I read magic psalms
through mindless phantoms
where the flesh shook
in an infinite caress
life, lacking desire
Under the moon, an open hand
as the revolver is motioned to my throat
with her last attempt to split
the atom for the soul.
.
.
.
If only if only
I knew desire created me. Through endless transfusions
of body for body, I emptied out my "change"
and traded a life of misery
for a life of nothing but rage!
King of death, fiery thoughts from above
Send me your desperado
Send me your love.
In the beginning there was only This
She seals your voice
With a kiss
If only if only. . . I knew how to control the ghosts in my head.
Haunted.
A contest entry
- What do you have to say to the cynic? by RechercheCadaver.
1000 points, ended January 6, 12 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
What did you think
Comments
-
Brilliant
Wow! That is all I can say. This is a very unique piece. I don't feel that any of my comments would do it justice, but this is the stuff that poetry is made of. Such a natural rhythm, would be great for a poetry reading. Split the atom to extract the soul, no, the atom must be the echo of the soul. It's funny that I read this now, just yesterday I wrote a poem explaining how sound is just the echo of the Will's vibration. In any case I'll stop rambling and applauded. Bookmarked!
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