The sun rises in the west, lighting wet skies,
moons and planets tumble into existence,
a song is heard in spaces between the stars,
we join in a chorus we do not understand
and some of us weep, some flee.
The face of a captain appears behind bright
and shadowy clusters, blowing a bugle
of impending war, armies rushing into playgrounds
of bloodstain and smoke, generals laughing
all the way to death.
My heart is a jar of broken pieces. Some fly to God,
some dash to pierce the souls of those I love the most,
some to a bed of love, of silence, of palpitation.
One fragment is fixated with dreams torn between
the beautiful and the grotesque, one is terrified
of heights and speech, one ready to abandon
all that is good.
Madness and meaning collide. An angel of heaven
strums an acoustic guitar, the insanity subsides.
But the angel of curses returns, pounding door,
and on his palms are written blasphemies.
A sacred moment. A familiar song. A simple word
following the noise.
Repeating secondhand sentences. Recounting
worn-out complaints, returning to the quiet confusion
of the defeated life.
Art Courtesy: http://xjames7.deviantart.com/art/Confusion-316435644