We Were Once Poets

2015-02-02 21:51

We were once poets
that separated suffering
from beauty
through the confines
of our solitude,

breaking the mundane barriers
with pens stroked powerfully enough
to slash lethal wounds open
on the ghosts of our lethargy
that prey on procrastination

But now we dance to the trumpets
that beckon apocalypses off-key,
washed over by oceans of bleached silk
and drown in the perfume
of dusty betrayals never put on paper

and we call to the archons of our self-pity
in breaking voices that claw against our throats,
hoping that the light of our baptism
will exorcise the malice from all the demons
that we hide beneath our skin

as we blossom in the shade of our wishes,
writing love letters to the anguish in our bones
and building pyramids of the falling rubies
that we misguidedly abandoned
to obtain our immortality:

We were once poets
that understood breathing
and suffocation as the same
as we searched for purpose
in the vast noise of existence,

but now we're reduced
to phantoms dressing our wounds
in thirteen different shades of black,
hoping that a colourful emptiness
will make others mourn our suicides