Somewhere Between

aDarkerMind

somewhere between

my belvedere of yet unopened wounds

a brace of pheasants hanging on a whim.

am less curious now

my fortress stands on mercury and dust.

arc angels come and go, all neatly packed

dead nettles resting weary with the ordinary rank.

only three more days

to pass the time and flower like a ball

to roll my eyes somewhere inside 

the open jars of flannels 

for the cleansing hands of rich and yellow corn.

the dead shall rise once more

with tempers dull enough 

to cross the palms of ridicule with spit.

my very own gravesend 

it's iron's strong enough 

to hold the seeds of a suicidal wren

grey-breasted with a thirst for oolong tea.

one final taste of mercy washed away.

three day's away when all will be revealed

somewhere between

my belvedere of yet unopened wounds.

my wren and I together

forever in our very own gravesend

until death do us apart

though we have only ever loved

as premature and tempermental friends.

 

 

  • Author: Melvin James (Pseudonym) (Offline Offline)
  • Published: August 11th, 2024 05:14
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 35
  • Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Teddy.15
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Comments +

Comments6

  • sorenbarrett

    Now here is a piece with metaphoric quicksand so attractive that it shines in its own darkness. Knowing certain death I hypnotically with full free will march into its certain death. Such great lines in this poem they shine reflecting my ignorance of their meaning but sufficient to revel in their beauty. Nicely done

    • aDarkerMind

      thank you very much Soren.

      your kind words greatly appreciated, as always.

    • Teddy.15

      Amazing lines dear Melvin, and as you have always done you bring your poem to a magnificent end,
      I'd like to leave some favourite lines that I just think magnificent

      to roll my eyes somewhere inside

      the open jars of flannels

      for the cleansing hands of rich and yellow corn.

      the dead shall rise once more

      with tempers dull enough

      to cross the palms of ridicule with spit.

      my very own gravesend

      it's iron's strong enough

      to hold the seeds of a suicidal wren

      Kudos my dear friend.

      • aDarkerMind

        thank you once again Teddy.

        always pleased to hear from you my friend.

      • 2781

        Well it's certainly sounds dark.
        A kind of unravelling I sense.
        But then again, I haven't got a clue!
        Intriguing though.

        • aDarkerMind

          thank you for dropping by, and your kind comment.
          always appreciated.

        • Tony36

          WOW

          • aDarkerMind

            and deeply touched by your one word Tony...

            thank you very much.

            • Tony36

              You're welcome

            • Thomas W Case

              Superb work.

            • Dan Williams

              "palms of ridicule with spit" and "one final taste of mercy washed away" highlight a powerful yet poignant write. Nice work.

              • aDarkerMind

                thank you for your most kind words Dan.
                very much appreciated.



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