When it all comes to pass,
enmeshed,
hewn into the detritus of splintered glass,
sharpened shards cutting deep,
pilfering dreams from wakeful sleep,
looking around,
treading on hopes,
yanked to the barren ground,
smiles and laughter,
famished and broken,
suffocated by slithering words,
scampering away,
leaving limp tongues,
fluttering flags,
jingoistic pride,
ever on,
fostering noxious words,
hurled,
flung,
nonchalantly,
well-meaning,
pompously spoken.
the warmth of your breath,
scorches my skin,
scalding me,
tattooed,
alongside the walls of my rambling heart,
beneath the many hued veils,
embalming aches that jab,
prod,
incessantly assail,
yet still,
’tis you,
yet still,
’tis your being,
that,
always,
&
evermore,
shall prevail.
tripped,
brought to ones knees,
fleeing beds of nails,
shrapnel pockmarked dreams,
crossing deserted seas,
swallowed up,
regurgitated by merciless elements,
to be washed ashore,
dead,
cold,
broken,
lifeless,
on countless,
pristine tan-soaked beaches,
invisible,
unseen,
hidden in plain sight,
mute,
hushed,
silent,
as the soul of dumbed down,
traded,
inebriated humanity,
bellows,
howls,
and screeches.
vagabond verse.
running against slippery winds,
fragments of past lives,
tugging at the heels,
shedding tired breaths,
moulting yesterdays skin,
inflamed by passions,
raging,
swirling,
deep within,
gathering the shards,
cobwebbed,
mangled,
inside,
tattered embers simmering dim,
heartstrings plucked,
a-jingle & a-jangled,
while,
your presence sparks the tinder,
setting every fibre afire,
aching,
hungering,
yearning with silent desire,
for the ache felt,
when dreaming of your exquisite kiss,
is,
an ache akin to a state of bliss,
an ache enveloping mind,
body,
soul,
an aching hope,
infusing my being entire,
complete,
whole.
The Immigrants Void – Sculpture by Bruno Catalano
http://brunocatalano.com/sculpture-bronze2/sculpture-en-bronze-bruno-catalano.php?galerie=1
the masquerade.
waltzing,
arms interlocked,
palpably frigid,
eyes opaque,
unseeing,
willfully oblivious,
tucked away,
from the reverberations of sin,
lost in the glossy haze,
adrift,
afloat,
on winged dreams of tin,
sold,
bartered,
for a glimpse,
of the promise,
of better days,
leaving behind this sorry charade,
giggles galore,
as the booze flows,
drowning the dead,
unravelling the uncouth,
lying just beneath the veneer,
of this numb masquerade.
Scribbled Verse 