Glass Bottles

 

I am the shadow of this city,

The creak of the fire escape, 

The scuttling in the alleyway.

My lone, lost voice, 

A crystalline echo,

A power come of age,

A herald of rising, forgotten magic,

Singing in the breathless sadness,

Clear and true,

Proclaiming every story,

Bottling every tear,

Just to prove that they really lived,

That they were loved.

The polluted atmosphere hides the fact that--

The sky is fractured--

Terminally.

And every day I climb up the tallest skyscraper,

And hurl my tear-filled bottles,

At the Vault of Heaven,

The wind, mighty and ferocious,

Claws angrily at me.

But for a moment the noxious clouds part,

And I can see the cracks in the firmament,

Gleaming brighter,

Stealing glory from the dying Sun,

And falling sister-Stars.

My glass bottles explode in the air--

Pulverized--

Sparkling glass showers down onto the city,

Mortal shards pierce,

Eyes, tongue, brain, heart.

Every vital organ.

Embedding in us all,

Standing petrified under this deadly rain,

Bleeding rivers of crimson.

The precious tears are soaked up by the Earth.

Her broken, sleeping children,

Wait for the dark celestial canopy to finally shatter.

Wait for a new world.

~Mochamantha 


(Picture courtesy of http://www.lesliebeslie.com/2013/06/19/review-momas-rain-room/)