In these murmurous times

garish garments of candle flung on me,

concealing into the blackness of this light,

the quiet that has clouded these eyes,

.

 the voices hushed of stories of this journey,

the door bunged up of narration, by the fortitude

of now confounded moon, eclipsed to aloofness,

.

abandoning the dew drops on the yews

which stand enslaving ye, my soul,

growing distant from the being, identity,

.

I cloaked upon in these murmurous times,

balding my heads, ridding them of

dishevelled wild liberty of ye, my heart,

.

blood being caked onto the knuckles,

enduring the blue, of breathing

vicious fumes, out from within

.

Image Copyright- Erin Leary

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21 thoughts on “In these murmurous times

  1. Very soulful, Ha. The tonality and wording you used it gave it an ancient note. My favourite part:”abandoning the dew drops on the yews

    which stand enslaving ye, my soul,

    growing distant from the being, identity,”

    Like

  2. Brendan says:

    The vibe here I’m getting is Mallarme or Baudelaire, a flower of evil pressed into its pages exuding a toxic, addictive perfume. The formal address of “ye” here shows how many rings this old language tree has.

    Like

  3. The angst and the atmosphere here exhale their own unique and pungent imagery–an interesting use of unusual juxtapositions and constructions. Great response to the challenge.

    Like

  4. i felt the darkness grow more intense as i read on until the end…you reached deep describing a soul’s descent into a distant place that sounds ominous.

    Like

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