Poetry

stained glass ---

you know how poets are;

they disguise the truth in a myriad of ways,

painted over with the familiarity of the first time you heard church bells;

Personally, they scared me in a way

I imagined I would feel

hearing the voice of god, and I cried.

Imagine hearing the truth so

nakedfully righteous the first time?

The Muck, the Mirk, and the Mud -

The pressure in my ears reminds me

of when I crawled on the floors

of the Marianas Trench;

The creatures that we never saw

(because even the sun has its limits)

and even if we could,

our ears would burst into a song Nobody Would Recognize,

...and you'd be damned to recreate!

Dischordia (ze/zir) lives amongst zerself in the quiet of the dead and the bitter of winds.