The Ballerina Who Dreamt She Was A Pilot

FYI: The title has absolutely no relevance to this post.

So it’s been a month . . .

This poem’s called Oh Beautiful Beautiful

 

Oh Beautiful Beautiful

Motionless and waiting 

Dare I cry the name of love’s lost melodies?

For once I held them in my aching palms

And loved them

They were precious to me 

And they cried back to me

Harmonious and insufferable

Fixtures of an erroneous race

Lost are the days 

And the moments

Swallowed by the darkened rooms

Where we rest our little heads

And ghouls now bellow their lost art

I am a tapeworm

I am an architect of dreams

Of nightmarish cinema

Fingers rotten and memories overturned

Oh beautiful beautiful

Paint the skies 

My wretched song

My shadowy fortress

And the lines pour in and out

Spilling over the metaphysical

Imprinted and betrayed

These walls where my body hangs in pieces

But the melodies

Drown 

Reduce 

Spoil

And call my name 

Oh pity me God in heaven

Am I not your son?

Oh tragic love

Love agonizing and spit out

These words

These demons 

My salvation

Forget me oh wondrous melodies

Let me love the sick hands of time

Of manufactured emotions of tenderness and regret

Let me get lost in it’s embrace of fabricated freedom

Where my love was drowned in a river of sorrow

Oh and how she beckoned

But how I sauntered

Oh beautiful beautiful

Know how I loved you

And how I sang your sweet songs

 

Story: Make one up for yourself you’ll like your version better than mine.

Morale of the story: Singing is better than not not singing.