Through the Valley (Part Three)

Nobody on the floor remotely expected it.

To see a face outside their very window pane.

Difficult, being seventeen stories up to explain,

Why all of a sudden, the skyline had in it a bit more Janet.

The mountains on either side are obscured by clouds.

The wailing of the damned can be heard all around you.

Trapped in the hills, they cry because they know not who,

Has decided their fates, and lets the details not escape any mouths.

Silence pervades all. Emptiness consumes.

A void fills my heart, and it grows and grows.

With festering boils, my body and will begin to decompose.

Our flesh is torn asunder by the rats in our tombs.

 

 

Through the Valley (Part Two)

The valley is not a pleasant place in my opinion.

Reminders abound of your sins on the ground.

As the blood on your hands drips, it makes not a sound.

“Oh yes, do as you please. You bought it. It’s under your discretion.”

I turned to my wife, sitting down and holding a mirror.

“Which face should I use today dear?”

“The stoic facade, or the grin from ear to ear?”

She mumbled something incoherent. I could not hear her.

The lumberjack, after a hard day’s work,

Turned around to observe his last felling.

A lump in his throat that kept on swelling.

The blisters on his hands remained, with intent to irk.

 

 

Through the Valley (Part One)

Come, let us walk through the valley.

Where the corpses of trees and flowers lie.

Where the memories of what we loved come to die.

Sing sweet little nothings to me, as our essence pools in the alley.

Gleefully we used to prance and dance about.

Now nothing but glimmers of the past

Reflect dimly against the canal’s waters, and at last

We can sing and play and laugh again, but don’t shout.

Trotting off to some other poor sod’s garden

To stamp on his baby olive tree.

To uproot his rosebushes, all twenty-three.

Hollering we departed, after we heard a “pardon?”