Parting Words, Shattered Worlds

The sunset is dead, oceans are crying, 
the sky is vicious in red, people are lying. 
Life is sickeningly beautiful
And beautifully slick 
With the blood of the dawn
That comes much too quick

You walk as you yell,
Left alleged of a purple dream
The stars and the wind widen a void
To pull in the morning and night, to divide the day for darkness
To rust and corrode, to age your bones in warm decay
Has it all been so lost, so long.
As pretty as a celluloid cry,
Gamble for what’s broken, iconic soul,
Darkened days, glittering city,
Grey skies loose over the edges and horizons,
Sparking colors to seas, covered at its seem
All the favorites, the places are ruined, your stroll ruined every past affection, without the air
Of a soft resurrection.

It feels that Bullets have lined my chest,
created canyons on my body,
river of bloody regrets circling the world
Then disappearing, fading into velveteen clouds
On which I can scatter my thoughts to distract and help myself.
The edgy valley is my home now, the one I follow
Always verging. Always verging.

I realise
it is the world’s persona
to shear the horizon in half with scissors
at dawn, to mock with romance of blazing colours
The chandelier shatters it’s patterns on my shoulders,
And I brush the glass that litters the bed
where shaded red spreads like sunset
On my empty fingertips

I wish for a figure-eight in the sand
A sleight of hand, so soft
For a fate not tainted
with parting words and shattered worlds
or sickeningly beautiful things


The better half of this poem A.K.A the second part was written in collaboration with In Mind and Out. I celebrated every conversation we had to get to what this poem became. I hope all of you have read her vivid array of masterpieces, and if you haven’t then I strongly, very strongly urge you to do so as fast as you can. I promise you’re missing out.

The picture credit goes to Tom Plevnik as usual.

56 Comments

        1. I’m in Cinque Terre these days, it’s gorgeous. The people are simply amazing. I’m so envious that you get to live here.

          Like

    1. Thanks as always. 😁
      Che Guavera, huh? I guess you’ve caught me on my South American liking. Although Italy is very convincing. People keep saying that the most famous European places are overrated, they’re all liars though. I was wrong too, Europe isn’t tired at all!!

      Liked by 1 person

  1. I wrote an extensively long comment on Rachel’s post of this work.

    But I have to keep gushing just a little longer- because I am not a poet and reading poetry like this makes me come to love poems. I want more of this in my life, more good thoughtful words that make life bright despite the dark, and make the dark a brightness in itself.

    Keep writing, both of you, never ever stop writing.

    Liked by 3 people

  2. Just in case I haven’t made it clear enough, it was a privelige to write something with someone so talented. The concept and metaphors for this were all yours, and you seemed to just magic these things up with apparent ease. Just line after kind of surreal and beautiful words, it made my part easy to write. So…. thank you, and I really hope we can do this again sometime.

    Liked by 3 people

      1. Make sure you check your spam and hopefully none of my comments are not on their. Or, maybe its WordPress because I have left comments on Bojana page and I don’t receive them on my notification. I have to go directly to her page and see if she responded which she did so. So, It’s WordPress.

        My next series on Monday you will like. If you love experimental and head scratching then you’ll love what I have in stored.

        Liked by 1 person

  3. Il tramonto è morto, gli oceani piangono,
    il cielo è vizioso in rosso, la gente sta mentendo.
    La vita è incredibilmente bella
    e meravigliosamente liscia
    con il sangue dell’alba
    che arriva troppo in fretta

    Cammini mentre urli,
    Sinistra presunta di un sogno viola
    Le stelle e il vento allargano un vuoto
    Per tirare la mattina e la notte, per dividere il giorno per l’oscurità
    Per ruggire e corrodere, per invecchiare le tue ossa in caldo decadimento
    È stato tutto così perso, così a lungo.
    Bello come un grido di celluloide,
    scommetti su ciò che è spezzato, anima iconica,
    giorni oscuri, città scintillante,
    cieli grigi si perdono sui bordi e sugli orizzonti, dai
    colori scintillanti ai mari, coperti dal suo
    aspetto. ha rovinato ogni affetto passato, senza l’aria
    di una dolce resurrezione.

    Sento che i proiettili hanno rivestito il mio petto,
    creato canyon sul mio corpo,
    fiume di sanguinosi rimpianti che circondano il mondo e
    poi scompaiono, svanendo in nuvole di velluto
    su cui posso disperdere i miei pensieri per distrarmi e aiutarmi.
    La valle spigolosa è la mia casa adesso, quella che seguo
    Sempre al limite. Sempre al limite.
    Mi rendo conto
    che è la persona del mondo
    a tagliare l’orizzonte a metà con le forbici
    all’alba, a deridere con il romanticismo di colori ardenti
    Il lampadario spezza i suoi schemi sulle mie spalle,
    E spazzolo il vetro che sporca il letto
    dove il rosso sfumato si diffonde come il tramonto
    Acceso le mie dita vuote

    Vorrei una figura otto nella sabbia
    Un gioco di prestigio, così morbido
    Per un destino non contaminato
    da parole di separazione e mondi in frantumi
    o cose disgustosamente belle

    Liked by 1 person

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