sordidsoliloquy-blog

[sordidsoliloquy-blog]

Two Sides

Two sides of a table, all come to sit, to decide what the measure will be, Faces of sinners and guardians, gathered round to bequeath and decree. Eyes wrought of jade, head made of boar, with ears half-hollow and dry, Contested by those that live by the sword, with no fear of just when they may die. Voices in shout, clash at the sound, an echo of each in its place, Logic turned round upon its own words and forced now to see its own face. Anger and envy and hate and appall, it consumes as it moves through the flood, With empathy just overwhelmed by it all as the stoic fall to loss of blood. Round and around and around it all goes, until my whole world seeks to spin, A battle of wills, ambitions and hopes I could never imagine I’d win. Caught in the quicksand, flailing for ground, fighting to keep just above, Exhausted by all that was lost and then found, to choke on their terror and love. Souls caught in crisis, cut of the quick, demanding to fin’lly be heard, Tongues laced in venom, minds caught in tar, with a finger upon the absurd. Circling vultures, jackals and dogs, scavengers eyeing the plate, Cursed and consumed by the mind of the mob as the jury remains in debate. Two sides of a table, all come to sit, to dissect equal parts of the gray, Weighing it just for the profit it brings and throwing the surplus away. For who has a say in a chorus of souls, do we know; can we settle the score? And if, in the end, one side reaches its goals…who, then, will I be fighting for…?

[sordidsoliloquy-blog]

Shackled and Bound

There’s a voice in my head that sings to me, “It all can be destroyed!” Broken, raped, desecrated and cast into the Void. There’s a whisper in the back of my skull that promises I’ll heal, Just as long as I can share with them EXACTLY how I feel…

It lurks in livid larders loaded leaden with my fears, It seems to filter all I know and censors what I hear. Sickly-sallow sickles seek to shred what will remains, Their talons forged of what I lack to leave me but a stain.

I’ve listened and paced and ran it through my mind a million times, How so many of them would call out to me and beg me to witness their crimes. Is it them? Is it me? Is there a line anymore? Just when do I know when I’ve lost? And is there no way to judge my control without that last bridge being crossed?

Every day something new seems to come, I no longer recall each new lapse, And even the dreams call me back to a place where my mind tries to fight its collapse. What am I being reminded I’ve seen? Just where does it want me to go? And even if I find what I dreamed, just how and when well I know?

But still all those voices whisper to me, “It all can be destroyed…!” And at this certain phase in my life I can only be deeply annoyed… Sing as they might, dance, march or dirge, they know they can’t change what they see, For freedom seems hopelessly so far away when you’re shackled and bound within me.

[sordidsoliloquy-blog]

Poetry Paralysis

Poetry Paralysis, wrought from tempered steel,

A fog of fumed forgetfulness to question what is real.

Locked in state, bent in pose, focused on the rhyme,

Lost to livid lethargy to misplace chunks of time.

  Floating in a world untouched and separate from the sound,

Drifting through a fugue of fate to hope it’s one day found.

Detached from the rumblings and whisper-echoed doubt,

Focused only on the shapes we need and those we are without.

  Stories told in text unseen, hidden in the verse,

Oblivious to blessing but ever-focused on the curse.

Tied down by that we cannot find or will not lure to come,

Some irregular, little ironies to flee to where they’re from.

  Poetry paralysis, immune to every cure,

But ever perfect at the plan to make us all unsure.

Second-guessing every piece, focused at the task,

Doomed to bleed upon the page the questions that we ask.

~ SS

[sordidsoliloquy-blog]

Shale Mountains

Jagged, rigid mountaintops, flat across the plane,

Susceptible to age and tear; water, ink or stain.

What is it?

(Message me for answer!)

[sordidsoliloquy-blog]

Sordid Soliloquy

My life is a sordid soliloquy, Rife with redundant antiquity. Stoic in stubbornness, rich in offense, And forced to always remain in past tense.

My story's a tragic dichotomy, Born a slave to the cerebral sodomy. Conquered by mud, driven by hate, Always left with a little less on my plate.

My morals are children of irony, As startling tyranny flows from me. Lost to lost causes, ranting aloud, Quick to be singled out in a crowd.

My life is a sordid soliloquy, Where even my shadows would flee from me. Nailed in the coffin, trapped in my mind, Convinced that there's just nothing left now to find.

~ SS