Ouroboros (World Eater)

I finally finished this poem. Although I may come back to edit it. Don't necessarily need to read this in order. These stanzas are only loosely connected. It took a lot of hard work, I hope you enjoy!

Incorporeal Punishment

God is a heavy crossbreed to bare

The karma to live in shadow of the light

And pray upon the living

As we sing gospels of the dead

Darkness bioluminescent with our relentless sin

Awakened to the nightmare within

Enlightenment by nightshade’s leviathan

Saints of divination play the game

And gamble halos

Writing the word of God in braille

To touch the hearts of angel’s

Feeling for Elysium

Signing their lives on asylums walls

Awaiting betrayal in the aeons of Salem scrawled

Eldritch zealots of melancholic dance

Waltz, take fate into your own hands

Grasping at straws is how your future hangs in the balance

Of a grey morning’s incorporeal punishment

Howling at the clouds with a palette for malice's ballad

Body Baggage

Forgiveness is a fickle scythe not to live by

A scream for lungs that still breathe

When only silence answers that melodic Holocaust

Roll the dice with your poltergeist

The malachite scythe of inherited interrogation of reincarnation

The pale aegises your only alias

Alone in the kaleidoscope of raindrops

Ragnarok on the windows of incendiary Elysium

Alone in the crowd of skeletons that lived

Inside your broken home of shattered plates and dreams

Inside your sickness, still you breathe

A prisoner of fate’s lackadaisical masquerade of dilapidation,

The masonry of our cruel nature

Built like a terra-cotta mausoleum of ambrosial psychosis

Of infernal otherworldly metallurgy like maleficent necrosis

Host to comatose ambrosia's chlorophyll metamorphosis

The nectar of pestilence drenched

In requiem’s sepulchral of skeletal Nephilim

I don’t know when to draw the silver-lining sometimes

There are no hearts of gold to retrace in the silence

The devil doesn’t want flesh

I smile when I bare my teeth

Like a burden, I haven’t yet paid off

Face for word, single file

I have written so many dead truths of growing lies to hang by

I am the hole in the heartless varicose sky of vines called a sunrise

I flower from the graves of angels

And am only as dark as my shadow

My doppelgänger companion

My lifelong servant

Who sleeps forever

In the world I left behind,

A long time ago

And now, I only cast my shadow

Aside, like a memento of the inferno

With the body baggage of my memories

The weight I carry with me

To the nearest sanctuary

My shadow

Follows me

Haunted by what has been, clinging to what could be

Chaotic ensembles the path a forked tongue

Seeking guidance to the gallows

Of a foul hallelujah

Grey Morning

Malice salivating archangels

Archaic immunization of the sickness that grows

From the crossroads of my esophagus

The words that crawl from the bunkers of my lungs

With the lingering will of blitzkrieg

To dive into the divide’s riveting rivers of sinew

Dying sinners of rhythms splintered incubus

 Who rolled in their graves with the hands of fate

The nightmare-edge no rest for the wicked

Facing their demons, a shadow of what they once were

Retracing the tracks we left behind, the road not taken

That path is mine

Wrath serpentine the eye of a needle gone blind

Stings this pincushion heart of spite

The strings of oblivions ventriloquist

Diablo’s smile, ravaged by alabaster baggage of avaricious sight

Your view so warped seen eye to eye

But blight of darkness clouds your enlightened mind

Awakening to bare the child's scythe

Photosynthesis of umbilical night

Dreamcatchers of our own rapture

The disease of fear in my metallic mirror

The demon's peering on the otherside, my overseers they smile wide
Clovers stomped into magnum opus

The rigour mortise of an incorporeal orphanage

Outgrowing Decay

And I wear my noose like a crucifix

For those who crossed me don't know what it means

To bleed dry and smoulder raking the coals of the sun

This is my phosphorescent Armageddon

My limelight unto the abyss beyond my fire

That empty place where we go to feel fulfilled

That limbo is the body baggage of mine alone

Sit in the abyssal missive of a fallen throne

The hallowed tones of my hollow bones

Apostle to diabolic straw-men dangling in damnation

Entangled in the trancelike heartbeat intangible strands

Of our own hatred's foundation

The Ouroboros, chorus of an orchestra's metamorphosis

The clockwork octaves provocative opera's of the chaotic

Sovereignty's carving of auburn lobotomies disarming solace

Archangels of darkness polymerization

The alabaster rhapsodies in a carnival of reincarnations ensemble

Vagabond gospels parting cease

Trust not but your own beliefs

Bequeath the heartbeat of our psalms

Spirits of lyricisms imprisoned after dawn

Follow not the flower of the mourning star

For his sorrow's snark may quip to rip thy budding world apart

The eclipse of those who brought down his wrath

The crucifix of sky and heaven, in earths’ blood will bask

To masquerade the glaciers of the soul

And leave not one man left standing whole

Beseeching grim reapers, sunseekers, gatekeeper

And maim the leeches that bite the secondhand time may feed us

Roll the dice with your poltergeist

Moonshine spun unto the sun, the emblem of bellows, my crescendo

The Kalpa's Outcasts

Forgiveness is a fickle scythe not to live by

A quiet unsired silence for the vice of forever closing eyelids

Alone, scattered among the lungs that still breathe

When the only answer is unquestioned

This pestilential dance of resurrection

Disembodied hearts of cornucopia form

To break apart is to be born

Forgive the ones who came before

You must also, fight their wars

But it is not such a curse

Planewalkers stalking this apocalypse light your hearth

Scouring the palette of callused aurora borealis eternity’s verse

Madmen of shadows gone berserk

Perch by steeple of thine church

Only the gallows of paladins folding origami crows to serve

Brushstrokes of burgundy churning a purgatory haunt your birth

Leave not a stone left unturned upon this earth

The bones and bricks to build amaryllis acrylics

From monochrome dirt

A dead man's village

Fleeting Dreams (of Those Unforgiven By Ash)

Forgiveness is a fickle scythe not to live by

Until you see death’s bride with your own eyes

And ride for those you’ve fallen for

Fly your flag of rippling gore

The only time you’ll ever soar

Unholy rhyme, revenant of morgues

King of forlorn horrors, bound to your crown of gallows’ thorns

Upon Dante’s renaissance, your head of horns

Never victorious, the moral of your story is

You will never reach the heavens

Resurrection seeped in vengeance

To be the one upon the throne

But you will always be alone

To rule you must live by a code your own

Sharpening darkness, your heart a stepping stone

For the next dead sun for us to morn

The talons of Valhalla’s crawling eldritch Valkyries

Armadas of belladonna, amalgamated retaliation

Every little nation, obliterated by hatred

An elevator, reaching from purgatory into the infinite limbo

Sign your life away, read between the lines you imprisoned your insignia in

The ending, finally, hesitantly begins

In Elysium the prism of oblivion’s sin

Kindling insidious ludicrous illuminant

Stygian chrysalis a mimicry of polycrystalline symphonies

Of scintillating obsidian visionaries of omnipotence

Forgiveness isn’t something you can reap

Even still, the shadows, creep

The mothers weep

The angel’s of Salems' deep spite

Walk to staircase’s railings and take flight

To ashen wreaths, the frail mayhem, ripe

There is a nothingness fading, you cannot keep

Unravelling faceless the reigns of teeth

Forgive the fragile cataclysms, the regal fiends

We can only be

A fleeting dream

 

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.

Reviews

[NotUsinganymore]

Very interesting poem. Life is like a dice game full of karma, darkness, and sorrow. I really enjoyed this poems.

[barleygirl]

I read Fabian's review before I read your poem. So I'll respond to both at the same time. This series of poems are some of the most connective, as far as you stating what you're saying in fluid trains of thought . . . and this is compared to ONLY the last poem in this series, having your purely-word-orgasmic pile-ups, more about word sounds & the mesmerizing quality of how you string sounds together, more than trying to form a sentence to convey recognizable expressions. In short, most of your expression here includes more of the connective tissue we readers need to fill in the blanks between your million-dollar word strings. So I would say Fabian's chosen examples (of this not being understandable) represent a small part of this collection overall.

I often write with a country shtick like redneck hicks & if you've never heard this spoken, it may not be that easy to interpret. Similarly, many Brits & Scots on this website will offer up a strong brogue that's not easy to read if you're not used to hearing it. Similarly, your poetry has a unique sound that may be hard to plow thru for people who rarely read you. But since I've read you quite a bit, I've become familiar with many of the kinds of words & word-strings you use, so that I don't have to google meanings to get most of your points. Some of us (you & I) are not concerned about entertaining the masses & it's far more satisfying to simply reach a few who "get it"!

Many times when I'm writing, I'm thinking of many of the things you do in your writing, as inspiration for my own writing. Number one is the way you use a huge variety of words . . . your example in this is a CONSTANT inspiration for me. Number two is the way you put words together in unexpected strings . . . in short, sometimes the sun goes down, but other times the sun takes the most circuitous way to shine light on things we never saw before. Hope you & your loved ones are all well & healthy (to the extent that any of us are really healthy!) (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)]

I'm glad to be able to share my poetry with people like you who get it! Makes me feel like my poetry has a place of its own in this world, and is still a worthy read. I agree with Fabian to some degree, but I also haven't been physically well lately, so my gripes with this poem is more that it isn't flowing to the same degree or as good at sound bonding as some before it. I found that I was able to write something decent, but not an epic to the same degree as others. Still, your encouragement and viewing my words as inspiration certainly helps me feel like I still belong. Thank you my friend, you're a truly awesome person, and a great inspiration for myself. We all learn from each other. I'll continue to look for your poetry and several others for guidance.

[Fabian G. Franklin]

In view of the review of my review I'll reiterate by saying that it's never about, "entertaining the masses" though one might wish one were so fortunate in the writing profession. It's not about being considered an esoteric either. It's about having the ability to articulate and communicate clearly with the reader. If we fail in that, as writers, we fail in the most important aspect of the written word which is communication. Simple as that.

[Fabian G. Franklin]

I enjoyed the read but found myself struggling for clarity in some of the description. Papa Hemingway would say, It's not a crimson orb undulating on a fiery bed of coals, drifting into the velvet folds of night. The sun set. Sometimes the sun just sets. And that's what he would write. The sun set. It's not an anatomical juxtaposition of orbicularis oris muscles in a congenial state of contraction...it's just a kiss. And sometimes, a kiss is just a kiss. And even the darker themes I believe need clarity that pedantry cannot provide.
"Kindling insidious ludicrous illuminant
Stygian chrysalis of polycrystalline symphonies" certainly is a mouthful but what does it give to the reader? Writing is a relationship between two...the writer and the reader. I believe communication is the base function of the written and spoken word. The writings here are certainly no more dark than Dante's but lacking the finesse and communication of the Italian poet. I suggest you focus on function more than form and on clarity more than confusion. I hope you can find a balance that allows for creative word choice while protecting the meaning and the communication between writer and reader. Keep up the good work. Cheers.

[R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)]

I appreciate the review, thank you for sharing your points. This certainly isn't my best poem, I'm going through a time where nothing decent makes it onto the page. Regardless though, I'll try my best to improve. Thank you.

[.]

Wish Granted...😂.
Don't worry you are just great at your poetries and we know you're doing well and hard.
Let it on us to enjoy... OK? 👌

[R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)]

I'm glad you still enjoy the poem. :)

[.]

I always do😉.