Requiem Dejection

I hit a blank wall, chipped slightly,
and made a call to God.
Damn the shadows pursuit against the wall!
I got dead air.

A pianist playing a requiem echoes off the walls
to conceal the perpetual silence
of these empty halls
as a casket is transported wrapped in palls
and I sit still to see how death appalls.

It scratches hypaethral with cannonballs.
It is final all of it has totaled supernal;
the sky will fall from the firmament of celestial
and it was installed by wrinkled brows.

Empyreal police dwindle. Funeral parlors swindle.
Their bleak gloves are unhopeful.
The wake is cold asleep and levants south and west
but I'll live hebdomad and Sunday I will not rest
at the apex, or the dead of night,
nor will sermons recite.

Misguided, brainwork deduces devotion till doomsday.
A vision I do not need now. I turn off every song.
The throngs were very wrong
annihilating the Sun, the sol.
They drained the free water
and vacuumed up the trees,
now scratched blank walls
of amaranthine surround me.

By James Dye

Category:

Entertainment

Tags:

• Poem
• Walls
• God
• Shadows
• Death
• Requiem
• Emptiness
• Silence
• Sky
• Stars
• Imperialism
• Conciousness
• Misguided
• Visions