Free Verse
The Last Applause of the Grave Clown
Beneath a moonless vault of dreadful delight, I penned this account Of a republic of fools who crowned a jester with a crooked crown. The nobles praised his grand display, for he sold them empty triumphs And charged each soul a fee for sorrow, calling misery a gift.
By Tim Carmichael4 months ago in Poets
Your Victim, Your Witness
I've always been on your side. Your friend, your lover, your bedside mirror— my slow erasure. It’s your oblivion: to remain hidden. All that is inside your flesh and bone is yours alone. But what shows is only skin. Mirror, mirror, I see a dark projection— a silhouette of a hand in prayer. Is it yours? Is it mine? A mime before the One, rehearsing forgiveness. I’ve always been on your side. Just faceless eyes behind a two-way mirror— your victim, your witness, never certain: what was this? Watching your dark hands cast shadows of familiar monsters. I don’t ask your confession, or offer your absolution. My hands are not cleansed. Dirt remains where nails bore grievances. Keep your hands folded: as if without guilt, as if without sin. I’m not here to win. I’d give it all to lose if I could wake by you again. I've always been on your side. But if you hang your cross on the door and make me sleep on the floor, your beliefs still won’t pass by divine osmosis.
By Pixel Floyd4 months ago in Poets
Memories
Memories They have a funny way about them Fragments of our shattered egos They live, they feed, they die. — Remnants They toy, they mess, they fiddle. — Invaders Words Gone Opinions Replaced Feelings No notice Memories They make for great company Creeping usurpers of their makers They change, mutate, adapt — Deviants They claw, they gnaw, they gorge — Survivors Aspect Displaced Nature Distorted Conduct Baffled Are you ever — not — alone? Are those around you — ever — people? Are they but echoes crawled out of dying memories ?
By Sasha Desideri4 months ago in Poets
