A cherry orchard bears resemblance
To the thousands of innocent females
Who will never fully bloom into success,
A ghostly mist of souls
Strained from human bodies
That were taken before their time:
The weaving of seaweed into an ocean wave
Replicates the ripple of a clouded atmosphere
That nothing intellectual
Or breathe when submerged in.
A glittering frost indulges in the dance
That falls up into the heavy winter air,
Struggling gracefully to reach the heavens
Like a pallid child who threatens to cry
For the mother that ignores.
(Please do not fade away, child.)
To watch a musician is to watch truth,
Or at least the image of another’s honesty.
Their hearts are bruised like a peeled apple
Left to the mercy of oxygen,
Their brains pulsating like a hose
That’s pressure is never constant,
And their faces may twitch or smooth
As they bleed invisibly for an audience
Who dares to understand
I listen to a piano as it mimics rain,
Unifying sounds of sadness and remembrance,
Sorrow and innocence.
I watch a mind’s depression
Three notes at a time,
And I wonder…
Would you help me end the song
If I provided a final note?
My life has been a taunting dream,
One that has seduced me into thinking
That something out there loved me,
Something out there was mocking me.
It lent me this hope,
This “thing with feathers” that flew away
As soon as it saw that I was creating
And I ended up weaving myself
Like a stupid, starving, zealous spider
Into a detrimental madness.
And so you question
Why I don darkness,
Why I echo corpses,
And why I cannot love love any longer?
And so I answer:
Concrete honesty comforts me.
That which mimics,
No matter how beautifully,
Is that which deceives.
I do not wish to lie to myself anymore.