Spectator
A poem based on an unloved martyr.
I wonder where you will be when the dust settles,
When the cobwebs are littered with the speckled remnants
Of old memories longing to be forgotten.
.
Will you be out in the forest,
Waltzing with the breeze to the tune of rustling leaves?
Will you be tucked behind the shed,
Cowering behind the red slats and trembling?
.
I can envision you, like some fever dream,
Propped up on a pedestal, preserved like an ancient Czar,
When the masses come knocking,
Screaming incoherent complaints and broken memories.
.
Glued to the stage, mouth agape, tongue draped dumbly
Across your lips with the words you choked on,
I can see you up there,
Unmoving. Glassy-eyed.
.
And I can them too, huddling around the center stage
With muddy dogs at their feet and rats in their hair.
Hushed whispers grow to raucous laughter
Until a weak cheer erupts and seizes them all.
.
The mountains have moved behind you,
Opening a wide slot on the horizon
Where pale sunlight and millions of angry rioters
Stream through without restriction.
.
Their rage rumbles through the soil and their cries
Stain the white skies dark as they approach.
I wonder where you will be when this dust settles.
.
Silver Serpent Books
.
About the Creator
Silver Serpent Books
Writer. Interested in all the rocks people have forgotten to turn over. There are whole worlds under there, you know. Dark ones too, even better.
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