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Crow Apr 2023
the bells peal
toneless
in the hollow place
of the night

and the moon is
the cold light
of tenuous dreams
seen through
the strained fabric of
a threadbare sky

shadows of midnight words
pulled long and thin
by the weight
of expectation
sit by the road
waiting for redemption
that never comes

pallid night flowers bloom
in hidden places
adorned by a feeble glow
without scent
in their ragged flesh

words whispered by
constrained throats
are consumed

devoured by the ravening silence
blasting down
from oblivion
Achromic - Having no color
Martin Narrod Apr 2014
Mew
as soon as these blue speckled
socks go, that's it. A new bright black death.A solemn weir on a stark horizon.Give me a reason to wear color. My hueless affidavit
runs me into the Earth, where I sprout up
a pallid keb- brain orf'd, you could drag my etiolated ebon
body through the ovine fold or take me to the theater. When I was just a minor teg, I sheared my mim kip, I fuckinggave it to you outright. In this little
cote my wan mien nigrifying; my calamitous black, quaffed full of congou in demitasse, of souchong & saucers. My atrous wethered body albicantly degenerating in the atrous sun. I'm crusting over with wanness and you, you're fortifying in the cwm where I used to yaff and stray. Your ovivorous hunger,something I never knew, when first you came for my jecoral flesh, just another bot digging through my soft toison. Like Dall's Prometheus being sheared from the flock-you cut me away. In this drab and achromic world, you put the wanness in my flesh, the gid in my heart. Still.
Just these blue socks are left.
Written Sitting against an Oak tree outside of a family friend's farm in Fond du Lac, Wisconsin
Zainab Aug 2018
As the blackened-achromic night
fends off the sun's bright
The advent of inquietude
emptiness beholds
the very chambers of heart

The vile hug of gloam
So hefty,
Like a clench of lion's claw
be it's grip

The conflagurations of angst
Hopes perish
Despairs flourish
A soul dimmin'
The demise within
Alex Leeper May 2013
Song


Intro


Your bedroom leaves you behind,

Remembering a blurry background.

You’re not in your world anymore.

Look up, look down.

Blue sky, and a green floor.

Look in between and another color

Strikes you like a knife,

And then another color, and another.

You've been stabbed by a tree.




First Verse


You're vision is the clearest it's ever been,

Each individual crease on every leaf.

The trunk is a clear brown, the browniest brown

That brings back blips of brainwork that believe to be begotten.

Crystal-like yellow leaves,

As if someone took the image

And manually added the color.

But you know it's a physical object,

You can walk around it and see the back of it,

And soon

You gain

The confidence

To touch it.


Second Verse


A pulse deep in the tree as you run your fingers across it.

As you recline yourself,

The knife turns gray

And the once eye-catching yellow

Silver leaves dance tauntingly towards another color,

A slow-moving car that tapped you on the back.

A hill overlooking a hill,

With a forest of grey trees.

You notice one is lit up,

A carbon replica of the previous chromatic timber,

And is begging for attention.







Chorus


You almost fly down the hill,

Isaac’s first helping you descend.

You alight beside the single resplendent floral,

Its chromaticity illuminating its ashen brothers.

Brush its rigid shell,

The lights fade in its core,

But analogously,

Its closest neighbor is afire,

You now understand,

You are following a circuit in the wilderness.







Third Verse


You start to gain impatience now,

You flow through the achromic forest

Touching every blush of color you see,

Following the maze of crayoned woods,

Journeying, immersing, submerging deeper

Into a blank woodland.

You soon come across something,

Hidden in the bright green grass.

A mirror, a flat, square plank

Of cooled and melted obsidian rock.

A light ray reflects off it.

You pick it up, the ray

bouncing back and forth,

And store it in your pocket.


Fourth Verse


You almost loose hope,

Not to mention interest,

About your current predicament,

But something, something about the atmosphere-

You stop.

You know to stop, just for a second,

An epiphany.

You look once, twice, three

Quick turnarounds until it glimmers in your eye.

A barely gleaming church door.

And you realize.






Chorus


You realize so intensely,

You almost can’t perform the action.

You pull out the mirror with glee,

Catch a small ray through its skin,

Aim the ray towards the door,

And you spray

The sunshine

Onto the

Door.







Second Chorus


Your mouth agape as the perfect light

Reflects onto the invisible passageway,

Causing it to enamel the door with a beautiful shade

Of orange.

You spray the door planks with your infinite atomizer,

Covering the small blotches you missed

Until you drop the mirror, turn around,

Say goodbye to the gloomy forest,

But discover an luminous explosion of color.

Each tree has awakened for your departing.

You smile, and turn around,

Pull the doors open and walk into the white.


Outro


Blurry background.

You recognize it as if you never left.

Because you didn’t really leave,

You see yourself asleep on your bed.

It’s everything you remember but just a hint

Of chromaticity is left behind the walls.

Not wanting the feeling to end,

Waiting until just the right time

To finally elope from your now distant memory

And regenerate to another adventure

In which you hope will have meaning.
Christopher Mata Apr 2015
Her deep brown eyes were now achromic

I craved her love but she was bent on straight needles. Constantly needing reminders that she's still human and can feel, still putting up barriers between her and her evils. Seeing the man up on the steeple she knows her attempts are feeble

Constantly misguided by the Christian belief that acceptance was key to the question of "am I worth it"

We use to talk but now you're aphasic

She was in a dreamland where voices were something to be tasted she was so anesthetized from these pills that were prescribed to help her dream but nothing could be prescribed to help her wake

It was like seeing the sun go away but not being replaced by the moon

I was just hoping it was a phase that would pass and she would return without a trace of the past but this hope was as empty as these bottles
These feeling so corrupted
These words so unheard

Like a wolf howling only to be answered by a vacant night

And it doesn't matter how much I beg and fight
She tightens her grip on her defenses like the band on her arm
But still leaving her defenseless to her emotions

That might as well be where she is 6 feet under a pile of broken dreams and wondering beams of support that holds up her house of sanity with a vanity of broken images of who she hates the most.

She's caught between a lake of fire and limbo, on a tipping scale one once from destruction

I know I can't bring the sun back but maybe I can find a new light in this darkness.

Because she was something I always wanted more of

I twitch when I wasn't around her
I would get the shakes from just one kiss
I would get drunk off her smile and high off her words
We both overdosed on something
Because this love .... was never labeled a drug.
Khushi Batra Jun 2018
With quiescence parroting
and an achromic sheet ensconcing your frame
the padre chants
only to ausculate your loved ones sniffle.
I watched you being buried.
deeper
and
deeper.

a friend, a brother, a lover and a son.

now,
Resting in an array of stars
waiting for the sun to rise in the
high northern sky.
-Khushi :’)
Eleni Jun 2017
She's gone-
My medicine had thus enchanted her.
Her darkened brain becomes a slave
To the hot pangs of hysteria
And those violet tears hang on her face, like vines of Wisteria.

But, alack!
The bogey man is coming to sweep the streets
And with his blood-curdling presence
He brings his seven princes;
Heosphoros leads the way and severs
My lady's vagus with his impale morning star.

I hear weeping- is something emerging, from the molten sea of infierno? Pish! She now kneels before
The shrine of Mammon and pleads
'Heavens forfend! I must seek the ash
Path to prosperity and pretend!'

My lady's face no longer beholds
That youthful dew and that
Ethereal pigmentation of her visage.
No, no she has become achromic,
Anaemic, artic...

...I embosomed her in my arms
Tried minerals, drugs, spirits; hymns
Yet she has exchanged mortality with
Immortality: and has pleased only the Night Deity.
1 'seven princes' refers to the seven princes of Hell
2 'Heosphoros' is an alternative name for Lucifer or the Devil
3 'Vagus' refers to the vagus nerve, responsible emotional stress and speech movements in the mouth. Thus the suffering woman has become corrupted.
4 'Morning star' as in the spiked club weapon
5 'Infierno' Spanish for 'Hell'
6 'Mammon' referring to one of the seven princes of hell associated with greed of money
7 'Night Deity' one of them is Phobetor, the Night Deity of nightmares.

NB. I am solely using these references for the enjoyment of writing poetry and imagination and not because of my religious or personal beliefs.
Chelsea Chavez Jan 2016
lul
The intimacies of half-light loom in the indistinct hour.

Mute weavers- nudging one another,
voluminous and pale.

Light exudes her milky latex.
Porcelain hand,
reaching towards the cool umbra. Always reaching.

All certainty ebbs here, in the achromic film.

The manes of the spirits gap the dusk floating as spectral pappus.

They are shaking.
So many spaces between the gloom.

And yet, only to divert the hospitable darkness..
The opening, enveloping absence.

I want to think of the fireflies, their universes of warmth.
Opening and closing their bodies to darkness.

Always.
Osvaldo Palomino Dec 2016
Every day had started to become achromic,
There is no joy left to be gained from it,
No matter how scripturient I may be,
At one point I shall run out of creativity,
Everything I see is now in black and white,
I dont even see the brilliance in a moonlit night,
The petals of the rose have all started to wilt,
Leaving my tarnished soul with this feeling of guilt
Vishal Gupta Nov 2017
Storms of turmoil around
and shackles on brain.
Let me learn you.
Little more today.
For I'm wordless. again.

Drenched, less arid now.
But, more achromic.
Let me borrow your hues.
All the shades at once.
For I'm faded too. today.

— The End —