Screaming Marionettes
Clustered eyes; living in dread,
that immobilizing dread before
the bullets unleashed with no mercy,
deeply unleashed by the cruelty,
in a shooting scenario of those,
who must be weary
of always pouncing on their prey,
those helpless preys of hate,
that terrifying hate, which
grows weary of love
as well as
pleasure grows weary of suffering,
that profound suffering,
which calms the insanity down,
that round insanity like a frigid,
damp, rosy-red hue,
rosy-red hue in ring-like patches,
a colossal Quincke swelling
and a raucous, cooling,
clamorous breath,
snorting breath like
a lamenting melody,
a melody of love for
a dance of demise,
a painful demise for
many hot marionettes,
exquisite marionettes
metamorphosing
into frigid wax figures,
desolate figures
weeping and wailing in
their crimson downpour
of emotions,
crimson emotions refining
their days of wine and roses,
cool days with twinkling smiles
in caverns of cold darkness.
Dancing with Baron Thorsten
I beheld your tears
cascading down
as you gazed through your
translucent escutcheon,
epitomizing
the beauty of God: cosmic osmosis
and herald angels.
The red liquid that dripped down
bore a dense foam
to wall in our feelings.
The chalice overflowed with wine
forming a heart shape.
I yearned to retreat into our space
and to perish there.
I still yearn to return to our time
and to fade away there.
I still crave His infinity, and
I wish, once more, to dissolve within it.
At the tables surrounding us,
people appeared to be lost in thought.
They seemed to be reflections
in those shattered mirrors,
adorning the walls: introspection,
truthfulness, and self-awareness.
They grew increasingly indifferent and
complacent; self-satisfied.
I raised the cup to my lips and savored
the wine, which was delightfully cool.
I drank it all until
it vanished completely—nonexistent.
It was a chalice of sorrow.
It scraped against my throat.
The transparent liquid rendered the truth visible.
It was our untold truth.
I yearned to elevate my spirit.
We began moving in a dance-like manner.
It was our crowning dance
in that chaotic tempo of
those evanescent moments.
I would love to be kissed
over and over again.
Yet the tavern was crammed
with hot human mouths
exhaling and mantling the windows with
a veil of condensed steam.
It was a shroud of anarchic noises.
Those mouths instantly froze my feelings.
Some tears trickled down your pale face.
I stood tall for once
and departed from that moment
irrevocably and voiceless.
I had to choose a different thoroughfare.
I entered through the main gate of my realm,
a world devoid of meaning
without your love; without love.
I did not glance back.
I still do not look back.
Over and above, I knew that
you were watching me leave,
and I knew that this love
was my existence.
It remains my existence,
steering this world towards
divided feelings,
broken feelings, still bleeding,
a fierce defiance against
the divine, perhaps.
Now, I realize that as long as
the divine exists, this love can endure.
A Spiritual Hue
I use colors to recreate
a sacred, unveiled image
while concealing the past
in a dance of opposites.
I am akin to a painter
in pursuit of a divine hue
while yearning
to make my voice heard,
rather than as a philosopher
striving to grasp the human genesis.
This hue resembles a reverie
suspended between
ultraviolet and infrared thoughts.
It mirrors the mauve of Aurora Australis
gracing a Tahitian canvas
belonging to Paul Gauguin
or echoes the green of Aurora Borealis
adorning a masterpiece
belonging to Vincent van Gogh.
This hue embodies The Unfinished Symphony,
a resonance in the deafness of
Ludwig van Beethoven.
This hue speaks of a philosophical self
harboring a sense of sanctity within.
Baptism in the depths of water;
then, in the fire; hotness;
eyes that perceive the divine
in a nameless color.
This hue of eternity is hot:
the healing rays illuminating my essence;
a beacon for the woodland of
my burgeoning emotions;
emotions akin to those of evergreens.
The essence of humanity exists in harmony.
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