The Music of Time | Teen Ink

The Music of Time

February 2, 2011
By RenaissanceMan SILVER, Westland, Michigan
RenaissanceMan SILVER, Westland, Michigan
7 articles 0 photos 14 comments

Favorite Quote:
I was born. It was born. So it began. It continues. It will outlive me. People whisper, stare, giggle. Their eternal privilege. My eternal curse-Joyce Carol Oates


Breathe. Don't forget to breathe. Here we go.


Phase I: Darkness


Am I demented if the only noise I hear is the sound of moving shadows?

I cannot stand the encumbrance of a broken smile, or shattered hearts

They're only little crystalline fragments, going pitter-patter on the ground

Forgotten like the legacy of you and I

You try to seize the inhumane and make some sense out of it

But all you do is fondle and grope

I do hear shadows, there is no doubting it

I feel them, they kiss me on the lips and poison me

And the venom does not leave

It is a stain and I want it to go away

Fate has adorned these silhouettes in dresses of white and silver

The walls are noir, black, black, black

Your faces are indecipherable. Strangers in a cleared mist

Take charge and show yourself!

Expose the face of pride, self-esteem, vanity

My time is running out and the edifices begin their march to crush me

It is dark, and all I see is a fading light within you

But that face...

Still indiscernable. And beautiful

And we come to face the rest of an untrue eternity

The promise of gold and myrrh. And there it is again

The sound. The intrusive sound of shadows

And perfection


Phase II: Perfection


Something is a little strange.

There, over yonder...what is it?

It looks like a speck of dust

Dear God, it is moving closer

Why, when it is further away, I stand upright

Stoic and flawless

Yes

I am incorruptible

Surrounded by teal and purple royalty

There it is again

Will someone please remove that speck of dust

You would not understand what would happen

If it touched me

Because you see I am impervious to the trash of artistry

The stroke of a sculptor's tool and the chiseled canvas of oratory

I am immune to philosophy, unloyal to religion

I am...My legs are beginning to tremble. It is that speck of dust

It is coming closer. You must eradicate it. Move with haste

This sensation is unreal. My legs have never trembled. I am untouchable

Yet my legs shake and my eyes flitter

It is playing the siren's song but I am the tempest

The eternal storm of unsullied sentiment

What--what was that?

I am--I am bleeding! I am bleeding!

The dust has touched me. Why didn't you listen? You did not stop it?

The colors are fading. No more ivory and emerald. No more.

It is too late for redemption. You have already marred me. I am disfigured and lame

Why was I persecuted? I was simply trying to be----


Phase III: The Grim Smile


You're so pretty. Stop, I give up.

I'm not explaining myself to you. Why do you smile like that?

Yeah...like that. It's on a Dutch angle. Something's just not right.

I'm done arguing, though. If that makes you feel better. But you're scaring me.

Stop looking like that. Cry or get upset. But please don't smile like that.

It's ghastly.

And you know what else? You keep speaking in riddles.

I'm not good at those. Just let me know the truth.

Oh...does that make you smile?

The truth.

Well, I could stop telling it if you'd like me to.

I'll do it.

Anything to see it go away.

Time is the only enemy of my lies. But you seem to like them so much!

You're so cute when you don't smile. It's going away. Just like that.

You have the most delightful frown.

Here, how about this: I'll stand by you and we'll look into the camera. And on the count of three...

We'll frown

Ready? One, two, three......


The author's comments:
If you were to ask me what this poem was about, my response would be as barren as a wasteland. Although it is cliche, the poem truly wrote itself. I was simply the conduit.

Similar Articles

JOIN THE DISCUSSION

This article has 0 comments.