Scenes, In Pieces

I started writing some very short vignette-poems with a specific theme in mind: a pariah moving in and out of time, from scene to scene, unable to participate and forced to witness. Here are the first three scenes:


Watching shards of twilight fall,
Sands through an ebon hourglass
Destined to brush dusty tears away,
I marvel with childlike eyes
At things no one could tell me


Motes settle on alabaster hearts.
Wrapped in winter’s tenuous hush
I dare brush shards of moonlight crystals,
Bid them fall from cracked lips;
It’s worth the hurt to smile.


Scarlet glimmers in the deepest hold.
Raw feet skitter from the crumbling smudge
As harrowed eyes flick to fleet shadows in corners,
Waiting as flames lick away each moment,
Hoping to divine the next in time

Witness and pariah, neither saint nor martyr,
Phantom hands fail to cover their echoed cries–
Lovers, fools, and heretics,
The fallen, the lion, the leopard, the wolf–
Backing from the edges of nine rings
Ever unable to grasp those descending
Consigned to silently weep.


While the first two are more conventional scenes told in the first person, the third scene differs not only in person but in place, being more esoteric and envisioning our unlucky protagonist as standing on the precipice of Dante’s vision. Hopefully you enjoy the unconventional conceit here. More to follow.


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