The Amaranthine Poet

Epiphany in a Cell (Song for the Avid Listener)

June 7, 2008 on 1:15 am | In Everything | No Comments

Just a preface: This is, in essence, about how people are so easily victimized and imprisoned by the hatred, corruption and manipulation of, not only society, but by their personal environments and experiences. Additionally, the reason why I’ve figuratively placed “their” prison cells behind the rib cage of the sky is due to the idea that the sky so often connotes vast freedom and limitless–an escape from the world, in all aspects. There are no obstacles or walls within the sky; if people only knew how simple it is to be freed from their “prison cells,” then they could be just that–free. That is why I use the sky as the ironic metaphor…(Hm, by the way–in case you are wondering–I am aware that I write a lot…but, that is what I do…if I wasn’t able to inscribe my thoughts, my head might explode. Haha.)

Epiphany in a Cell (Song for the Avid Listener)

A river reflecting green but painted blue,
Hides them in its depths–
Drowning voices purging through.
Their eyes are dimmed by a lick of white thunder–
Cracking beneath a velvet cloud-
It holds them under.
The sky expands with painful breaths,
They’re trapped in cells behind his broken rib cage,
Their innocence dies vaporous deaths.

Faded rainbows parting their billowing wings–
Climbing up their spines,
Piercing through until they reach their hearts–
Stealing from their tepid minds.

They’re raveled in the vines of porous trees,
Golden sunshine staining their lucid seas.
Shards of glass rain down-creating a perilous ocean.
They run to hide within mere phantasms of unbridled emotion.

I’ve left a message for them–
Where the crimson cosmos kiss the spinning mountaintops–
It was swallowed by a bird who spat it at the moon–
Who cries until the spinning stops…

He’ll tell them long before the dull chime of morning bells,
Epiphany–
Like a summer melody dancing in their dark, cold cells.
Wiping the dust from their eyes.
Like a storm after a drought,
Will be the rapture of their stifled cries.

The night will incinerate once the world forgets how to hate.