Back to our existence a Big bang theory was a comic story,
the only big bang that happens every day brings distruction
it was the sound of a bullet escaping a gun to find home in a spinal cord
in other news
cracks were discovered in a happly married man.
we are all broken after all.
till death bring us together, for another funeral called revaluation.
It's crazy how we still argue about the formation of the Universe just to deflect the big issue which is"After life". But we die everyday.
The grief that broods in your soul
gushes as a fiery deluge
in the flames of a sulphurous agony.
Between the layers of consciousness,
like a brutal cleaver,
it tears up the umbilical cord
that knots you up with your life's script.
On the wings of a melancholic sigh,
you glide to a land of psychedelic dreams
where the hypnotic beat of conga drums
carry you to a world
beyond the dreary beats
of a mundane chore.
The ecstasy of your steps
creates a mystical rhythm
for your Galala dance!
Even the shadow of your dreams
has a sapphire blue
woven into its consciousness!
Sullen woes are collected between
the instrumental vows that crave tears.
With each key that speaks beyond
the hearing of emotion.
We all listen deeply to the last cord,
played and realize
that there is more than us.
And within every reflection,
we see were all but systematic keys
through life's chorus of finite moments.
And were never going to play the same cord twice.
I’m fidgeting with the AUX cord of my headphones
It’s because music is only blaring through one of the ears
To my left, I can hear the sonorous warcry of a singer
To my right, I only hear a contemptful whisper from a dark corner of my mind
To my left, I hear a percussionist beating the drums and cymbals
To my right, all I hear is the sound of tears bursting against the floorboards
To my left, a moving melody accompanies a soulful serenade
To my right, there is only empty static to fill an eerie silence
Maybe I should consider getting these old things repaired
Or getting a new pair entirely
Oh, would you look at that!
I finally managed to fix it
Now everything is alright again.
Music helps me through most rough patches, but lately my headphones have been acting up.
umbilical cords i was
born with a pair
the latter devilish
one i lost
one i kept with me
steel, forever cursed.
it pulls me
to the destruction path
where i lie with no remorse
and it's the strangest force
that pushes you away
invisible lives i lead
in the dark
where i keep you the most
but sometimes show you sparks
from a parallel road
i should have taken
right from the womb
but they drag me down
yet attached to hell
by a fine, thin
please forgive me
we're one at this point
every time his voice filled my ears
my heart strings vibrated
so he gently plucked or strummed
to match his ballads
but as days passed
with his playing and vocals getting rougher
his fingers bled and scarred
and then i snapped
gone was the singing boy
his beautiful guitar
but you can still see them love
whenever you hear their song
even if some things do not exist anymore, there will always be other existing things that remind us of those and we can never escape from it.
11/13 of the Pocketry Series.
There was a
the butcher block
in the kitchen and
when the wind would
blow too hard
against the cedar shake shell,
the house would let out
an exasperated sigh—swinging
the bulb hanging beneath
the metal lampshade from
the cord where it sprouted
from the ceiling.
— The End —