Holding CourtI seem to feel.Holding Court in Scraps More Like This
I reach inside,
There's nothing there.
I seem to stand alone.
I seem to stand alone, yet
I am not alone, I know.
Am I ignoring knockings at my door?
Do I ignore
At my door?
I hold King in my own court
Sitting in a throne of air
And breathing sordid silence
And I ring the bells of ice
To call the Crowven Dancers
-Masks of Raven and Crow feathers-
Hiding their blank faces
As they waltz in an endless game,
Simple illusions I've grown to ignore.
Tidings of war brought in on silver platters
A choice: to choose to sign the treaty of peace
And join two worlds as one
In the Kingdom of my heart;
To leave my throne and serve instead
I need not gold, velvet, or expensive threads.
Another still, in which here I remain
Until my bones meld tight with frame
Chill perfection in complete absolution
No fault or flaw in lifeless abandon.
And yet I'
When in poetryThere is a concern that formsWhen in poetry in Scraps More Like This
In the surface of a clock;
Ticking reflections marching ever onward:
A word unexamined;
A thought left unspoken;
A hand knocked astray.
Look, if you have something to say, just say it.
Dropping hints like breadcrumbs never granted the gift of telepathy,
And when it comes down to it, people seem to regret more of what they don't dare
Than ever has a soul sat and pondered what went wrong when they followed hearts,
There are over one thousand things I could say right now,
But none of them mean a damn and
We're human still, aren't we?
At the end of the day all the podiums and praises
Well-wishing and scornful phrases
Thinly-veiled statements and
Metaphorical questions poised in poetry
Are really just ways to avoid saying the truth so blessedly bluntly,
So blissfully pure,