a chipped porcelain doll
on a velvet swing
_(one eye staring blankly
at the chandelier dust)_
a whispered promise
in a room full of smoke
and cheap perfume
_(a hand clutching a wilted rose)_
chalk outlines of angels
on a dance floor sticky
with spilled champagne
_(laughter echoing hollowly
like a broken metronome)_
a bride in black lace
a groom with eyes like ice
_(a ceremony performed
by a marionette priest)_
the ***** wheezes a dirge
masquerading as a love song
_(a chorus of whispers:
"cut the cake, cut the ties,
cut the cord to reality")_
confetti of regrets
falling like ash
on a forgotten dream
_(a photograph torn in half,
one piece smoldering)_
a masquerade ball
where everyone wears
the same mask of happiness
_(a single tear escapes,
tracing a path through the paint)_
the clinking of glasses
a symphony of unspoken lies
_(a toast to the future,
built on foundations of sand)_
a heart-shaped box
filled with broken promises
and moth-eaten memories
_(a child's drawing of a sun
hidden beneath the debris)_
a silent scream
trapped in a gilded cage
_(a bird beating its wings
against the bars of expectation)_
a love story rewritten
with ink that bleeds
and words that twist
_(a fairytale turned nightmare,
a happily ever after
left on the cutting room floor)_
the scent of decay
mingling with the sweetness
of artificial flowers
_(a wedding cake left to rot,
a symbol of love gone sour)_
a chorus of disapproval
humming beneath the surface
of polite conversation
_(a family portrait fractured,
the pieces scattered like leaves)_
a single spotlight
illuminating the emptiness
of a hollow victory
_(a crown of thorns,
a throne of lies)_
a ___Whisper in the Dark___:
__"I write sins, not tragedies"__
_(but the ink stains the soul,
and the tragedies unfold
in the silence that follows)_.
Feb 21, 2025
Feb 21, 2025 at 8:13 AM UTC
a chipped porcelain doll
on a velvet swing
_(one eye staring blankly
at the chandelier dust)_
a whispered promise
in a room full of smoke
and cheap perfume
_(a hand clutching a wilted rose)_
chalk outlines of angels
on a dance floor sticky
with spilled champagne
_(laughter echoing hollowly
like a broken metronome)_
a bride in black lace
a groom with eyes like ice
_(a ceremony performed
by a marionette priest)_
the ***** wheezes a dirge
masquerading as a love song
_(a chorus of whispers:
"cut the cake, cut the ties,
cut the cord to reality")_
confetti of regrets
falling like ash
on a forgotten dream
_(a photograph torn in half,
one piece smoldering)_
a masquerade ball
where everyone wears
the same mask of happiness
_(a single tear escapes,
tracing a path through the paint)_
the clinking of glasses
a symphony of unspoken lies
_(a toast to the future,
built on foundations of sand)_
a heart-shaped box
filled with broken promises
and moth-eaten memories
_(a child's drawing of a sun
hidden beneath the debris)_
a silent scream
trapped in a gilded cage
_(a bird beating its wings
against the bars of expectation)_
a love story rewritten
with ink that bleeds
and words that twist
_(a fairytale turned nightmare,
a happily ever after
left on the cutting room floor)_
the scent of decay
mingling with the sweetness
of artificial flowers
_(a wedding cake left to rot,
a symbol of love gone sour)_
a chorus of disapproval
humming beneath the surface
of polite conversation
_(a family portrait fractured,
the pieces scattered like leaves)_
a single spotlight
illuminating the emptiness
of a hollow victory
_(a crown of thorns,
a throne of lies)_
a ___Whisper in the Dark___:
__"I write sins, not tragedies"__
_(but the ink stains the soul,
and the tragedies unfold
in the silence that follows)_.
I fell asleep, reading E.E. Cummings 'i carry your heart with me'. I always liked this poem. and I dreamt of my GF, the plans for the future, and how like the poem, I carry her with me.
But then I started to dream of the past, the heartache, the struggles, the disillusion. When I woke, it was to "I write sins, not tragedies"
This poem (sonnet of sorts), is my attempt at a Cummingsesque style, incorporating the dream, and the lyrics that inspired this piece.
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