Obscura

To the dark, my friend, the dark.

Welcome to the city without a heart,

Where only foolish men trod.

Feel the travails of your unborn future,

Oh, aborted child of God.

 

Your heavenly face, lost in shadow,

The fury of angels bid.

The clockwork of your mechanical soul,

Could not your emotions rid.

 

We are the sons of purgatory.

The daughters of oblivion.

 

Farewell to the city without a face,

Blood from a blackened rose.

The ache and the crawl of leaving it all,

You, and I, and they - will know.

 

Fractured, you are fierce with paranoia.

The tremble and snap of the frame.

The hands create a shelter from the storm,

And reach out to perjure the fates.

 

We are the sons of revenant.

The daughters of advent.

Author's Note

A bit of the dark and foreboding world I've constructed in my head. Hope it's worth reading about.

Reviews

[ChaoticSoul]

You had me hooked with the first line: blunt, powerful, almost bitter. This poem really speaks to the reader. It creates a strong image and carries all it strengths well. I also really liked the reflective middle and end, with the sons and daughters. It adds intrigue to an already wonderful story. Excellent writing, my friend!

[Bats In The Belfry]

The first stands is pure dark rapture. "Oh, aborted child of God" I love the intense feeling this sentence conjures up early in the poem.

"The ache and crawl of leaving it all" Another powerful line giving readers the ability to realte to the poem...decadently put! Instant favorite.

[Mary C]

Powerful and poignant. Nice write!