Below we have an ongoing anonymous scroll of poetry. If you’d like to add to it, simply write your poetry to the comment box and we will get it added. Much love in the time of COVID-19.
THE ENDLESS POETRY SCROLL
Boarded up abandoned homes sit
on monolithic stilts
H a u n t I n g the splintered sinew
Overbearing with their ghost chants
“Beware the seasons
They turn like gears in
Timeless clock towers that hunger so
and try to swallow our efforts whole”
To remember rightly
We would be in the next room
but too scared by their dragging chains and sounds of lunatics
So as the moon
Half of us waned the days away
Half of us waxed over entombed, etching inscriptions with our snapped ribs
A curse to live for centuries
A travelling witchcraft burns away
To reveal the things at stake
A pipe dream comes
Then, only to be sitting
Sitting in the wry
Of the snake oil salesmen’s smile
Amongst their bleak stone eye piles,
Sits the cold caves entrance
Vampire teeth icicles threatening and enticing
To pierce our guarded arteries
corrode our heavy chest plates
And afflict our guarded hearts
Aimless nights in that cave navigating
Will be some of the sweetest memories
We built our home in there,
We found the oil for our lanterns
and bathed it in an open light
Head like a match. Life a point of friction.
Four taps in procession . . . .
The drumming of fingers.
Crescendo of a dead man.
The devils in the lobby.
Universe in a matchbox,
Life cornering abrasive edges
An insects cry for the warmth of another.
The hue is abuzz.
Anxious auras of nectar and blood.
To be Betelgeuse, already burnt out, still burning away.
Words are words
are words are words are
and do they?
And will they?
And who they?
I do not know.
I thought I knew a life
but then they wheeled it away
like the set of a Middle School Play