Decomposing the Orchestration in POETRY

Like a horses mane strung into bows and electrified by light
I am drowning in the silences of acoustically fevered moans.

Rain does not wash away the scabs I have created
Each passing torrent just compounds the misery that consumes me.

Pianos play in scales, like a confused heartbeat; the notes toy with me as if my soul is a bauble above a crib; a plaything for a giggling kid. Let the chimes ring, for I am harmless as my arms are tied with laughter.

It’s haunting, not being able to see; one look and Death displays itself callously. I’ve bared witness to murder in nearly every degree; physically, emotionally and that crease-less face is a reflection of me.

To exist in a midnight hymn is to pull substance from shadow. Human touch is unfathomable and entirely reckless.

Voices and words are but sheets of ice; weightless in the Styx as suspended wastes of life.

And so…
… violins segue to cello

Ending this chapter full circle
With upturned ascension

… Scored with ophidian chords
… … … On a dusty church organ

… And
… … I
… am decomposing
… … … … the orchestration.

By: Jaye Eryk
Copyright ©2008