Thread: The Horror

I

The twilight, nearer to death than dawn,
lay in the straw groping at the dry places

Here, the wind is very distant,
through the hollow valley of
hollow men

The conception, the idea
without color, without motion

They are trembling knowing of
death's clock striking starscrapers

It is meaningless as wind breaks
glass in the stove, round the stars
this is the hour they lay with
the dead star

II

Let me live life at last and
go 'round in cowskin,
crossing Sunlight-Twilight
Kingdom's rose beaches

No death in this kingdom

We are the kingdom of
dry tenderness, lips kissing
away that prickly pear
lost kingdom in force

Hope only,
of voices waiting for the
old Guy to come across
broken cactus land to meet
the morning

Between, receiving the supplication
of existence
Between the whispering of eyes
trying to avoid meeting the dying tree,
kisses to form disguises

The direct final meeting of
rats meeting in the grass
like death's fading dream,
the Shadow.

III

We are the reality
between the solemn land
and the ill-behaved

Life is a falling penny
responding to the souls
walking along on the
long road

Remember us all quite at five

Now we go, sightless past
the tumid river into this
valley like Shadows eternal,
the creation swinging and
voices are lost in the
violent wind's singing

More essence,
and the twinkle of descent
falls the empty men

Prayers to the perpetual
star between
broken jaw, broken stone

IV

No form for the shades of
stuffed men leaning against
prickly pears in prickly dreams
listening to the dead man's
speech, gathering in the
dream kingdom for their
desire

But the eyes, Alas! fall into
emotion, the cellar shadow
shapes the kingdom for their
eyes

Stunning. Both alarming and exquisit. Cerebral. Virginal beauty. Apocalyptic. Sophisticated... I must take a breath for this poem did take my breath away. Reading it out loud, I found my voice taking on your various notes. Readers, this must be read to the wind.

I'm a hound for imagery. Brilliant turns which I must example.

They are trembling knowing of
death's clock striking starscrapers

Great play on words.

Let me live life at last and
go 'round in cowskin,

Very smooth alliteration and the highlighted - such an original image.

Life is a falling penny

Immediate smile upon reading. My favorite of all. Good (great) things do come in small packages. What a similie!

voices are lost in the
violent wind's singing

Anthropormorphism. My favorite Figure of Speech.

No form for the shades of
stuffed men

Soothing to the ear yet haunting.

But the eyes, Alas! fall into
emotion, the cellar shadow
shapes the kingdom for their
eyes

The ending about the ending. Very reaching. Cellar shadow....brilliantly original, once again.

Don't ever stop. It would be criminal. The horror...Laurie

Ah, I won't stop for my muse wouldn't allow it. Even as my tongue decays behind yellowed teeth it will sing of horror and beauty f to the sounds of jazz.

Thanks for response Silver, inspiring.