Silas Rosalie Dumont Poems

Softly falling feathers
A vivacious red that stems
From the thorns of the past
The blood of yesterday
...

Decadent and opulent these joys
Reflect upon my corrupt state of mind
I pay no heed to prophecies of old
Over me no power do they hold
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Peace it continually does escape
Our democracies dying in much pain
Darkness enshrouding the vox populi
Oh these darkest days, these most sullen times
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In the cold white lights of a subway station
You can see the roots of an unnamed nation
A nation of the young who are sick and tired
Of being made to pass on through the fire
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The glass throne sits empty in this dark hour
Just as well, it would shatter anyway
But whom then shall command me through this haze
The foggy tendrils of smoke do encase
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Thoughts flowing freely onto the page
Like ink from a pen, splashing colour as
A thousand watercolours streaking gallantly
Through the powdery blue sky, that deepens
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Deceptive the sunlight casts its warm gaze
On a frost-chilled town in April's late throes
Synthetically calculated songs
On the loudspeaker like a wire of crows
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The world is ending
They cried out to the young child
And they were believed
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Can you feel heartbreak when leaving a place?
I remember the first time I saw that face
The rows of corn were standing tall
Raindrops pounding against the wall
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They shot some folks down in Buffalo
Scarcely three hours away
They ran over a family nearby
A year ago, almost to the day
...