With Dreams in Supernatural Ecstasy

Dark eyes muffled underneath scarfs notwithstanding,
The shades of gloom blackening cherub heads and new aged nests
Of people that trip side terrapins towards the subterranean pacific,
Wearing trenches to turn the tides and the oceanic waves,
Into screwy oily brinks of passageways, that could make them glorious ready.
A generation of relentless greed, degenerate dreams, cabling the system that starves starkness bare.
In thru ballrooms and wearing tourniquets, and fire as uniforms, marching the matriarchy
Toward the storm of our apocalyptic magnificence that disappears and withers and wilts,
In its beginning, without a prophecy of doom, but a truth that lives its lies in growing shadows,
In the cover of hearts, and tones of checked ways, at the meridians of standard understanding,
And the final rusty dwindling, waning, the pacing of hell in eternal charts carpeting the rooms
Bleakly furnished by skeletons, and artfully settled on thrones made of barbwire that burned off on the run,
At the lush rush of race that regimented its introduction in centuries that seconds passed.
And the cruelty that subsequently surpassed, in the hysterical history of ugly neediness, 
And dependence in passions plagued by punishment. 

37 Comments

  1. Hi Watt, ho seguito il tuo consiglio.. Ho cancellato loro e gli articoli che avevo pubblicato.. Così non li vedo più.. Grazie ti abbraccio

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Remarkable, Poet.
    Of which the most remarkable is the contrast, the split between the vibrant words used and the reality described. So that I caught myself short and asked myself to get a grip of my pleasure with the swaying words.

    Because the reality being described is difficult and getting more so by the day. Growing shadows and in the cover of hearts.Yes.

    Thanks! Sarah

    Liked by 3 people

  3. There is such bleakness you describe within such beautiful words, within this supernatural ecstacy.

    “starves starkness bare.”

    So many lines of this pure genious. Words that were begging to be paired not just because they were meaningful but that they had some kind of magnetic belonging together.

    Liked by 3 people

      1. But I loaned that voice from the Jester.
        The one who stole the Kings thorny crown.
        His lawyer had requested it back, along
        with the look borrowed from James Dean.
        Watt, your style is quite unique,
        with imagery that spans the breadth from
        psychodelic peaks, to the rocky depths 😎

        Liked by 2 people

        1. Yes. Each poet’s voice is unique…and now I recall, Poets both, what was in the back of my mind when I spoke with Watt about this poem:

          the poetic voice, as varied as the human voice, is arising from one source, the Prince(ss) Jester Seer Actor Priest Lover.

          But it is one voice. Much appreciate both of yours. Much.

          Sarah

          Liked by 1 person

        2. Orpheus came to remind me of the fullness of his role which includes Metaphorical Doula, Minstrel and, above all, Witness…. .

          There….a nice little burden which the entire Mankind has shifted to you, Poets!! Have wonderful days.

          Sarah

          Liked by 1 person

  4. Wow this feels like secrets kept and hidden under shrouds and sometimes the true intentions are felt peeking through the cracks and openings of life to something wonderful. It feel like anticipation of something wonderful to come. I like it Watt. πŸ™‚

    Liked by 1 person

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