Shadowman

I'm having trouble rhyming, so I decided to try a poem based on that. I still haven't reached my expectations, but I'm happy I'm making progress to slowly regain my old skills, and learn new ones.

I chased the man’s fading footsteps in the winter blizzard

The demon called human, who stole my everything

Hunting the sound of a lullaby

As I bleed tears of red roses

The memories of death fresh as a corpse

The moist rain air raids my white world’s cremation

Cut me down and I will stand again mangled

Strangling the hands of an avalanche

The man hides in the shadow of a fallen god

The willows drowning in the fog

The cogs of clockwork rusting in umbrage

Your days are numbered, buried under

I will make you know the cold steel of the grandfather clock

The hands of time will not beat the flesh of man

They will run dry like the sands of mangled avatars

I will not rot in the dunes of your illusion

My mosaic mirage dislodged from the boneyard

Those you have dishonoured hanging by the gondola

Calmly discombobulated by the sovereignty of disharmony

As the tick tock of my paperclip glock make origami of your karma

Night stalking the scarecrows of a barren world

As the vultures scavenge humanity’s damnation

And the purgatory metamorphosis reborn coursing

Calling in the dark voids orchestra, I empty my ricocheting voice

But hear nothing but your warpath shrapnel screaming hateful lullabies

Decapitated aspirating irradiated by the defibrillator’s reinvigorated deterioration

Reanimated damnation calibrated Salam derailing titanium inauguration augmentation

Instantaneous incinerated assimilated by the arcanum vibrations of the Himalayans

As the nations of archaic forsake courageous apparations

Parasailing railroads in the halo of a maelstrom’s grail of entrails asylum objectified

As the violet flowers of the hourglass capsize photosynthesized by serpentine usurpers’ blind

Incorporeal kaleidoscopes of times polychromatic onomatopoeia gravitated amalgamations

To the eyes of fallen branches scry, fueling rise diabolic romantic wild dandelions

As the wilting umbilical guillotines flow through vines, benign to ichor drawn through rhyme

And I watch the shadow as night falls, before he comes to rule it all

Like dusk upon the devil’s thralls, staunch to battle Nirvana’s lull

Win the world or lose it all, jinn of scrolls to limb and sprawl

The salve of words to own the mask, I stole the present of my past

Chased the man who’s face mine matched, stumbled past the ashen mass

And killed him in a masquerade, cut him with a fickle blade, as if he were made out of clay

That once drew blood across the seas, painted faces of ceramic insanity

That could not truly know to dye, I showed my colours, black and white

And would not paint the picture forged, for I only knew the art of war

Ventriloquist to dolls of sons, who etched their hope when they were young

But death could never wound his heart, as shadows grow amidst the dark

Calamities grander may have shattered worlds, still, I hang pictures framed I never sold

For if I were to see myself, as but a remnant on the shelf

My words are just an empty shell, that keeps me trapped within this hell

And if there’s something I contain, I live on every word and page

Rain is dripping down the well, I hear static nothing quell the noise, every bell a cello’s scream

A dying voice

That rips apart the silent death, as ragged shrapnel takes a breath

And the metal rings guillotines within my head, I’m the pin and needle, not the thread

For fabric of those left in unravelled web, the whims of feeble remnants spun, until the day my word is dead

And then there's nowhere left to run

 

Author's Note

I promise I read every single review, and I generally will reply to them. I look forward to my next review, because it helps me learn. Even if it's just one word, I promise, I will be happy to hear anything you feel needs sharing. Whenever you write on my shortcomings or breakthroughs, or the themes of my poems, or share ideas and friendly criticism, it decides my next poem to an extent. I will listen, learn and be thankful. And 99% of the time, you'll get a reply unless you're trolling me.