a chipped porcelain doll
on a velvet swing
(one eye staring blankly
at the chandelier dust)
a whispered promise
in a room full of smoke
and cheap perfume
(a hand clutching a wilted rose)
chalk outlines of angels
on a dance floor sticky
with spilled champagne
(laughter echoing hollowly
like a broken metronome)
a bride in black lace
a groom with eyes like ice
(a ceremony performed
by a marionette priest)
the ***** wheezes a dirge
masquerading as a love song
(a chorus of whispers:
"cut the cake, cut the ties,
cut the cord to reality")
confetti of regrets
falling like ash
on a forgotten dream
(a photograph torn in half,
one piece smoldering)
a masquerade ball
where everyone wears
the same mask of happiness
(a single tear escapes,
tracing a path through the paint)
the clinking of glasses
a symphony of unspoken lies
(a toast to the future,
built on foundations of sand)
a heart-shaped box
filled with broken promises
and moth-eaten memories
(a child's drawing of a sun
hidden beneath the debris)
a silent scream
trapped in a gilded cage
(a bird beating its wings
against the bars of expectation)
a love story rewritten
with ink that bleeds
and words that twist
(a fairytale turned nightmare,
a happily ever after
left on the cutting room floor)
the scent of decay
mingling with the sweetness
of artificial flowers
(a wedding cake left to rot,
a symbol of love gone sour)
a chorus of disapproval
humming beneath the surface
of polite conversation
(a family portrait fractured,
the pieces scattered like leaves)
a single spotlight
illuminating the emptiness
of a hollow victory
(a crown of thorns,
a throne of lies)
a Whisper in the Dark:
"I write sins, not tragedies"
(but the ink stains the soul,
and the tragedies unfold
in the silence that follows).
I fell asleep, reading E.E. Cummings 'i carry your heart with me'. I always liked this poem. and I dreamt of my GF, the plans for the future, and how like the poem, I carry her with me.
But then I started to dream of the past, the heartache, the struggles, the disillusion. When I woke, it was to "I write sins, not tragedies"
This poem (sonnet of sorts), is my attempt at a Cummingsesque style, incorporating the dream, and the lyrics that inspired this piece.