Twin Rainbows

by Kakera   Apr 29, 2015


Nay be there pots of gold,
but colourless depravities
coated in the malice of twisted fates
lying at the end of our twin rainbows

We were gifted with venomous tongues
to spread the death and destruction
that is the essence of any art
to the blinded masses;

We were walking spines
shivering with fright and delight
at the silence of the mayhem
that our hollow words brought,

and as the cloaks of scarred skin
that we wore over our broken shoulders
were drenched in the blood of our message,
we would herald the downfall of all hope

Because there was never any light
at the end of the tunnel, like you promised,

Instead awaited naught but an epiphany
and an all-consuming dread

that stole our senses and our emotions,
so that the demons inside our bones

could continue to disassemble ourselves
and let us crumble into ashes and works of art

until all that could ever be left of us
are the decaying trees
in the fields of our grief
that we wrote our legacy on,
waiting for our names to be erased.

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Latest Comments

  • 9 years ago

    by -Choke-On-MY-Halo-

    I loved how dark and how sad this poem was from starting line to ending line, truly beautiful! I couldn't stop reading this poem and it's now going to go in my favorite poems list. What I found the most amazing part of all was the title because I never would've twisted something so light and sweet into something dark and sad, but that's what makes people different how they can change something ordinary and make it extraordinary, truly impressed with the talent of different poets!
    Also I nominated it, it was just that beautiful in my mind. 5/5

    -Moria Bella Bair

    • 9 years ago

      by Kakera

      Thank you kindly for your generous words. I'm very happy to hear that you liked this piece so much! Your comment on the title itself is also very thought provoking for me as a person and as a writer, because it begs the question of why I am able to twist a title like this one when you believe you wouldn't/couldn't.

      I think the answer would probably be profoundly woven into the essence of what it means to be human itself. And more specifically how we perceive the world. I believe I can write the way I do because I don't see the world in colours anymore, but in shades of grey. Figuratively, of course. To me, I think that the light and the dark has become the same entity, a two-faced God. Maybe that's why I can't seem to write happy poems anymore.

      But who knows. Thank you, again, for your comment. <3