Tyler Ste

Siren (2004) - Poem by Tyler Ste

Waves of limpid lime green crash through collapsing capillaries as cold, static echoes reverberate through glass-splintered scintillating suffocating synapses ignite fiery forgotten feelings for the warmth of her chloroform kiss...
He waits for a sign and holds one he can't read, on an empty street corner. In a sterilized cold world where emotions are kept in jars with labels no one can read. He waits, in a world where the only truth is what you believe and if you've ever truly seen beauty it seeps through your dreams like a vengeful specter. Viciously carving through cavernous, condensed conduits, creating crazed consciousness. A figment of imaginary responses, reactions embedded, deeply ingrained in nerve endings. It s where you once kept the secrets of the known universe, at a time when the words you spoke were yours. When you shaped our cosmos, in your likeness. Before you were and before the bright crimson clock collapsed and bonged beautifully into the dark.
He's kept in a cold lab of 'beauty' and 'truth' in a jar, on a shelf, in the light, labeled with words no one can read. The sterile lab where misunderstood things reside. The one talks of bending all-space, everlasting peace, the dreamer, the artist, the virgins, the martyrs.
He waits for a label, to understand her. He waits for a label, to reassemble the symphony, in the dark room; at the end of time. He waits to call about the great procession. To call upon the fates and the exponential expansion.
He's lost in a world of white labels. Confused, hopeful, searching for the answer to the question that only she knew the answer to. He sits in a cold, sterilized room trying to purchase tickets to a silhouette, a the reminder of solace; the crescendo. The vendor, the decapitator, the dealer and the decisive, sleep on buzzing alarm clocks. Silver slivers of subspace, super-massive soul-snatchers, at their sides.
He blinks to a beach on Saturn's Titan and in the distance, out on the fuschia waters, there is dancing.
She calls out but he no longer hears.
He measures the distance with his pulse and dives.
The slow beat softly sounds to a stand-still as the sands of time pull him in and out of reality.
In and out, perpetually.
He finds peace, without her name, in the silence; at the end of time.

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Poem Submitted: Friday, December 4, 2009

Poem Edited: Thursday, August 19, 2010

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