Behind black clouds
The moon, half consumed
Struggles to enlighten
The already dark streets.
Like a bloodied
Beaten
Missionary
Seeking forgiveness
Beyond fists
And feet.
It’s not mine to own
Yet in the silence of others sleep
Light lends its ear,
And in-between tired sigh
I give my confessions
To the mute cloud caught priest.
Do the shimmers on the puddles
Tell tales,
Safe in the knowledge
That the pace of city life
Silences all that is said,
It's a game, a mocking of man,
This bright orb,
Burning and boiling
With the eternal memories
Of horror and beauty
Death and resistance.
See how its turns the caged animal
Into a innocent porcelain doll,
In the right light,
And perfect of positions,
Mock, mock, mocking
Blood can lure the most fearful eye
When glimmering into dusks fading paint
Till comes the sun,
Congealing and staining
The place of wrongly timed exit.
Go now, shelter behind the cloud
Absorb and understand
The evil that scans beneath you,
You have heard my words,
Let them translate
In a petrol rainbow puddle
For isn’t this all man made?
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1 comment:
Vincent this is great use of metaphor. Usually the moon is associated with madness; here you seem to be using the image as a source of enlightenment ( Struggles to enlighten/The already dark streets. great lines). The way that the first stanza sets a sort of agenda for the poem is great but also has a certain novelty to it.
There is a certain nutrality in the narrative that suggests a level of insecurity. I think that works well, as an effect and I think it could unsettle the reader's thoughts.
The overall layout of the poem suggests a lot of thoughgt went in to ensuring that the flow is eased and the enjambment makes sense.
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