Waves of dirt and rock,
waves of soil and plants,
waves of water and fish,
waves of air and birds:
from a lake in tear-drop form,
stranded, nay, drowning within
a future necropolis of planets:
Of Mercury whose back is frozen,
rigid with hoarfrost of time,
whilst his countenance melts
and droops to Sól's beauty;
Of Venus, whose broad back
reaches to Sister Earth's;
traveling westward alone,
with naked, asperous skin;
Of Mars, short yet stout,
with scars of wars fought
with bellicose comets,
and perpetually red with anger.
Of Jupiter with a chakram
like shards of ice,
to distance his gluttonous girth
from Mars' spear-shards;
Of Saturn's blue halo,
like that of the sea,
and floated to protect him
from devilry.
Of Uranus with Jupiter's height,
and Venus' skin, dyed like Shiva's throat,
faltering not
and caring for nought.
Of Neptune's trident made
from sapphire-dust,
protecting him from the sea's
nefarious pull.
Of Pluto, dwarfed by time,
and lost from his meteor-chain,
farthest from the sun's arrows
and colder than Hel's breasts.
What can kill what is
colder than death,
apathetic,
larger than death,
war-like,
rougher than death,
duplicitous?
That which lies and does not!
That which is larger than
the tapestry of time,
yet smaller than all matter!
And those caught within
the way where milk flows as stars
ne'er knowing the whirlpool
at its center.
They take from their spherical mother
and mold her flesh and innards
into ships to sail 'cross glades
of sinking black grass.
Wearing masks of flesh,
encased in metal vessels;
or wearing masks like clay
to hide their masks of flesh;
beaten like the back of Mars,
dry like Venus, melted, maimed
and cold like Mercury;
grotesque their countenance.
And all they within the sea
where all turn to dust,
in Hydra's mouth they sink!
Whirlpools of another dimension
shake and empty this morgue,
draining all matter, all life,
with a simple spin.
What lies beyond where light cannot escape?
They be but funnels, but brooms
to clean the verse of its sin:
a phoenix.
Inside the drain-distorting vacuums
grows a zygote;
the universe's womb;
she swallows herself to birth itself again.
It creates its death within its flesh
to incubate it anew,
so that it restarts time's hands
without e'er stopping its flow.
Author notes
What do the planets represent? What does space represent?
The image portrayed is that of the planets drowning in the universe's vacuum, and how they fight to survive, as well as those living on the planets (including aliens) also fight to survive. Black holes suck the universe into the universe's 'womb' where it gathers itself again. The black holes are a part of the universe's body and thus destroys itself, but then births itself anew: a phoenix.
However, this plotline (which is an interesting theory, I might add) represents something far greater. Each planet represents something, while space itself does as well. The holes do, too, the aliens; everything has immense significance. I would be honored for anybody to tell me their interpretation, so see if my poem represented well my ideas.
Please give me a HARSH critique.
Comments
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In my opinion, lines 47-78 are in need of prunning. They state the same concept as lines 78-85 but lines 78-85 do so in a better way.
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I love the concept. Perhaps shorten the ending and it seems you've shortchanged Earth and perhaps Venus.
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Thank you. If I may ask for more details, how was the ending too long? What lines would you suggest were unneeded? I have a few ideas in mind that could shorten it, so I hope our views coincide.
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very interesting write from you. thank you for sharing this with me today. i am not sure what it all means as i am in a brain fog so... thank you for sharing this with me today and i am looking forward to reading more from you in the near future. viyanna roemarie
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I would be honored if, when the fog is finally blown away by a breeze of clarity, if you'd try what you can to tell me what needs improvement. Thanks for the comment!
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Never ending wars
If put into current events. I can see each planet representing a country and Neptune being a puppet master. Much Like the U.S. tends to strong arm our allies into wars that are either unjust or not necessary.
But otherwise very good poem and the use of symbolism will give it a different meaning to each reader. -
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The farthest thing from my mind! But absolutely grand if I consider this poem satire! Haha.
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Yeah isn't that the real beauty behind Poetry though, primarily when your using symbolism in a poem. A poem can mean something different to each person that reads it. Depends upon the situation and circumstances the reader is in. I could probably read that same poem again in a year and it would mean something completely different to me.
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That's precisely what I go for with my poetry. Different stages of life, different stages of thought.
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