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Your Sunken Cities (Longer version)

Author: Cloacina
ASL Info:    25/F/KY
Elite Ratio:    5.24 - 20 /53 /54
Words: 486
Class/Type: Poetry /Death
Total Views: 847
Average Vote:    No vote yet.
Bytes: 3546


Not about an actual person who has been murdered. A bit more general, though, personalized. Just added to the original, but maybe too much. Dunno what to keep, what to toss, what to just change

Your Sunken Cities (Longer version)

When you kill a man,
a world dies with him.
Sunken cities lost in time
and memory
lie buried with the bones of yesterday.

Somewhere past the distance
beyond the caul of dust
lies unseen
often unthought,
a crumble of white ruins,
risen through this sinking sand.

The barren walls,
so loud for something so abandoned,
too quiet for suitable tribute.
This blank, deteriorating slate,
all that still lingers
of the dimension that was
a man.

That was the world to someone,
and made the world
for someone else.

Where life once thrived,
the halls are empty now,
the floors are bare,
so still the feet.

The ticking clock
has lost the rhythym,
time is counted here,
in incriments of dust,
degrees of shifting shade.

The echo of our knocks
on hollow walls,
the whistle of the wind
eating through
the unaltering emptiness,
the only song that plays.

The song of loss,
so loud, so pounding,
it beats its tune into our bones,
bids the heart,
to thrum along.

It blurs
to white noise,
till you wonder if you even hear it

I want to hear,
the sounds that came before.
Speak to me.

A world will go out of orbit,
if the worlds that balance it move away,
hurtle off into darkness,
or lose their place.

The dance is over,
save for the movements
of dumb shadows,
horny microbes and hungry bugs.

They swirl across
this lonesome darkened lot,
squatters in the silence
of your sweet shelter,

the revelry has ceased,
the secret knowledge,
lost to the rest of known history,
a culture has come undone,
the spirit of the time
if it is anywhere,
it carries on
somewhere else.

All that remains is an echo,
so far
as flesh knows.

He who lived among the bones,
is lost to that world now,
a king,
torn down,

And his world,
without him to oversee,
collapses without pause.

A whole universe has been blotted
from the earth,
and I wonder in my highest hope,
in my greatest doubt,
how fickle is the sky
of life?

Does he still dance there,
does he still dream,
has the world really vanished,
or has it just moved,
like Atlantis,
swallowed by a hungry sea,
hidden beneath the waves,
too deep
for flesh to reach?

Tell me, please,
there are rings
collecting in your essensce,
your consciousness,
you soul.

Tell me you and I
have other places
where we will blow like seeds,
to grow.

Say to me,
when I am strong enough,
when I am ready to dive
I will find you
living still,
just a planet out of orbit,
still turning,
sun still burning,
the moon still dancing
with your wild and restless soul,
just temporarily out
of my reach.

Submitted on 2009-06-21 16:03:37     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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  Hmm...I read both versions and they both seem pretty good.
Arrive torn, limp, and netherworldy. Take inanimacy silently.

The waters are black and still, but a foghorn call continues to resonate softly, sadly.

Sunken cities lie in your heart. You search them, hoping to see that bygone face, hoping to love once more. Sunken cities long abandoned, and life itself an iron maiden.

But do not fall completely into despair. Birds sing of the future, they predict a returning. They sing their hearts out at dawn. Their songs speak of rain to kiss the earth, and of sunny days where loved ones again are all embracing.

Majestic eagle of flowering love, ride the sky. Raise the sunken cities to the mountains above.
'They predict a returning', written by Asiatic Fox for Cloacina, 06/21/09

| Posted on 2009-06-21 00:00:00 | by AsiaticFox | [ Reply to This ]

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