The Cot Of Abstract And Dissonance Poem by Riano Harp

I grip to the cot and stay afloat
Tripping over stiff custard and soft flesh,
I stand as an infant, fish-eyed sixteen,
In a pen of dying babies.
Alone I scream, teethe, weep and bleed
Crinkled hairs and veins cripple under men
(This sick rocking- sweet cries and lullabies!)
Never have my eyes seen the sky, or youth.

To be mistaken for a vainful knight,
Masqueraded by glittering silvers and vengeance
A wooden sword glistens with pink storms and Arabic clouds
Shaped by spacious hue.
The bark bites. Fake teeth ache, claiming they weep the dew of dreams
And they quake, shatter, stain and rot;
Fungus grows on chips and plaque
To only be brushed by the wind, or tongue.

Guessing is a fools game, I jester
Spheres of content ignorance, small bells
Grow from my ears and the Sun heckles my name,
I am burnt, born into a shade of light.
My words give life to death, my sight peels.
God's cheap rhymes? Or am I reading lullabies,
The shadows of mine and orphaned leaves are indifferent
As is the bustle of a wings flap, or fall.

Now my teeth breathe and taste, sensitive to the winds
And every thought is golden,
The plug sockets have been pulled, tripped,
And the Sea floods my brain, rhythmic gushes.
Skulls have hardened to mollusc brass. All is heavy.
Cobbles melt to ice, heels split under horse shoes
Whispers of silence clog a storm, sharp clouds breed
Golden blood drips from the sky and forms a costume, or truth.

I came to tackle demons, though blood curdles in the air
And softly ribbed palates of green, blue, red and orange
Levitate in sight, matched by crashing waves and sounds
That drown a laughing shadow.
Everything is alive, tainted by melting fears of liquid
That harden upon the shore, kissing naked breasts on rocks
And bare shells that are slaves. I stare onto the waters skin
And see me, or nothing.

The bones of meaning and purpose rattle in a closet
But the touch is the ears claim,
Lilacs disperse into Indian spices for the breeze
And eternity bows its head.
The music! Swift arrows of glass
Smash into shards as I fall, the heart cracks
And mislead rivers of shining blood form a mirror
Where lies live, or reflect.

I taste the abstracts of life, and listen to the untold dissonances of death
That exist in each other, a sphere of conquestial faith;
Consequences are lived before,
And hidden cows are praised.
Each heartbeat is echoed by divine choirs and perfect rhythms
For perfection lies in the truth of you,
And the drums are unseen in the lie of truth
As I will know in death, or love.

I fall from the cot and kiss water
Red sap sticks to the carpet
Grey to the heart and brain,
I am no longer in vain.
A door opens, a figure comes towards me
I wail and breathe upon the face of death.
The waves never drowned me, neither did sound
And I am held tightly by abstract, or dissonance.