From The Orchestral Grave

I stand an actor

Staged amidst graves and memories,

Playing the part of failure.

A flawless performance.

Beyond reproach and without blemish.

A role so second skin tailored

It tickled my palette

When still the honey womb

Coursed through me.

Aimlessly directed

By feverish, desperate gods.

Insane like rabid hounds.

... And the play

Through which i stagger

Has a Greek tragedy’s bitter end

Bond side to every act.

A death in every scene.

Heart of Kin bleeds hard,

Showering red disapproval

Across my lifeless stage.

Audience of such ill manner

Easily tint my grand finale

With bold disgrace

And blunt remarks.

But i play my heart unhindered..

Spite all earths' scorn

An icon of stoicism

And confidence.

Wallowing blind, mute

And ever so spellbound

In the riddling pulses

Spewing forth

From the orchestral grave.

So then..

Here we dance.

A miserable ensemble

Pretending to matter

In our respective worlds.

My sweet beloved...

Reality is sadly So very relative

Much like truth,

A matter of perception

And quite subjective.

Do not for the world

Let go now.

Oh heart kissed one.

Childlike preserver

I’ll wither

And be no more

If your hand doubts

The warmth it protects.

I hat which reignites

All my acres

Of yesterdays dead flowers.

No play nor act

Would then besiege me,

Never could i fail

In your burning light.