Nemesis

Nemesis

A Poem by R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)
"

Been sick for a while, then I finally get inspiration. You know what happens? My word document crashes and I lose the majority of my best lines, and any reason to finish the work. Here's an attempt.

"

Nemesis




Part 1: The Left Hand (of a Power-Hungry Fool) 





The left hand of the power-hungry fool; even the devil has a name 


Even God must hide his hate, half a mind to tempt the fates


That mask of anger; only he can wear that mask like it’s his own face 


Denouncing God, not understanding solitude


Dismantling solitude, destroying hope, disowning despair


We will decide the difference between fiction and religion


We will decide the difference between heaven and hell, devil and angel


The difference between life and death 


Disfiguring progress as the winding road of immortals leads through our straightjacket shackles and the corridors of Belphegor


Regressing in bedlam’s devil handed the sceptre


Outcast’ing shadows of what we thought we were


Of requiems sepulchre sleeping restlessly for a dream to call reality, secure


Dead resurrection reeking of beacons flickering ventriloquists in the dusk of homunculus


Offering the sarcophagus of narcissistic missionaries, saints, madmen


The bishops of monolithic photosynthesis speaking sickness out through the rotting choir of their mouths singing gospels of an apocalypse


Wrecking witness to the reaper’s business, the sweetest flower of abysmal amaryllis


Crimson equilibrium swings imprisoned on the slipknot chains locked in our hearts


Soothsayers mosaics of braille fairytales fumbling desperately to feel again


To touch another’s soul; will bleed their words until their throat runs dry, bitter


Like crippled amaranthine photosynthesis


As the serendipitous antithesis eclipses ellipsis


Inquisitions of ventriloquists of hieroglyphic crucifixions’ equilibrium  


The delirious onomatopoeia of paraplegic allegiances indecency’s deviant  


Antioxidant of slipknot doppelgängers esophagus of Apocrypha screaming hymns of bohemian cremations' whim 


I love my scars, scratching at the records of shattered symphonies


They are the greatest painting my body has ever known


The greatest comedy, my greatest tragedy, broken back together again,


Smoothing out the canvas over the bones of my foundation,


A city being graffitiing by man’s nations, like a polychromatic Abaddon dwindling in the twinge


Imitating mosaics sieges of all creation swallowing the diabolical Catholicism electroconvulsive Holocaust like a Morningstar Babylonian


Spines of thistled muscle intertwined in the kaleidoscope of sheet metal Armageddon tangled stragglers ever personified in the horizon’s empire where I built a heaven of my own

  

Usurping Merkabah’s cardiovascular Avalon of sabbatical tapestries emasculated tenebrous memories  


It is December again, the words leaking through the threads that have now frozen in the facets of my broken-minded labyrinth, left behind to find myself, lost, alone


Serpentine, running wine of watercolours in my heart, my art, brine of dripping antagonistic sanguine anarchies  


Electroconvulsive penultimate lobotomy’s arteries disharmonious starving dreams on the parchment of archenemies


At home with my demons, trying to see another’s point of view


I found a window into the soul, opened the door to my heart


And learned to look outside myself


House another’s hatred, while I lock mine out of sight


For we do not see eye to eye, so we cannot share the same views


Shedding some light on another’s woes, I looked the other way


A shadow of an angel flickering like a night-lamp, or maybe a devil


Or a deviant, or a man, or a woman,


Shared its darker side with me


And we both were only half a daybreak free from yesterday and tomorrow  


Part 2: The Heart of Darkness, is Broken 




Lighting the way into the abyss, shattered stars staircases reflecting off pools vaporous gazed at me like a falcon before flight


Tripping over life sentences, stumbling in the dark, looking for the exit sign as we all burn in a cool hell 


The foundation of God is built from the bones of man


And I keep on walking thinking it will get me somewhere,


Ventriloquist to the winding passages of my heart


Pathlessness revolts, deep in my despair, an empty funeral, lowered down into the box


Buried alive in this solitude I have come to know


When sometimes I just want to crawl into a corner of my life


Curled like a ball that dibbles over oblivion,


Yet still hates me enough to miss out on any goal or purpose


Scorched by the rain of resurrections’ pestilence


The sky a crumpled page of biblical gibberish ripped from the notebook of God


Apostles star-crossed fossilized in the diaphragm of silence pretend to understand death


Screaming dreamlands of rhythmic precision


My astral blasphemy cascading crusaders of bipedal cathedrals


Mountains of men clothed in their regal medieval onomatopoeia in the bondage of monasteries


The intestinal renaissance bioluminescent crescent emptiness


The white chalk scratching at the blackboard of my buried past


Shadows of midnight, ghosts and poltergeists


Decrepit entropy centipede's of rebellions’ in eldritch entities


Evangelions pray to deities, fables that man hasn’t yet wrote


That haven’t yet found a home in the projects that were never finished


The failures that never lived


The word of a God who had never been humanized


A fire that never burned body to ash

 

 

The Heart is a Cage


To feel again my heart is an empty box discarded in the landfill of lost souls


Turn over a new leaf and bury the seeds of rebellion for the reaper to harvest our sorrow like a crop


My heart is caged under the boneyard, my love for you only grows fonder


Let the blackest sacrilege of apathy bring happiness through catastrophe of the rhapsody of wrath’s anatomy


Travesties of tapestry decapitated by the bladed scythe for the ones too ripe, my fruit is rotten, my words forgotten


Let me rise from the shires sired from divine shrines of serpentine liaison lairs binded to the winding rivalry


Unravelling cataclysms on the battlefield when I lie in soft meadowed mementos of apocalypse, crescendos of nocturne 


Psychotropic bondage armadas armaments left in the Argentum of Armageddons’ Nephilim


Who died to provide a pillow for my pride guidelessly unified almighty


Brightest moonshine to the spade of nightshades’ grace


Feed my my steel love-starved heart your inner demons, sleeping in that death, the final dreamland, bury the past, and let the future rise from graveyards incarnation


Let the burden of hurricanes surrogates purgatory born from pandemonium rigour mortis metamorphosis to pandoras phantasmagorical


That locked the door torn from the hinges of my heart and left the keychain of bloodtied nooses across the hallways crucifixion


In that hell of belladonna’s diabolical monarch to the empty darkness of charcoal courtship vorpal to the corpus


Penance to the nemesis of referendum reflection decorated with the flames of agathion conclaves wronged by psalms of Nirvana chlorophyll incorporeal blinding kaleidoscopes


The stained glass afterimage of a concrete cathedral of our own upheaval


Kneeling for crematoria in the chrysalis of cryptic hieroglyphics


That guide our omniscient apparitions bewitched in astigmatisms


Of heavens hallucinogenic hemorrhages; like Armageddon isn’t just entropy


Shattered bits and fragments of agony humanity savagely left cadaverous in sabbath of church


I preach to the heavens, but still crawl on the earth, I reap no Nirvana, I feed on gospels of dirt, I’m not under, standing, been grown since birth


Not Islamic or Christianity, damnation is words, if we lived broken silence, we’d listen for worth


You scream in your violence, yet whisper for God, peace for our kind doesn’t end in the stars


We cannot pick up a single peace of what’s been torn apart


We built our own Salem, foundations, heard the last curtain call


If there is a heaven, hell burns in our hearts


There are no more angels; I watched the sky fall


We make light out of souls we’ve left in the dark


We stain the fabric of history, leave a brand and a scar


Blame the static hypnotism sporadic and jarred


Escape to the magic of fiction, where there's still good in our hearts


And let the prison of our lives enshroud the breath of a spark


The twirling twilight clouds hallowing sunsets of hearth


Climb down through the chasms and walk the stairway to Mars


Either the wrath of Abaddon, or the kindness of God


In the shadow of greatness, there's a light, flickering infinitely


On



 

© 2020 R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)


Author's Note

R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)
I really, really wish I didn't lose what I'd written. It was gold, and this feels like copper at best. To be over halfway through a poem full of inspirations and beautiful flowing reason in the words and then the next moment seeing them gone is probably my biggest roadblock when it comes to writing. I don't like losing a great poem and trying to replicate it.

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.

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It's difficult to believe but God knows best... You have the Philosopher's stone, that's your pen, your creative ability that uniquely only you possess. I liked this poem but if you think it could have been better, I'm with you. I lost so many art pieces burnt down, you know that when it happened but I still continued to create the best. Now I think it happened for good, it accelerates my growth, thinking and creativity. We are always better than yesterday and best today! I'd think that the lost piece was great but the best is yet to come. Grow out of that and create the best till you're satisfied.
Coincidentally my next poetry is "Philosopher's stone". It's coming soon. :)
Good Luck!

Posted 4 Years Ago


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4 Years Ago

For the poem I think the first part needs a bit more work. I was great from 2nd part, I could create.. read more
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4 Years Ago

You have no idea how desperately I've waited for a new poem from you. This is amazing!
R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)

4 Years Ago

Thank you so much! What you said really inspires me to get back into writing. You're right, we can o.. read more

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Added on February 24, 2020
Last Updated on February 25, 2020
Tags: Nemesis

Author

R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)
R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)

Burlington, Halton, Canada



About
Most of my poems can be differing lengths depending on the time you want to spend reading them. You can avoid reading anything brackets, or read it all. If you want an in-between, you can read only th.. more..

Writing