Broken Spiral - Poem with Poetic Parables
Penetrate the energies of the poem with parables.
This is raw poetry. To interpret the energy of the poem I continue with a type of poetic “parable.”
An upward trial,
as bombs always drops
to remind everyone of elephant ears
stuggling to listen
when swarms of fighter plane heartbeats
drink awful blame rain
to try and silence pockets of pain again.
Does it sound the same
as a run around game
waiting to lose
when never really wanting to win?
so rip pages from this spiral
even if broken.
Hope was a neglected ghost that silently screams, “Why must the silly sky cry, when I graze into a raindrop and perceive an uneven smile. This is right before wanton winds forced me to sin.”
Ready to burst, the upside down cupcake Cave shouted in its plight, "Let me be lost in the night where black and white look the same anyway!" Bolder boulders and crooked stones may leave a pattern of stains upon jagged mountain sides, yet the Cave swears back and forth that it has nothing to do with this circumstance and was always inside. The Cave defends its position. "Everyone who hikes up this slope shall know that I’m often hidden and can't be found. Yet as a cave what I say stays. I never, never lie!"
Upon the bed rests a sad soul. She can't hear very clearly for so-called prisms of experience became cloudy. When the shutter of midnight leaves broken sentences in her mind, she stretches out her palm to beg for understanding; however, a blinded moon covers up with sighs and a muffled tide. Somehow she could only sense hidden demons hiding in craters on the dark side. Was there an astronaut who ever makes back? Her core capillaries crawl to the wastepaper basket to forage through receipts, gum wrappers and unpaid bills. Maybe she’ll find the movie ticket stub. If she could just remember the name! Will hidden clues help her?
The movie was called "Spiral." After a crash landing an astronaut survives on the dark side of the moon by climbing to the top of a crater. From the plateaus of life's journey, he would remember how to trace the glow of Earth through its mysteries of changing weather. "Here," the space explorer shouted. "Take this silk sentence and travel with me to the end. If you tumble and fall before reaching the goal, hold on. Just hold and remember how you’ve completed the beginning to the end of many circles in the spiral of life."
Sometimes the Heart can't accept the purging poetry of pain. Each pulse seems like a high pitched scream, dissipating into forgotten dreams. The heart tries to best communication in this situation. "Take this smoke wall, filled with bricks of fear, and let me walk up the spiral stairwell to reach the towers' edge. Can I do this if I bled then fled? Try to face the rounded, pulsating mirror of my soul. And if with a broken mirror, let sharp pointed edges redirect to feed my life again, and again. I realize fleeting joys and it's my hobby of getting cut to learn how best dance with turns of emotion.”
Poetry can leave ugly dents in memory, hidden enough to let rancor sound good to those who broke from the spiral of truth and progress. And broken they may be, memories cry from the spirals that keep them alive.
by Scot Aaron
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