Upsidedown

A poem about freedom and being shackled.

Upsidedown World

Winter is a blank page, an expanse of white

Waiting to be written over again

In an explosion of nothingness

The white void covering the abyss in alabaster

A nocturne reverberating hurricanes cremating amalgamated

As the rusty sun rises and bleeds green pastures ravaged by the afterimage

Of sanguine poltergeists, scythes of man sit serendipitous under a metallic sky

Metamorphosis courses incorporeal through the euphoria of agoraphobia

As I sit boxed in the cage that doesn’t end

The bottomless tomb illuminated by patriarch martyrs left in the cartilage boneyard

Beds of thorny roses sanguine tangerines of aerodynamic people that knew how to fly

But I was not born with wings

So I run from propaganda with a fairytale between my legs

And watch the scintillating shadows’ opalescent lie pass high as a kite

I am just a feather in your cap, not one to be taken underneath your wings

Not to drop like flies, when birds think they’re angels

I crawl over the prison of ricocheting deliverance

Climbing the walls until I too realize

At least I can build castles in the sky with the pieces of my broken home

Maybe if I bury my heart, my family tree will grow again from that hollow stump

Reaping wallflowers that bloomed sown into the curtains of

My last poem bearing the fruit of our labour, love

Is there not a sweeter seed of doubt to harvest,

As gnarled archangels grow from the root of our woes

Mangled by branches of stagnant hope in the dreys, a nest of vipers

The chamber of an alcove, where the nightingale bears a barren soul,

Looking out upon the world

Reaching out towards the dirt, buried in the sky like a star-spangled corpse, free to roam hell’s elevator, and watch the foundation of heaven crumble into dusk

An overcast shadow of doubt, the sun is a blank page again

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.