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Revelation
What can the child know
of an adult's despair?
Will the image remain

to darken his dreams, waking him
as he lies cocooned in night?
Alienation
Life is perplexing,
for them it didn't come right.
Each one thinks alone.
A City Augustine Never Dreamed OfSuch strangeness stalks these dream haunted alleys and lanes.
At noon the city's byways still remain submerged in subterranean shadow,

sunk in a motionless reverie. No creature stirs, Within enclosing walls
murmurs, even cries might be heard, were there any curiously listening.

The sun vanishes abruptly. The day ends, precipitating all the activity of night,
the sensual argument of the drum, flares providing erratic, dancing light,

and shadows whirling suddenly like dervishes, across the crumbling plaster
of close packed walls. The alleys seethe with the flesh of strangers,

lives that pass too close to each other, remaining unrecognis
SagacityDid he love wisdom?
His love was unrequited.
In his heart he knew
.
none could cultivate the void
from which alone all else grew.
Disguised 2
He wears a blank mask,
his vulnerability
safe behind his shades.
AfterwordFunerary goods
always include coin to pay
the ferry man's fee.

What if we had always been wrong,
If none waited by the river?

The end of the line
had ever seemed likely
to leave the traveler

abandoned in empty space,
no hope of resolution.
Possessed
Nobody can see
the demons that confound him,
just his misery.

Indifferent to the day
he's trapped inside his anguish.
SpeechlessWhat happens when some one too close to you dies?

When in the shaded room, the high tide of pain abates,  when the room is filled with final silence, when organic motion at last has ceased. The familiar face becomes a mask, no longer illuminated from within. You hold a hand mirror before the transfigured face. The reflection remains clear, unfilmed. The breath of life is no more. Solitude blossoms around you (like those chaste lilies that will decorate the funereal church).

Neither staying or going will alter the implacable truth.

you can speak only
in regret's sad dialect,
sighing your losses.
On The PodiumThe art of conductivity
as the maestro explained,
is that the man with the baton

serves as a lightning rod,
earthing intuitions from god.
Air Force Revisited.
Flying fortresses,
dense enough to deflect light
yet insubstantial

Water drops suspended in
the high, thin air, wind sculpted.

(Originally:

Flying fortresses,
solid enough to impede light
yet made of nothing.

Water drops suspended in
the high, thin air, wind sculpted.)
RecitativeYou're right. I have chosen the uniform of mourning,
At first it seemed that I had made my choice pragmatically.

I thought the dark mode would enhance my performing,
nothing in my appearance would distract from my words.

Then I realised that I was mourning indeed. Each poem
experience once lived avidly, now but a wordy husk.
Dance
Pure form, becoming
the protean flow of dance,
endless shifting shapes.

Fluid movement, creating
amorphous variations.
Sequel
They ignored sharp thorns,
the sting of separation
too far off to see.

Did their season of pleasure
leave them  painful memories?
Stranded 2
The end of the line
had ever seemed likely
to leave the traveller

abandoned in empty space,
no hope of resolution.
Empathy
Can you read her face,
is she wearing hope or pain?
Her visage a mask.
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More from *AlecBell

Returning
The lonely journey
through the alien wastelands
of night. Time stands still.

When the light of day returns,
what will the traveller find?
Obscure
What aspirations
might be contained within
a lonely garret?

Imagine that greatness starves
for want of recognition.
Sleepwalkers
The street procession,
each aware of the strangers
passing closely by.

Each one locked in solitude,
a vortex of private thoughts.
The PollocksPollock

1
Pollock, a frontiersman, a desperado.
all that he was, all that he had struggled against becoming,
 destroyed in a moment of self-mutilation.

His future ended on an empty road.
He crashed through the closed gates of his anguish
  into the void of oblivion.

he left the road permanently, written off,
along with the remains of the vehicle he drove and the corpse
  of his front seat passenger.

2
No painter had explored the great empty spaces
that his Shamanic dancing uncovered.

First, the canvas, unstretched, a great, indifferent shape on his studio floor.
His vision, keen suddenly, the unsparing gaze of a predator
Too Late
What does he pursue?
has it already left him
with nothing but hope?

He cannot believe his eyes,
his heart. Can it have vanished?
Finale 3
The heavens ablaze,
Massings of vapours kindled
by reflected light.

The distant cosmic furnace
sinks from sight, consumed by night.

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April 28, 2012
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The Way

:iconalecbell:

Ends and beginnings
cycle perpetually.
Yang dances with Yin.
:iconalecbell:
A commentary on Endtimes by :devjaelynneb;


You can see the deviation at full size here: [link]
:icondeinktvis:
=deinktvis Apr 28, 2012  Student Writer
:nod:
Reply
:iconalecbell:
*AlecBell Apr 28, 2012
Thank you Chris.
Reply
:icondeinktvis:
=deinktvis Apr 28, 2012  Student Writer
thank you :)
Reply
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