Silent Cries of the Poetically Dismantled
By Peter Scott
Tablets of wood
Tattooed with song
Strewn throughout
The temple so great
Yet when approached
By her graven reflection
She peered inside and saw
Little of any importance
Proliferation
A dream of one past
An age of pseudo-articulation
Damnation
Maybe even salvation
From a storm thrashing of bleak froth
Climbing upon a shore of frozen sand
Ignorant to the shifting tides
Altering on both sides
The dark seas acquired greed
Parasite of even disease
Consuming more
Rising to balance
On instability
A change was made
To ignite the sun
Pulsing segments
Vitality and warmth
Heating the base
Drying opaque liquid
The seed of an alternate future
Poison to her reality
She spat at the perception
Refused to accept
The ending of an era
There was nothing more to write
Her mood was stabilized
While the words grew stale
Motionless on her bed
Surrounded
Engaged to all things bright
(And trite)
The dream had indeed ended
Ceased existing many hours ago
During daybreak
Her final salute
Appeared in the darkness of light
One small nod
As her eyelids closed
Unlocking fatal totality
Dreamworld
Bound more limitless than chaos
In a poet's eyes.
