1st Post for New Year- A Poem, of course

Thoughts Across Hallways

-Banter Contained In The Mind





1-



The closer we came to the marble

The louder a reverberation we felt.



Couples married, but hardly committed,

Flew out of open windows into

A setting sun of lost love and

Dying passion.



Ravens and black widows

Put on a false war of preconceived evil,

While the white doves

Sought out blood to decorate their feathers with.



In any sacred place of worship,

Or tomb,

Normal conversations were droned out

By the Ears and their way of listening

That in itself held a noise, a sound,

A different kind of reverberation

-an Echo-

Of the conscious mind within the atmosphere

That the converts and hypocrites

Refused to give notice to

-Even as IT rebounded and replayed

Off of their domineering aura.



2-



When the winter storms grew tired

Of decorating the land with newness,

And the Eclypse was seen,

But unrecognized.



When people grew so tired of Shadow

They wished to extinguish the Sun.



When the red stains

On the feathers of gulls and their perches

Became an ignitable fuse of lust

And adornment.



When, for the Elm's sake,

Bits of dust were spared becoming mud

From the storms Summer borrowed from the Moon.



In a passage, where the hallway thoughts transversed,

Children come of age in Eras unnamed,

And not yet studied,

Learned of their elders bitterness and loss-

Gathering in their own information

About what to claim as lost or stolen

After their personal Democracies

Had run their course.



Tigers and Ostrich

Were the new Deities

Of those that could neither

Fight nor flee.



Silverbacks cracked open pistachios,

Instead of walnuts,

Because their tools had become too complex

For their violent fingers worn by age.



Dogs hunted in packs

-For that was the season.



And a serpent's head rose

Out over a place it never had before

-Allowing the floodgate of inner-repression

Out of it's little shell-

And into the light like a sharpened dagger

Across an unscarred palm.



3-



It took a while for the Oxen

To realize the plow they pulled

Weighed twice as much as the incentive

That waited for them after the work was done.



The farmer refused to crack his whip-

Bent and stooped from age

He looked to his children to continue the passage.



They ran out into the field before harvest

Whispering to the soil-

Begging for more profit

Than was afforded the Oxen.



A white, static storm

Took nations up in arms.



People's inner-dialogues

Were muted by the pulse

Of a popular kind of insanity.



It was not fashionable

To wear your true self

On your sleeve.



Who was it

That saw the sky

And, cried "Night!"



Who was it

That saw the ocean

And, cried "Depth!"



Who was it

Who saw the land

And, cried "Vastness!"



It had all been said and done before.

There was no heading West

For the West was blown-out

And broke,

And overcome.



There was no returning

To where our grandfathers

Had layed out from.

For their world was muck-

Lost to a history we shall never know,

Or ever truly understand.



There was no leaping,

As much as we may have wanted,

Into our children's future world.

After the embryos had thawed

Our minds melted a little-

It was impossible to return

To the indecent state

Of our own youth

-Lost and foretold-

And lacking the pure innocence

Our forebearers had wished for us.



The children who inherited the land

Sold the soil, but not the air above it,

To billionaires who had run out

Of products to sell and investments to make.



And then began the foraging,

And the criminilization of happiness,

And the pursuit of survival

In a land of pocketbooks emptied

By hard wear and turmoil-



The spinning of a clock of uncertainty

That drew thin the line seperating

Indecency from virtue.