Melancholy for the Dispossessed
By defrage
Captured souls heed every call Of an ill-tempered master. Within boxes, within boxes they stare, Storied caskets of driftwood, Searching, lost; As a mosaic of days interweave with years. A slow, unceasing rotation. Eyes blue, red And yellow; Somewhere between an oasis and an illusion. Wired and charged, always wired and charged, False transmissions compensate For stolen moments. An unnatural storm cleanses Thoughts of something more. Silent entities float onwards still, So isolated in their crowds – Always cold and lonely; Only predetermined contact allowed. Just staring continuously, Breathing hate, infusing hate And giving a muted laugh for the blood-stained pleasure. An unnatural storm cleanses Thoughts of something more. In cycles of brutal solitude, Limp forms Strung up for display, Serve a timely reminder, All is lost if not expressed, Decaying fruit is served And rancid gloom fuels the dispossessed. Over a sea of melancholy mist, A solitary crow flies. Written January 13th, 2002 © on Jan 12 2002 04:55 PM PST 10 • 0 • 9
AI analysis available. Enable JavaScript to interact.
About this line
"Captured souls heed every call..."