Dark Age

[Delta40]

Bits of me everywhere strewn across the room.
Bled through the storm drain of swirling chaos,
where darkness etches its signature.
I pass over the pigswill of polluted mindscapes,
downwards to my final destination.
Body parts of me struggle to tear free
like scraps of fluttering paper
that were once a well composed tale.
These distorted shapes flap in the panic
and zig whoosh zag in the backdraft
of mysterious carved up dreams.
The debris seesaws to an illiterate nursery rhyme
that I have always known.
Like a witch burning at the stake,
my emerald shoes writhe three times
as I scream arabdacabra
and melt into surplus scum.

[Bar22do]

Delta it should be "abracadabra" not "arbacadabra" - comes from Aramaic, "abra" in relation with "creating", "adabra" with "say", in translation: create as I'm saying or something close.
Apart from this, sad, tearing poem as if the N were barely saved from a wreck... or was it a nightmare. Well written, as always, Delta and

These distorted shapes flap in the panic
and zig whoosh zag in the backdraft
of mysterious carved up dreams.

was for me the strongest bit.

Hurricanes in the poet's soul, Delta?

[Twota]

I really love this one. ;D

[ucello]

Very powerful, almost frightening. But good.

[MystyrMystyry]

The phenomena that is Delta strikes again!

Yes, I agree that there is a nightmarish aspect to this, perhaps more in the subtler imagery, and flipping from one idea through to the next.

(I just woke up from a nightmare myself, so I'll return to it later for a re-read)

[Delta40]

Delta it should be "abracadabra" not "arbacadabra" - comes from Aramaic, "abra" in relation with "creating", "adabra" with "say", in translation: create as I'm saying or something close.
Apart from this, sad, tearing poem as if the N were barely saved from a wreck... or was it a nightmare. Well written, as always, Delta and

These distorted shapes flap in the panic
and zig whoosh zag in the backdraft
of mysterious carved up dreams.

was for me the strongest bit.

Hurricanes in the poet's soul, Delta?

Thanks Bar. I intentionally misspelt abracadabra - as if the incorrect use of a magic word would produce bleak results.

[MystyrMystyry]

This is one of your best Delta - it captures the essence of a nightmare particularly well.

(Occasionally somethng appears on this thread that makes me really wish I'd written it - this is one of them! :) )

[Bar22do]

Thanks Bar. I intentionally misspelt abracadabra - as if the incorrect use of a magic word would produce bleak results.

Yes of course, I should have read more correctly! a hundred apologies! Great poem!

[Delta40]

Thanks all. A dark patch now past.

[osho]

Bits of me everywhere strewn across the room.
Bled through the storm drain of swirling chaos,
where darkness etches its signature.
I pass over the pigswill of polluted mindscapes,
downwards to my final destination.
Body parts of me struggle to tear free
like scraps of fluttering paper
that were once a well composed tale.
These distorted shapes flap in the panic
and zig whoosh zag in the backdraft
of mysterious carved up dreams.
The debris seesaws to an illiterate nursery rhyme
that I have always known.
Like a witch burning at the stake,
my emerald shoes writhe three times
as I scream arabdacabra
and melt into surplus scum.

I find beauty in this poem and that inspired me to weave my feeling into a different outline
Yes we are scraps and piecing together we create an ideal
This ideal is manifest into humanity, religion, nationality
And look beyond these cracklings
Man is nothing and a mere nothing, a mere something and between being and nothingness
Yet these morsels artistically shuffled into perfection
A piece of beauty is thus born
And to see their worth you have to cut apart
This jumbled up personality into innumerable tiny selves
We must convince ourselves and those abound around us of our littleness
Our fragmentary selves that are made up the foulest and holiest elements
This disconcerted self self-interestedly called man is a sheer rambling garbage
Once this self-esteem falls apart
What remains of him is sheer trash