Invisible Drownings

A Boy With Roses

my mother covered the mirrors with fresh linen                                                          

so she wouldn't be deceived in her sleep                                                                          

loving her cynical babies swaddled                                                                                    

in the warmest of fabrics 

 

black horse peering through the window                                                                        

as I sleep away those aching blues                                                                            

dreaming of your black heart                                                                                

dreaming of the last light, a dying red rose                                                                

mind scattered like petals, footprints in the snow 

 

in my wandering I'm a myriad of rivers                                                              

falling asunder, it's ceremonial                                                                                      

when the river flows, I hear your voice                                                                

beckoning me to the nearest shore 

 

this bronze statue doesn't speak anymore                                                                                

but the whispers echoing always fall deeper                                                                        

into insatiable oceans, preternatural                                                                                  

muses never toll the fiery wits of a chariot                                                                    

frenzied in love-fuelled rage, pitiless serpent                                                                          

lost and we don't heed, when there's peril we dance                    

I am a sacrifice, a lamb to the slaughter, in love with the moon                

no response from your son or your daughter                                                      

growing like trees in poems for our mothers and fathers                                            

balancing in silent despair, on the top of hills                                                                      

the truth is too big for us to digest, that wizened boot                                                      

swift to the flinching face when our deeds are misunderstood                                        

crimson and crescent, unfamiliar flickering sparkles                                                                           

in the darkest night sky                                                                                      

clambering mountains just to survive, the sea urchin                                                  

calls us into lavender city light, dawn with no sunrise                                           

no peace in our sepulchre.

  • Author: Jordan Cash (Pseudonym) (Offline Offline)
  • Published: February 18th, 2022 19:53
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 28
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