SCORCHED CORONA
E.A. Bowen
Copyright 2011 by E.A. Bowen
Smashwords Edition
For Those In Need
Collected Poetry
Passion's Imp
In Darkness Lays the Dragon
Scorched Corona
What Evil Does to He: Cry of the Werewolf
Knight of the Crimson Night
Imprisoned
Mankind
My Scarlet Countess
Doll with No Face
Why the Widow Weeps
Hermit Sod House
View of the Vile
Lasher Of Tulips
Tearless Babe
Cactus Children
Unholy Nuptials
Grave Diseased Earth: When We the People Sit in Silence
What We Have Seen: Now Stronger
In Vain
Chu'a
Solitary American Eagle
Court of Corruption
Ironclad Rustics
Il banchetto di Bacchus
Bedlam of the Moguls: Kingdom of the Dead
Catacomb
Practice of Euboea's Lords
Penalty of the Human Life
Bloody Land: Creatures
Pretty Ballerina
Feel the Strange Heart Beating
Angelic faery
Of mortal lands
With
shattered wings
Flickering slightly
Your chastity weeps
Of
late disgrace
Waxed tenderly not and
Scarred
burnt cheeks
O passion's imp
Beloved scorched
-Seared in
blackness-
Wake your dark eyes
To ruby wings unbroken
Graciousness restored
With melted
sorrow
Angelic faery breathe
In immortal
lands
In Darkness Lays the Dragon
In darkness lays the dragon
Where I shall slay it by my hand,
With sword and crest in gallantry
Near England my ship to land.
And I with fever curse aloud
Deaf to sweating rage,
And to surface comes my fear
My body... ravaged by age.
Out with my bellows and cries
As I vision a greenery ahead,
I spot the cave where he sleeps
Darkness lumps inside- dread.
What if he were to wake before I could
Plummet his blood, silence abroad?
What if I were to break before
My cunning beast I dare maraud?
And now I lay my foot upon
His scales cobalt and red,
My hands grip into my sword
As I creep along his bed...
Fire from out his mouth
Burns light within the cave,
I see scores of dragons sleeping!
And I am weeping,
Weeping
Weeping to be brave.
From behind me now comes forth
A blaze of crimson fire!
My aging body
Ages no more
As I scorch in a fiery gyre
In darkness lays the dragons
Where I rest by death's hand,
With sword and crest in gallantry
Near hell my soul to land.
Scorched Corona
Screams of
ageless furies; moans
To forgotten sin, faceless for
Burden's
sake
Blades numb to angst enduring
Quiet
Thralls
for majesties!
Blotting bloody mistakes
In hope of
retribution
Through sacrificial loss and waste
Scorched
corona, halo burnt-
Crisper, cloudy round the top
Bearing
fateful whispers
Of treacheries cut shear.
One
race, human folly,
Suffering to surety's foe,
Blinded,
crusading ego
Spilling our soul's blood.
What Evil Does to He
Cry of the Werewolf
The air is thick of angry men
My clothes -wet- in blackened blood,
My world blurs into spiraling thoughts...
I hear my heart
missing
its thud.
What evil have I done?
I cried
My hands shiver, dripping red.
I have no memory of this.
I am not alone in my bed.
Men batter thick fists at my door
And shout to me their evil tongue,
My eyes bloodshot, now crusted shut,
I could not see her body hung.
I smell her.
I stumble 'cross my bedroom
Open windows into rain,
Wash away the shame that blinds
And turn to see what cruel death has lain.
My face presses 'gainst her hand
As I pull down her body warm,
And fall upon my knees
Knowing
That it was I that had killed she.
I howl.
Knight
of the Crimson Night
With black steed prancing
forward
Through pines in nightly rain,
Gallops forth a masked
knight
Clutching the deadly wolfs-bane.
To
poison veins of rivals
Is a quest he truly knows,
For secrecy
lurks his spirit
With vengeance of his foes.
Midnight
skies darken light
In the moon shade he rides,
Journeying
unaided westward
Into shadows where he hides.
Crimson
stained stars burst
As thick smoke blanket woods,
Silence
comforts mindless fools,
All are dead before the knighthood.
With
his tears streaking down,
He lays wolfsbane onto the ground,
Weeps
the death of his family killed
By his enemy a short time crowned.
Death
to the king! he vows,
And rides to a malevolent East,
Nameless
knight eyes this land,
Prayer to those the king deceased.
Those
who glance his way will see
A veil of black hiding his
face,
Vanishing into the horrid mist,
Leaving with not a trace.
Now
steed of black prancing forward
Through smoky woods in a crimson
night,
A ghostly presence comes into sight and
Gallops forth a
masked noble knight.
Imprisoned
Cutting deep like a vein
He keeps track of the time
His scalpel only tool
And slaughter only crime
Rank blanket only friend
Rain's melody his tune
He's wetting in buckets
And eating by teaspoon
Bars of iron refuge
Cleanse his tongue of sin
But a life in a cage
Is not worth being in
He stays inside at night
Lays hidden in the day
Thinks to slice his arm
To end his life his way
His feet begin to give
Body falls to the ground
His eyes shut out the light
His ears block out the sound
Now burning into light
His mind begins to see
No torture can redeem
What he has done to me
Cutting deep like a vein
He keeps track of the time
His scalpel only tool
And slaughter only crime
Mankind
Under
icy branches
Scarcely
seen
Knightly shadows
Secrete in privation
Corpse
of their master
Burns
Death's
grip clutches
A dying nation
Darkened
East Sea
Once
called Red
Before the sky
Flamed by mankind
Now
brittle living
Wish they
slept
For the desire of the wise
Is to be blind
Crackling
icy trees
From sun streaming
Through
burnt clouds
Brings brief hope
As the King enshrouds
Remember,
death holds the Sea,
Poisoning the blood of mankind,
Reflecting
its color
Above in lost reason
For it was human reason
That killed the mind.
Now
under melting branches
Knightly shadows die in damnation
For
the dead people
Of their
worlds burn,
Man's grip may crush
A world's dying nation.
My
Scarlet Countess
Knitted sheer veil hides her
For no
human can perceive
Why her skin is so frail
Why her music can
deceive,
Tapping oaken planks amid
A ballroom's court of
play
The Courtier bids farewell
Bids farewell to thee
Light
silences her away,
And in shadows deep I kneel
To numb her
throbbing mar,
She looks twice and turns afar,
Blindly I do
follow
Three paces at the right,
Gaze at her feet
prancing
Stepping into the light.
Velvet
curtains tumble as
Yellow moon rays dance down,
Her veil is
quickly torn
Whiteness breaks her gown,
Two bones now
protrude
Curving out her lips,
My scarlet countess wakes
As
blood pours through the rips.
I
scurry into nightshade
Scamper into the rain
Prick the holes
out my neck
And lick the blood in pain.
Doll with No Face
She heard the echoes
From the downstairs' pantry
Metal rings
Like a cold, unending knife
But she kept in silence
In the upstairs bedroom
In the white laced
Chipping baby cradle
Her eyes were but two blue marbles staring
White lights flickered, smoke clustered
In and out
Burnt black fog whispering
Children screaming, “Fire!”
Her unpainted lips
Would not whisper
Could not whisper
As she pulled the blue blanket
Over her head
A girl with no home
A doll with no face
Why
the Widow Weeps
Bloody tears shed no desire
To casket -
in wreaths
Silk blossoms cannot lighten
What sharp darkness
clutched
Her
gray veiled locks crisp
Under dry hemlock vines
Lowering head
first her man
A bastard in disguise
She
does not weep in sorrow
That God unjustly raged,
Fate severed
the wrong thread-
O woe to the virgin wife
She
does not weep in sorrow,
Death is but destiny, while
A martyr
always dies
As the spouse finds anew
In
sorrow she has not,
In joy she grows a plenty,
A new man's ring
glistens
From him her belly's full
In
darkness swelled from sorrow
An unborn
babe created,
No longer weep, dear widow,
Your life inside
incorruptible.
Hermit
Sod House
Rocking back and forth, squealing to the
wind,
His home one chair, plain and weak,
Guarding his prairie
of golden cornfaces,
His
home long forgotten.
Bleak
voices whisper from the floors,
But his home no longer hears
them,
Sleeting rain trembles by his feet,
But his home only
knows of his tears.
Fluttering
creatures engulf surviving life,
How could his home stand so still
forever?
Armies
of wheels march
In a line
crooked west,
Could his home wheeze the dust another winter?
A
sharp whistled trigger ready to attack,
Protecting his home of a
hermit effigy,
Puffing blackness
Last of
all warmth gone,
Protecting his home from starvation and death.
The
man's hand scrapes a stone gently,
Outside of his home
Where
babes of his soul sleep soundly,
Weeping over a life plucked
From the vines unripe, forbidden
Outside
his home in mists of forlornness.
That day has come when the mud
slides,
Caving in his home
Red wounds
collapsing,
Burying hope of returning,
Caving in his home
Caving in his heart
Burying his young.
View of the Vile
If ever a time for bloodshed,
Let it be over criminal justice
Rather than societies' whines
Children cannot unearth a meal
In their nickel canisters,
Nor can they find warmth
In frosted rawhide flesh,
With pruned feet numbing off,
With minds swelled in viral knowledge,
With ears pierced in heckling coughs,
With a world dying around them,
They have only time to play.
Three pigeons, attired with auburn silk,
Fester at Dublin's Corner Club,
Netted tights crease skin
Wedging into strapped silhouettes,
Thick smoke from mint cigarettes
Flickers ash into gray dead hair.
A child, infested, drags itself
From an ominous alley,
The hag spews stained saliva,
Twitches her fogged eye,
Grabs primeval newspapers
Burned by unlit cigarettes and
Rolls them for a beating,
Without a spoken word,
The child dashes into darkness,
Waits for his emerald supper,
Of musty cabbage and bread.
She curses the middle finger
Bounded by twine and hate,
Spits again and dies before
Another whore takes her place.
Lasher
Of Tulips
Shedding petals
Iced white,
Crackling
down
By silver wind,
Ash
hoarfrost
Swallows June,
Numbing greens
Blanketing all,
Lasher of
tulips,
Beater of roses,
Death's tempest,
Fair El Niño.
Tearless
Babe
Unspoken lips
Mask rank tongues,
Impure
thoughts,
Its lashes crisp.
Brittle,
encrusted,
Forever shut,
Dreamless owl,
Tearless
babe,
Mummified girl.
Cactus
Children
Prancing in cracked sand dunes,
Digging
parched dung and hay,
Drinking mud water's bliss,
We, the
children, laugh and play
Ribs
protruding sheets of skin,
Lungs pressing life away,
Bloodiest
kin now tangos,
Lifeless baby cannot play
Its
legs too short and stumpy,
Head tipped off in a sway,
We, the
children, sing tonight,
To celebrate our deadened play
Pricking
flesh off the teeth,
Sucking wild howls in gray,
Nothing
lives,
As we cactus children play.
Unholy
Nuptials
Pastel gown frosted white
Crisp upon a feather
bed,
Abysmal serpent slithers
Another before they wed,
Floating
into vagueness
By rogue husband's hand
She breaks chains of
virtue,
Throws down her wedding band,
Golden abandon halo
tumbles
Popping this bloody dream,
Farewell unfaithful other
half
Drowning tears in the stream.
Grave Diseased Earth
When We the People Sit in Silence
In the year twenty one fourteen
Air is thick of gasoline
Water filtered by pumps unclean
Soils rich with dirty lumps
Ivory bones litter green fields
By mankind's wild atomic wields
Earth becomes but a disease of graves
Picked clean by her venomous ways
Vultures just the remaining few
They who were the ones that knew
Alert, ingenious, oh- they hid
Under aluminum hearts- they hid
Soiled Earth, dead of healing
From humankind, wars are wheeling
Now blackness turns to water
Cleansing our grounds of slaughter
One day we will revisit our home
Rebuild the cities great, rebuild our Rome,
Watch safely like birds from outer space
Planting seeds of a much nobler race
Until our day has come to pass
We sit in silence
Through tainted glass
Soiled Earth, dead of healing
Cleanse the ground of our beating
And like vultures, we will stay,
And reclaim our sadness in victory
What We Have Seen: Now Stronger
Spaniards blew their horns
Drew out rapiers, stormed
A golden city drained
Metal slices into mud
Clashing of the souls
Below now swelling grounds
Hell has not awoken us
As we sleep within
Our underground bunker
We hid when all was wrong
Crumbling
dirt from shaken earths
Shatters dirty prisoners minds
Sleek black horses roar,
Roar to escape this fear.
Cries
of victory bellow
A now ruined city, crushed so
We- free of this violence
Free of cruelties grief
Aged men scamper into
Saltwater filled holes,
Alcohol burning the edge
We cannot see the other side
Men
swim among freckled dead
Prison rags soak skin red
Scorched corona, cannot see
The echoes that freedom lost.
In Vain
Onslaught seaweed covered planks
With slime bucket in blistered hands,
He sweeps until his master wakes
To lash his sorrowful brand.
Rawhide smacks his rosy ass
Again to slash his skin
Blood trickles to numbed grass,
He blocks out a cruel world's sin.
Triumphs are flattened wins
Now disbelieving a true life,
Why like-blooded are villains
Of their own laws and human strife!
Not today he doubts his reign
In the schemes of life created,
He just swallows pain in vain
Because death could not have waited.
Chu'a
Life smoked its tobacco pipe
Drank beside wooden track's dung
Adieu to the alien strangers when
it coughed their plague and bit its tongue.
Chained to My Matadi:
My
Curse
My feet don't hurt any more
'Cause slices are
sewn
By evil's magicsword,
His face pale, I don't ask
Why is
he cloaked in leaves
With silver bullets poured?
I lay
in bed and listen
From London says he is
Which part I do not
know
Free us from our human chains?
I cannot understand his pains.
I am
chained to my Matadi,
My life that I breathe, lies
Where family
grows and dies,
I cannot leave father's bones
To green snakes
who'll break
My Mother Earth ties.
Blood
taker reveals his sword,
A pair of rifles set to fire,
And with
shaking hands
I aim to take him...
Solitary American Eagle
Secrets
crept baleful moors,
Discreet yet circling near,
Channels
drifted along
Sodden banks of blood
American
Eagles shined
From trickling reflections,
Flocking to one
destination,
Thriving in others' shadows
Seeking
a beginning unfound,
Singing sorrowful melodies,
Solitary birds
seek pure life
And flee deep underground
If
successful in their journey
Only one tribe will live on to
tell,
There were no American Eagles here
Just human flesh we
saw before us.
Now
driven from southern land,
Difficulty laid steeply
ahead,
Challenges started unbuckling,
Leashes broke from
swollen necks
All
worn, all chaotic, all beautiful,
All tired, all graceful, all
free,
Past had died and future birthed,
Th Civil War was over.
Court of Corruption
Sleeve encrusted red; locket
Silver,
of late dead, dangling
By his late reach, twisting
From
bloodless pauper palms,
Lips gagged, blinded eyes, shut
To
midnight's slaying cries,
Heartless dagger arching over
His
wretched murdered corpse,
Black queen veiled in sin
Vying her
vile grin, staggering
Thirteen coiled steps
Into cold earth's
hollow pit,
Dirt lumping, now a mound,
Jeweled in rubies
round,
Spade smoothing 'bout the crown
Of her vengeful royal
flush.
Ironclad Rustics
Trapped like ashes in an urn
A
ruined kingdom lay; breathless
Ironclads forted golden
ramparts
Circling the almighty Lord,
Jousting at heinous dragon
flames
Balls of the inferno swung into air
Making crisp unseen
boys and girls,
Shielded by hiding metal men
As
royalty laid sodden behind drapes,
The Lord shivered warmly in
sweat
Beading down his slivered throat,
Fatal wounds engraved broken
walls
Piles of putrid corpses, hosts and foes;
Swords lowered,
time forgotten,
The Lord trapped in his golden urn.
Il
banchetto di Bacchus
Shades of plum and ruby wine
Drenched
in milky sliced skin
Sprawl betwixt the silver ladles
Dipped
into tender chagrin
Tempered
temptress seduces
With sugar-laced pink veils
Enticing breath
whispers softly
Into balmy drunken devils
Mortals
unsheathe golden blades
Sinners wound in deepened red
Sweet
nectar steals life away
Betwixt plum and ruby dead.
Under the Rye Sycamore Tree
The woman did not laugh anymore
Under the rye sycamore tree
Her teeth sharpened inside her gums
Muteness became her only friend.
Locks, twisted and tightened, fell gently
Along her narrowed cheeks
But did not nearly hide her face
Changed by misery's quaint company
She hunches over into a lotus position
Thick mud cementing her painful howls
What happened to the prancing leaves
That used to tickle beneath her delicate, human feet?
They became brittle and dark, blood orange,
Burgundy
and ruby stains of hunger,
Gnarled roots jabbed
Beneath her curled frailty
A painless sensation numbed
By the humming wind, she changed.
As she sucked in puffs of chilled air,
Her lungs pressed hard against growing ribs.
Heckling coughs, gnawing sensations, followed
By undead silence,
Giving her new melodies,
To a undying wind.
And as
the leaves started to fall
Greens and browns in imperfect curves
Spiraled downward onto the lumped soil
She awoke
Bedlam of the Moguls:
Kingdom of the Dead
His fingers cracked.
Bending toward his body,
Curling into a reddened edges
And plumping along the joints.
Glass dug into his tender skin,
Slicing paper-thin cuts
Into his already swollen flesh.
Yellow Submarine jingled
In crackled echoes from outside
Dancing from the two speakers
Wired against graffiti cement walls.
Thumping. pulsating blood flowing
Out his wound throbbed charmingly
Against the Beatles' melody.
As the
rocking floor beneath him
Began to pull away,
He locked his right elbow
A rusted, silver locket clung
Dangling from his aching neck.
He touched it, regained his focus o
Of the swirling world around him
Blocked by three inch plastic.
His six foot trench coat dragged
Into the puddle of wet blood
Swarming beside his feet, shifting
His weight to the left,
he found himself pressed against the scratched glass,
Stretching his left arm and unstitching his ligaments.
The pain
from his fingers were gone.
Strumming from an untuned guitar
Drumming into the subway train.
Glass doors disappeared into the sides,
Releasing his coal-dusted eyes
He faded beneath the shadows of the moguls.
Men, suited with Armani and briefed with Klein,
Stomped his leather-coated soles
Amongst the business breeders.
His shackled eyes,
Rimmed in black monocles,
Stared deaf at red pixels swarming left to right
From the hovering technological sign.
27:
Belvedere 28: Anneslie 29: Towson
His beady brows darted toward
the metro cars
Chained in oil clogged metal.
As the tin of soulless providers dragged
Itself forward
Once again,
A hoard of preying vultures,
Feathered in buttoned couture,
Flocked toward the gates of bedlam.
Pompous entrepreneurs trampled frail
Vices as
suitcases hammered against the blood-lined railing.
Crawling from
the tin can
And into the hungry pack,
The man found his trench coat torn along the edges.
Fur lining
the bottom.
Gently, he removed the tattered rag,
Letting the silk clothe tickle his new flesh as it fell
The pounding mogul feet strengthened his nerves
And underneath their weight
A twisted clock, letters green,
Glimmered between the blocks and naked ceiling.
Seven thirty eight.
He waited
Pounding feet of vile beings
Pounded, waiting
Hunger baited
Pounded.
Catacomb
An
autumn funeral
Sang somberly its melody while
A pyre stained
the sky
Blackening the air with coldness
A
child, hidden amongst the mourners,
Splintered himself against the
fire wood
As he stared, fascinated at the blaze
Blanketing the
air with luscious ash,
He
reached his penny frail arms
Toward a red spark flickering
away
But it disappeared into the darkness
And tears flushed the
child's face,
"There,
there," cried a woman,
"It's good to let it out."
The
child stopped and stared blankly
Then looked again for the
spark.
Hundreds of red fireflies sparkled
And the child
stretched for them all,
His arms flailed about,
Swaying toward
the smoldering body
"Oh
dear, she's can't wave back,"
cried the mourning woman,
"But
if you call for her,
I'm sure she can hear you.”
The
child stared blankly,
His eyes, two glossy pearls,
Gaping at
the wooden coffin,
Innocent of what death meant,
That the creatures took her in the night,
As the
mourners wept and moaned
He waved again at the fiery sparks,
And
the woman cried to another,
"He's saying goodbye to his
mother."
Practice of Euboea's Lords
It is a time again of shielded respect,
Intolerance of being tolerant
And blockading windows of the mind
With iron barriers of mistrust.
However many men it took to forge
The beginning of this blinding war
Is a fraction of those that now
Try to end it with kind words.
Despite political attacks upon preying campaigns
Murmuring the slogans of serenity,
Renegade citizens stab their words
A joust to the war's gut,
Spilling evermore hatred across the field.
While
women lie on crusted streets
Shouting their verses of profanity
At the foreign marching arms
Men bow their heads back
And tilt their chins as if giving a sign.
Each good soldier, branded
With the symbol of saintly loyalty and justice,
Kick their legs before them and pound
Their pigskin boots in sequential thuds.
Leading the pack, all-mighty alpha wolf,
Silver peace tags outnumbering beta brothers,
And a cluster of scout badges lining his sleeves
Commanding his troops by a whistle of his voice.
Commander
to those who follow
And foe to the brother banshees
Edging the high road in grief
But neither life, adequate,
To the man behind the silver bullet.
Arches etched beneath two coals,
A line of black stitches sewn
Down the center of the streets, shaven
By swollen eyes, marks of the new human race.
No badges won by wrinkled trees
Not by fancy whistling guns, branded
By government pigeon coups,
Not for a few lucky pennies
They
waver in front of the pack
Turn the corner of women battered
And boys beamed from smiles shone
Sweaty palms hover over the phones
Engulfing piranha protestors, now block
Off the tail
Pressing bodies against one another
Barricades,
air heavy, mold reeks out
Of the crowd's unkempt mouths, teeth rotten
From words
unkind nor sound,
A signal flare bursts out flames
A
half-moon line of glaring hearts
Stretching over the lands,
Into the seas, foreign grounds unleashed.
And
the kings and queens embrace
The practice of Euboea's Lords,
Throwing down their spears once again
Like neighbors, mimicking some ancient war,
Wolves gathers 'round the hill
Awaiting the clouds lined red
Affection for their kin
Driving them to the end.
Penalty of the Human Life
Don't run off from me now.
I ain't
gonna lie,
I'll hunt you down
Before you
take one more step-
Oh no, don't you smirk back at me,
You're just tempting new waters.
He
tightened his shackles
Wrists
plumped, resurfacing dead scars
He sighed.
Where oh
where am I supposed to run to?
You got my life now, you killed
him,
You got everything, now, except my heart.
Why
would you say that?
You got
that pretty face for a poor trade
That now you gonna have to live
with-
A dead
shame, but you'll serve your time.
You ain't gonna need that heart
now.
You ain't gonna need anything
But mercy.
I
don't want this.. but you
can't control me- that's the irony of
it.
That's why you're gonna run away scared now,
Get away from
your mind-
Forget that you found me.
Forget
you?
Step into the light!
We knew they were reunited at last.
You think
you're free, but you can't do nothing, nothing,
Without paying
first, can you?
All for the demon's call.
I'm
free, locked away inside this skin
And I am still your son.
One
more blasphemous word
And I
will-
I will find my heart. You hear me?
I
don't listen to you no more
You need to step into my light
Bloody
Land: Creatures
Beware casket-covered lands
Where
man's hand has been today,
It reeks of hatred kept unclean,
Of
putrid flesh decay.
It is
a time of mourning birds
Watching demise with bloodshot eyes
Who
flock Heaven's gates in torture
And bawl to their family's cries.
Ironclad
nobles torment your home
Severing minds from others,
Chain your
soul from life,
Slaughter your sister and brothers,
Time
will come again when Death
Comes banging at your door in
red,
He'll promise you golden caskets
And in return, you'll be
undead,
Do not
conquer immortal men
Destroying their shackles of sin,
These
demons cannot die by Death
As you succumb within...
Now I implore you to listen
Disappear
from this bloody land
Before they rot your soul and heart
And
sell you to the Devil's hand.
Pretty Ballerina
Her gnarled feet twist
slightly
Clutching the wooden floor
As her thick, chiseled
toenails
Bleed from her swelling sore
Two
perfectly pink slippers mask
A coiled beauty rarely seen
That
only she, a dancing queen,
Could sweetly hide away
Her
blind audience cheer, clap,
Whisper to her grace and form,
Worship
her goddess splendor
And dare to ask for more
She
smiles her pale grin,
Softly
bows,
Awaits the curtains
Falling
down,
As darkness shadows,
She lies still,
And weeps her
shattered dancing crown.
Feel the Strange Heart Beating
Oh, the horror! The horror!
Ringing through the rusty cell
A mate dark with little lies
Stroking palm 'gainst the mortar
Sweet remembrance of blood & locks
Curls and blonde twisted red
The glitter of her little jewels, plastic pearls
Cascading memories onto the wooden floor
One by one rolling away
Unnerving silence slices thick air
For he knows he had not plucked the rose
From a world unknown to him
Withering him dry, the stroking palms,
Her diamond jubilee now in the stars,
A kinder graduation by a sudden blow
And the monster now gone.
Sirens called
One ear, he listened heartily
Fell 'gainst rusty bars of iron refuge
Tasting the unjust perfume and cried.