Conversations in the dark

Conversations in the dark

She Said….

In my soilitude, silence does not belong to the wind.

The left ear is inwardly polluted with the griminess of sin.

Squatting, sprawled, undignified, and poised with the proudness of our Queen the cat.

I am a liar for being the seeker of my own confusions and pasts.

Who wrote this script of stupidity?

A repressed orphan consumed by insanity.

Slapped in the face with brass wire,

The cold palm of an irish reality on Black Sunday.

The swirling emerald green nudity of absinthe.

In my solitude, the day does not arrive.

Though i wait with the patience of a child, eager for the desire of his sweets and his sugar rush.,

The sun does not embrace those sullen eyes, a cave in mourning.

They are too withdrawn to capture the beauty of sex in the creation of the sunrise.

And I whispered back….

The day waits, calmly.

It’s patience the dream of monks.

Sipping time with the serene certainty of a knowing lover,

It smiles often at the script already in play.

And grins when you say “Liar”

For the play is themed in the insane stupidity of god images

Gandalf the White gave sentience to carbon molecules and cast them out

The objective; “find chocolate flavoured starfishes”,

With the eating of babies in the sweet Mephistophelean sauce of handmade sin,

a Greek gift of free will offered at every turn.

Hence, I can only look to the truth of the day,

Waiting calmly,

To come into being, in the scene

When inner peace snuggles comfortably on the bedding of your soul

And the orgasm of each sunrise finds you in waking anticipation



6 thoughts on “Conversations in the dark” by Eldee (@codrojac)

  1. Love the reference to love, sex and all that. Might now have really gotten the idea you had in mind while writing, but always get own interpretations. Really loved the way you used your words. Good one.

  2. I like this poem,it’s made me so confused,I guess that’s why I like it,I didn’t understand it.
    Very good poem.

  3. cool you guys like the poem, Poetry sometimes is akin to some sort of self haemorrage hence it is not always immediately understood by another. I hope the meaning of this work becomes clear with further reading. If they say, a poem dies when it is considered completed, I will add also it dies when it is considered finished by the reader……..

  4. ‘a poem dies when it is considered completed, I will add also it dies when it is considered finished bythe reader……..’ Your words strike me even more than the poem.

  5. So many lines stick esp towards di end of the poem however di allusions swayed me a little.Could u ‘penx-ray’ di allusions?

  6. @charles… glad you appear to like this work. By allusions, are you asking for an explanation?

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