, machete firmly in hand, will have emerged from what your mind, at the time, could only interpret as the other side of here—whatever that means to you. I know. I have seen that look on the faces of countless unlucky… clients. You will not have been the first nor the last to try and reneg on a riches for soul contract only to present this visage to me when I come to collect.
By Lily Séjor5 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.