Melancholy

I was sitting next to the liberty bell
Hidden beneath it was her presence

To keep love alive I must die
For as little as some perfume essence

And when he she leaves me in the night
Like a UFO had left a singed mark

I sit there in the bath of a grave
Reaching for a star

I could be Edward Munch
Looking for a noise in Oslo’s gloom

In the flatness of a storm
In the pious religion
Landscaped with shadows

As you dream you scream
Yet you awake to a bird singing

Appearing in your idle drawings
Strangulated by swift black swallows

Sent from Paris by a secret admirer
Smelling of wine bars and dusty streets

In the flowers of time
Held in your painted hand
As a black coach lifts into the wind
And a warm fire goes out overnight

If you moved
Just a little closer
Would the earth
Turn the colour of lilac
From fast growing trees
That mark the tragedies
Of broken romances
Marked by a million times

What would you look for
Amongst the lilac forest
Amongst the velvet songs
Of lilac birds

Of streams covered
In lilac petals
Like bridal gowns
Floating to the sea

Would you forgive
At the point where tears
Were torn from face
In a lilac scented wind

As you moved
Through the endless forest
Of lilac trees in bloom
Would you forget
The secret affairs of handmaiden

Who in grave of lilac
Sleep
with stars where once
They had eyes

Like skin holds water in its folds
A touch explodes into vision

Convulsing as you burst
Watched by a galaxy of faces

Of time and places

Locked in the cell of a padded dream
You turn over beneath your bed of leaves

And the touch of a breeze releases
A horde of ants
Marching as you breath

In times and place

The point of a needle is a claw
A blob of blood is an open door

Falling down the dark side of a hill
See swarming moths of the divine will

In times and place

After the music has died down
Into a trickle of quiet sound

As a pillow is placed over your face
Hornets are released from a travelling case

Of time and place

twisted barbed wire
entwined together
like outlaws in the Badlands
riding the forks of the weather

tangled like wet sheets
wringing with water
walking home down the long roads
crossing over the border

I don’t know if the moon was full
It made no sound
It rang no bell

I was not caught by moonlight in the window
I was not moved to delirium

I stood like a stake
Driven into the ground
I heard all the weeping

There are times and places
The full moon is not desired
So that the rain can start falling

Author: blackbird212012

I am interested in multimedia work: songwriting, art, and creative writing. I have been involved also in theatre and music performances.

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