Grey Serenity

Sylvia Plath Inspired

Up in Our Elysian Fields,
Where we have stampeded to its pinnacle,

Saturated in gleeful buoyancy,
This lasted no more than a minute-

Soon enough there was nothing more to climb.

I have seen the Rose and its thorns.
The flowers bring me a moment of ease,
The coffin centers me again.

And I have risen to the sky like hot air,

 Pulled upward by the will of Him,
I am faced downward as I rise,

Shadows permeate below me. 

Our once, white faces are distorted by smoke,

The residue of Auschwitz.
We plea for a savior-
He has burned out our voices.

...And soaked the rest in butane, waiting to set them ablaze.

 The candle burned into the wax and extinguished itself.

Smoke gathered on the horizon.
We forgot about the flower and its thorns. 
What a view, what a view, 

He is apathetic in the mist.
Inhaling smoke as oxygen, strangled by the toxicity of the fumes, nothing foreign to him.

An ordinance is to authority, your Autumn is to your Winter 
and our Mercy is to their scythe  

I am my own element
A third party behind the vapor
We are the voices that told them to disperse, for the weak are deaf and dumb 

The universe is a thickening ceiling; only matter above, it hovers

 Without a single labyrinth
Gaza draws color, I reach.

There is a plague that permeates the desert 

Dense as a bed of sheetrock
Shaken with an earthquake
They are guided by the hour-hand.

The Wiseman of wise men, crushed under pillars,

 The holocaust above the clouds,
Belligerence has its own gravitational pull,
He has made a foundation so we cannot fall back.

Plains level out in harmony,
The currents reach equilibrium,

Memories sting like the dead sea, 

My sanity floats along blocks of salt.

A scroll in a cave, a scroll in a valley

 This is meaningless in its essence.
It is not where it is needed,
I am where it is needed.

Author's Note

I do not know what I am doing with the punctuation