Young Writers Society

hmm, another craptastic poem by me.

Arias

I. White Hart

she was not what
they wanted to see
of you - a jealous
moon in an india-red
scripture sky.

(hot-and-confused
tangled.
spitting fire and fault
from a second tongue.)

so they painted her up
in paris-rouge, and carved
the blame on her chest; Eve,
and what a cruel fate is she.

but blind were they to
your depth of affection:
mangled and bloodied,
but beautiful,
so beautiful.

in sever-simplicity
they lapsed and forgot
muses of the heart
-such as her-
never truly die.

II. corpse-call

sickness
creeping on shared souls
to youth, she caws
the crow-morrigan
tar the color of amaryllis
stars; cynosure.

the affect of the mind
on the body, horrified
and raptured at that
arterial blood, a death
jest, just one drop-
and- I must die.

III. The Fate of Kings

Adonais plucked, an
aneurism of the soul
fading away in agony as
nereis invades the
lung, wrenching out
blood-blotches from
a leperous corpse.

like Morpheus wavering and
approaching end-inermis, but
loving beauty.

green-fields occupying your oneiros
just like poor Jack Falstaff, nature
is the extended metaphor for all
you cannot have.

IV. Philaster

a mind like a pack of
scattered cards; more a monastery
and its monk, a lost angel of a
ruined paradise.

in the shadowed lea of
scalinata di spagna
only the artist felt the
darkness that had
all but peppered and
burrowed you.

(he lit candles;
a fairy lamplighter
on a string.)

and in last moments
it comes like ice, not
even barbed fire breaches
a frozen cheek.

all your best deeds
shall be writ in water.

V. Sea-shells

(he was found
drowned not long after,
a copy of yours in his
logged pocket.)

death it feeds on mute voices, and
laughs at our despair. O, Adonais.

drowned was he and you consumed
by the all encompassing giver.
but both to better rest,
the pains and pangs of this world
dissolving at the seams.

VI. Leather Binding

poor Prometheus is
unbound now.

finis.