Silence falls upon glazed eyes,
I stand betwixt: a fissure of broken time.
No… I see a vestige of something now unheim-
-lich. Light permeates my boiled grains and is left to abscise,
A cicatrix of blindness deafening wounded ears.
The clouds are caverns rich in ores of aria,
Mined, filtered and smelted in hot smog,
till polished and framed. This is my aporia:
She gazes at him wishing dialogue — recieving monologue,
taking one final look at her imago to settle her fears.
Half-open in the winter twilight,
he unfurls pulped oak stained with dribble.
Bracing in Frosty Boreas’ might,
the stain sweats regretful tears… a little,
As silence falls upon glazed eyes.
Aloud he reads:
When I do count the clock that told the time,
It does no justice to mine heart,
Or the heartstrings woven for our crime,
Through this caged aria: We are apart,
My fluttering septum stitched in guile.
Now through this pain, the penny drops,
We capsize in Styx, sinking you smile,
Whilst bitter gulps of mine stop.
I see Westwood yonder setting on the plane,
Still I want the East and you my rising sun.
Must I climb green knots of old in pain,
With ballads sung and spake: You are the one.
If happy dagger pierced you once and true,
Sip I from Gadfly’s cure to remain with you.
Her hurricanes of blue rang that of knells,
Just thirteen winters had passed her by,
When his deceit confined her to his cells.
A shudder, seeing fair Verona’s great lie:
Her half remains whilst the Broad’s whole dies
Sir, your forgiveness implores not I
Wronged me when I had not,
Seen thirteen harvests gone,
I give you no time for that of rhymes.
Your sickle separated me, wheat from chafe.
You suckled my teat like parasites brooding,
pruned my red flower for your taste,
winnowed me from mine own blood.
Though I did love you once,
Your pain sings sweet phrases to my ears
Wronged I was and tempt me no more,
With your songs and hisses of Jay.
Leave, now defiler of Eve.
In the virgin moon his cat-scar of old flickers,
Snarling, teeth barred, door opened: Janus appears.
While chivalry falls to the quagmire, he snickers,
Clutching knots with fiery eyes seen not for years.
Silence quietening as fear falls before her eyes.
Enslaved and bound, kept on Gaia,
I watch the beast consume the vines,
Looked for sympathy she sees: Trapped aria,
Edging near me, a contorted Mahr pines,
through my pane Czernobog smashes.
nay a hundred from one I splinter,
Shards of my soul scratch and are shook off,
Unrhymed I am, yet kept — broken on this plane:
A permanent wound of stolen sky.
The mongrel cur glints his canines sharp,
Grabbing me she feels my edge.
An æther fills his eyes: he craves her,
She and I: Plato’s whole.
Plunging his heart, tearing the septum; turning to ashes.
His fluttering muscles contract with rigor to form a gasp:
Good Night! Sweet Night! Is now my time
Such sorrow is parted with my line.
She clutches my shard close to her heart
Promising never to part.
With rhyme I remain;
In Shattered pain I proclaim:
Silence fell upon glazed eyes.