Soliloquy of Broken Songs Ft. Oracle of Darkness.

On pieces of exiled broken glasses, murmuring in the dark,

The fires of raged blood jostle unto my skin.

The sound of strangled cries hit a wall as they echo in lament.

Posture and turn.

Epitaphs of purloined letters, ghostly fold into eerie voices,

As lone groping to walls, befit grave strides.

Beyond a hermit candle,

The burning mixture of tearing into thickened black blankets,

Rinses my mind into fear and roasted knee-joints smell.

Desire is trivialized but unsung songs resurrect from their voyage of discovering depths.

 

 

Strings,

A gleaming floor,

Through a broken roof,

Against the tide of rotten moon beams.

Pitch forked breezes from disjointed leaves,

My soul is adrift.

Undertows of misery.

 

 

Filth in spills of screaming paths.

Oh thine sweet tongue,

How short is life seen from green shoots?

Is it my wretched struggle, borne from reason?

Or the calamity in my pastured faith?

Alight from me oh silence.

Could my quest for understanding arise from the hidden flames?

Somewhere underneath my shore of darkness?

Should I jump in the sea and fight opaqueness to meet tomorrow,

To shatter terribly before the pangs of howling abysses that proclaims hunger?

I eel from dead crosses competing for my body.

I live picking pieces of ruined hope,

Derelict and intense.

 

 

I leech as a torn vessel,

Blinded from broken writings, smacked with nonreturnable ink.

Humming slapstick hymns bending my last straws.

Savor my lust unto crimson tears,

But I’ve learnt to pour from inside,

Learnt to feel the cold chewing my soul while committed to sunlight.

To feed the shards of freewheeling tribulations roaming my throat.

Bell towers and prayer summons.

I find myself reacting to fits of needless preaching.

How am I both of these variants?

An explorer and an apparition?

45

Fragile sanctuaries should have run from me,

Because my fortress in darkness,ricochets towards the sublime.

In my continuum of tragedies,

I’m but a feeble player in a room full of broken beings,

But I want to sing.

For no lamplight focuses on the psalms of my violin.

Ah, I distillate lashes far flung from cinder callings,

As footprints of bloodshot death-frames,slips into the unknown.

Borne of uncertainty.

Grimmer and morbid.

I shift my gaze to the keys of the piano.

 

 

I somehow feel it,

Because virgin darkness is a token to spirituality,

It is where discovery looms.

Speckled light is too mediocre.

Run-off songs, slough on broken chariots.

So I sit and chronicle my oracle of darkness.

Realizing that only those verses will light my realm.

Dark potency is unequaled,

Far flung and mysterious,

I epiphanize the depths of darkness.

© Eddy Ongili 2014

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