Rain dispersing with the wind.
Reality bursts in, guns drawn,
confronts only a blind man
in this house of mirrors.
Outside his almost hearse
riding on thin spoked wheels,
defined by its emptiness,
radio blaring anthems of my generation.
Shadows in the dark,
measured by marks left in soft flesh.
Tribulation brings rapture,
rapture brings the second death
which has unfailingly found me
late for the sky.
Rainbow that I knew isn’t there anymore,
leaving horizon unencumbered by distraction.
Carefully I scrutinize the paper moon,
can touch but not feel it,
can not be believed.
Unfilled promises, unimpressive surprises,
found in vacant bottles
washed in from who knows where.
Reality retreats, cylinders empty,;
I part the beads and enter tomorrow.
-
Author:
Dan Williams (
Offline) - Published: October 16th, 2025 23:37
- Comment from author about the poem: Trying to define dark moods I guess.
- Category: Fable
- Views: 14
- Users favorite of this poem: Friendship
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Comments3
This poem is filled with metaphor following metaphor in short disconnected lines that feel surreal and estranged leaving a feeling of not belonging in a strange world of noncausal happenings. Here one enters tomorrow and what ever it brings. Very nicely written
Well written, your poem may be an exploration of personal and collective disillusionment, reflecting on the challenges of navigating reality and the search for meaning amidst emptiness and loss. It invites readers to confront their own perceptions and the often painful truths of existence.
This poem really captures the weight of disillusionment. And the way youthful anthems that once promised freedom now echo against emptiness. I especially liked the imagery of the “paper moon” and “vacant bottles,” which makes the whole piece feel both surreal and painfully grounded. The ending, stepping through the beads into tomorrow, lands as weary but defiant. 🕊️🙏
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