Foggy weather blues
Allergies cause me to sneeze
Dead leaves and damp grass

The moody greys;
The rain that stings;
A thousand random,
Happy things,
That makes me want
To leap and play;
To take in the splendor
Of this cold, wet day,
And revel in it's quiet gloom-
To watch it weave
On it's dampened loom-
For daylight does not at all compare
With this misty, freshened,
Dripping air.
Though all and sundry
Are brought down low
By the gift the heavens
So kindly bestow,
I feel instead Nature's kiss
In this, the weather
I always miss.
So while others may think to complain,
And shake their fists at the falling rain,
The soothing wind doth caress my cheek;
And so, inspired,
I thought to speak-
Of the drought of sun,
And it's absent rays;
And this,
The perfect, rainy day.
But an exaltation,
a prayer to none:
I do not wish this day be done;
Rather I would plead,
Sincere,
To leave this solemn weather here.

Words don't flow today.
                   Sadness seems to overlay.
                       Smiles can't escape.

I peer out the porthole into the chaos of the storm,
Disorder, my sole companion

Blue waves crash along the jagged rocks
sprays of melancholic gloom
the wind howls
sounding like the ghosts of past memories
decayed wooden decks rotting from
the salty air
a wailing gust originates from the rusting iron of the ships hull
a hex is placed on it’s journey as the shadowy vessel tears through
the gloomy waters of its past

The past is only a memory,
as I find myself once again in the company of madness

filled up with enmity coiling up inside
The chest billows up
Thy want to heave it out
Then destined to tranquility

The claws scratch the flesh
Death gnaws on the remnants of longevity
Unless visions have a chest
To burst out into effervescence

Spontaneous sigh is kicked out of your breath
The clavicles sharpen, the eyes ogle ahead
The nothingness dilates
The flicker has no entrance for itself to adumbrate

For utopia has its own gore
To marvel over inside,
The plasters of bliss
Have guffawed over the gullible dusk

The gloom has left with a whisper
A muttering not to be heard
The relief has sewed on flesh
With the clouds coming out of thy outburst

The relief rebirths the serenity
Has been meandered, halted
For thou shed leaves
Making agony to clouds of no return

Utopic defiance,
the idiosyncratic anectodes
Stains of externalized innundation
For the literal existance of hope.

There are no right answers.
The sky rejects the birds, turns them
over to gravity,
embedding them in the concrete and dirt.
The grit refuses to become a pearl,
just as the wound refuses to heal
and the flesh eats itself.
The market sees a sudden spike in
sales of Champagne and cyanide.
Coordinated efforts seek and fail
to curtail the rising tide of violence
in the nation's dreaming.
You realise that this crude, barbaric language
that you can't understand
is your own.
Beauty glitches and pixelates.
Frightened, furtive confessions of love
are unheard over proud, visceral
proclamations of hate.
Tongues divorce mouths.
Every now and then, a voice
inside your head says,
'Thud.'
The measures of sanity become
more quantifiable and
totally arbitrary.
The horizon
tightens
like
a noose.

It doesn't matter if this is wrong.
There are no right answers.

Questions and doubts dance about,
In my mind, my soul, my heart.
Here I am confused you see,
Here I am tangled and unfree.

Chained around my head are fears,
My heart's fierce as I long to disappear.
I exist as a breath of air,
As I wallow in tears of despair.

I'm crying with no seen tears,
Like the clouds they disappear.
Clouds so bitter, of hate, of dread,
Here my heart is rotten and dead.

Vague clouds and feet so firm,
My vision is blurry while I squirm.
Like a worm that meets with salt,
Is my love with denying fault.

Here's my poem of disease so eerie,
My love for you who's made me clearly.
Clearly crazy, damaged, deranged,
Here I profess my heart's bitter rage.

Deny, deny, I will deny,
My heart's love I hope I die.

I thought my sleep was my solitude
My only escape from a dungeon ye may call earth
But this bed my body lies on becomes the flaming palm of Lucifer's Hand at night, he does whatsoever he wills.
I am a helpless prey to the night
As the sky turns gloomy so does this soul of mine.
Nights have become a scream for help
An open door for melancholy and loneliness to find its way into my abode.

You left at the dusk of May
Without the memories that stay
You said you’ll be happy there
I hope it wasn’t your err
Away from the afternoon sun
You went missing for the autumn fun
To the cold cities you roam
I know you’ll never come back home
You’ll miss your small sleeps
You said you’ll gain in heaps
I hope it’s true
Missing the memories; you grew
They say the world is round
I hope we’ll meet around
At the cold cities you roam
Cause I know you’ll never come back home

©SmitFairytale
20 November 2016
15:19