The Dress

The Dress

Weaving the web of nothingness,

I borrow its finest silk.

Wrapped in ivory stained tears,

Coated with translucent decadence.

I weave the dress of my being

From the yarn of nothing,

And everything.

The delicate threads bound tightly,

Creating something not so unsightly.

For the beauty of sensitivity,

Lies not in the dress, but the fabric,

The fabric of multiplicity,

Which can be used simply;

Soft jackets, crisp shirts,

Preferable to worsted suits,

And provide a hardened exterior

To soften its gentle interior.

***

The dress is almost finished,

Whilst I wait for my soul to replenish;

If I don’t have one, is it their fault or mine?

They who say that a soul is the projection

Of my being into a spiritual manifestation,

Which has no place in the logistics of reality.

And I, who nodded my head like a fool,

Because I wanted them to be quiet.

And to not dampen the fiery youth of existence,

Unto something which whines of impermanence-

Yet if this indeed is true, what of death?

If all is transient, as ye have declared it so,

Then this is applicable to death, making it a nono

For those who wish to have a permanent ending,

Since that would have been their only footing

In this turbulent existence

But now, senescence is not possible.

If this! - if this even is rendered untrue,

Turning my face blue

With embittered tears 

gazing up at the starry night.

With the wind howling

in the sweetened twilight-

Then the hell never ends;

Therefore, there is no hell.

***

The dress is ready now;

It shall be worn on each of my death days,

Whilst the nothingness of my reality

Blesses me with haloes of fallen devils,

Shrines, from beautiful sirens,

Hope, from the ripest fruits only found,

In the melancholic piano forest.

***

It is where they still reside,

It is where their projections have left scars;

Imprints from another realm, 

a realm captured in the gaze

of a harlot, or the silk of a widowed spider,

singing harmonious ballads, mourning the loss of death

and heralding its perceived immortality...