Imperial Powers

These clear tears
Feelings always on display
Wrapped in a rainbow of emotions
This is the church in which I seek sanctuary
A hint of brightness as the night
Bleeds into a desolate dawn
Thread veins streaked across the sky

This first light will be my salvation
It chokes the breath out of my nightmares
But their final shrieks resonate
For the remainder of the day
A valuable resource for those
Who need me, bleed me,
Drain me dry as a midsummer sky

And when evening falls
I am parched. All colour drained
A slow and insidious process
They embraced me, feigning admiration
I tear my veil away. I uncover myself.
And I am revealed to them. Defenceless.
Naked. For knowledge is power
And I am theirs for the taking.

 

 

Madame Bovary

The night stretches out before me
And in my head multitudes wail
A glacier forms over my isolation
Embroiled and detached by turns
Bitterness grainy, blurred, distant
But it still hurts. It still burns.

(Conformity may help us live
But it will not ensure our immortality
)

I am not denying my capacity
To provoke extreme reactions
I have been colonised. I am unwise
As I defy an unwritten law and the gossips
Whisper in the street. ‘You slut,’
They hiss. ‘You harlot, you whore.’

(She was just blossoming when she married
A girl burgeoning into womanhood
)

The stillness of this town disturbs me
No spark of hope in this flat landscape
I longed to lift my skirts and march
Through the red, brown, gold leaves of autumn
Stampeding through the streets, chanting,
‘Revolution, war, revolution, war.’

(I have heard it said that extraordinary people
Lead extraordinary lives
Or else no lives at all
)

After all, what am I now?
Just a handful of ashes scattered
By the wind. My life did not deliver
The turbulence I craved. Only long,
Melancholic days remained
And I never could surrender

(I married my dull doctor
But he was usurped by someone else
And the rhythm of life evaporated
)

The dawn spits its dew into the face of the sun
This raw poison on my bureau is my ticket to death
Screams fly from my mouth all night
Until I have nothing left to fight with
I tried to embrace an illusion, snatching at shadows
Of the villagers still whispering as they walk on by

In the end I shrivelled up, I died
For I refused to be the prize
And I am posthumously pathologised
By the morticians who dissected me

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