A fissured father of stone, poisoned by the vale, a bridal’s helm rushing through the billow waves, I billow blood from the clouds, awaiting for the frost dead uncles in May with his ghost; dementing in Autumn, what wilderness flooded to the unvisited dream, the ocean’s ungues cutting through faint music like a lotus growing ill—I dream than trench the hoar frost; I billow, I nest into the mad tree, leafed into the hoof-beats of the poet’s nakedness, I don’t have anything left, you can spend years in the abyssal hunt, the haven of our gods like an apparition feeding the rain—the poison I fall and then hatch into the splintered egg a void is born; ossify our dug up ghosts, in icy air around the red chariot of our bones. © 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.
Written for the dVerse prompt: Today we will incorporate music in our poem from the perspective of a synesthete. Create your own Symphony. Infuse your musical experience when listening to a band, artist or musical genre, with colors, sounds & textures. Write a song filled with colors.
I was really inspired by the song Still Ill by The Smiths.