Melancholia
I. Romance
When we began, we [you] were
Perfect.
We bonded like atoms in the axes of DNA,
united and complete after years of alienation,
months of rejection, and days
of secrecy.
We found ourselves within each other,
and the future was destiny.
But it was all just a fallacy, for your
dishonesty and charm masked an ugliness
I simply didn’t want to see—
at least, not
Initially.
II. Reflection
It seems I knew you best during the days
before we met, when shadows concealed
secrets and imagination held no memories
to deflect.
You fell so quickly and so far
from the pedestal you’d constructed,
casting deceit with false humility,
leaving the fools of familiarity
disgusted.
You failed me continuously and
continued on remorselessly,
sacrificing our sanctity for
shallow gestures entwined in
infidelity.
You were a black swan swimming in a sea of
dysmorphic dreams, and I watched the
skylines fracture as your insecurities enveloped
our schemes.
But it’s fine with me. Honestly.
Beautiful shells can’t disguise inner
vulgarity, and the dissociative mirrors
which so often gave you grace
would smash upon an instant
if they reflected your heart instead of
your face.
I look back with baited breath at a travesty
not worthy enough to settle, for you became
a forlorn parody.
I never meant to marry a bloated devil.
III. Resonance
I know now that nothing is guaranteed;
everything concrete can crumble by night,
resurfacing in the mourning to reveal fragments
of happiness within heartache by the light.
Every night it seems, as I drift within dreams,
I’ll suffer nostalgia and regret as our past passions
suggest possibilities that will never be met.
When we began, we were perfect. But
that was so long ago, and I’ve aged
decades within weeks just to rid myself
of your abhorrent afterglow.
And if we walk
along the same road again
our paths will cross with indifference,
feeling less than for strangers,
our heads bowed down,
our mouths silent,
hands in pockets,
warmth receding,
leaving nothing
between us
but
air.
Acrosticalyptic
Yesterday I met a man from Shelmire who wore pink trousers and ate
Exquisite bananas, brown and rotting, as if they were his last meal for
The night. He leaned into my ear and whispered the meaning of life:
At every stage of development there comes a time when we must
Notice the importance of our accomplishments, cherish our loved
Ones and regret our mistakes and insults. God wants us to believe
That we were put here for the purpose of disproving his twisted
Hypothesis that man is inherently evil. In fact, we are born with
Every innocence possessed by the dove, the dog, and the damned
Regression of our grandparents.
Meanwhile, as he’s saying this, I can’t help but notice the goatee
Eerily sprouting around his mouth. His teeth are as white as the
Angels that betrayed him, cast him aside and cursed him to below,
Never again feeling the Almighty love. I tell him I’ve never felt
It either, and for a moment he puts his hand on my shoulder, as hot
Now as it’s ever been, even though the blistering cold of Shelmire
Generally makes temperatures drop rapidly, as if by some need to
Lament the damage fire can do. By this point I’m very confused,
Eying the other passengers who boarded with me, whose faces now
Seem to all blend together as they pass by us, heads hung down and
Sobbing their late arrival to final judgment.
Previously I’d been a church going man, with a wife, and three
Insignificant runts running around the carpeted lower floor. And
Every Thursday night I’d tell them I was having a late beer with
Co-workers in an old fashioned pub off the corner of Deverouex St.
Everyone believed me, and I thought I got away with it. But, no.
Obviously, the man continues, no one really escapes the amazing,
Finely tuned insight of Him. And now He is punishing us all.
People line up behind the man as he throws the banana peel aside and
One slips, breaks his neck, and gets up again. We all laugh at the “fallen”
Eternity. Actually, the man was quite nice to stop and chat for at least
Ten minutes while everyone else arrived. He says just as many are going to
Royal white clouds and blue skies behind the golden gate of Heaven.
You could go with them if you choose, or come stay with us, and burn.
Skyline Fractured
The sky fell twice & twisted its limbs
on the mourning you were born.
It wept and bled and shook and raged
for the souls you’d come to scorn.
It carried its weight against the waves
and blinded its children in darkness.
Partially torn upon creation so light
could manifest in cracks and mock us.
And you looked so well in white, before
the devils possessed your cunning.
You rested upon the fields that burned
while I cowered and kept on running.
And every day I dare to dream that we’ll
find eternity within our embrace.
The sky rose violently in the aftermath,
Leaving the devastation of summer in its place.
by Jordan Blum
