I know nothing about Colorado Springs, CO
Or why it calls us to it's breast,
But each year we gather beneath the full moon
At the Vampire Masquerade.
(>-_-)>
The secluded event is little more
Than a weekend long rave,
With dark, atmospheric music pumping,
Lulling the participants into a hypnotic trance.
<(-_-<)
Beneath the full moon,
In celebration,
We shed our skins and shapeshift
Into our True Selves
As the drum and bass kick.
(>-_-)>
Master Alchemists of the Mic mix beats live,
Spontaneously to the thrum,
Displaying their internal Collector of Rhyme and Rhythm for all to see.
<(-_-<)
Travelling through time and space,
Luminary visions guide our ascent with fanatical, cyclopean focus.
The Hunt begins.
(>',,,')> (>-_-)>
With robotic alacrity, we find ourselves both Predator and Prey,
Clawing through the crowds and entering the pit for our chance at primality,
Masterminds of our own destruction.
(>',(>O_O)>
Come,
the mountains call and tremble as they shake
Beneath the fury of our reverie.
<(o,,0<) C(-_-C)
Welcome to the dance!
(>-_-)> <(-_-<)
About the Creator
Aaron Richmond
I get bored and I write things. Sometimes they're good. Sometimes they're bad. Mostly they're things.
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Hot Water
Water from the shower head sputters. Growing colder, I awaken prematurely. Shaking my head and grunting brusque, I remember starting the dishwasher. ~ "Thwump-whump-whump-whirrrr" Provides steady counter-rhythm Against the beat of water on formica. I imagine the machine rattling in rage beneath the counter. ~ The degrees rapidly drop, Sending my attention on a spiral through time. I remember what it is to spend time without running water; Huddled beneath a dribbling tap, Liquid soap smeared by hand against dry skin, Mouth closed against bacterial invasion. ~ Feeling the memory so vividly I shut the water off, Suddenly aware of the privilege and responsibility That comes with hot water. Who am I? No better now than before. Certainly not one who needs hot water. ~ Shivering on the slick porcelain floor, Remembering what it is to be cold and wet, Time passes, The promise of drier hours become recognizable. Remembering what it is to draw a bath By candlelight and tea kettle, Boiling flesh, A testament to impetuous desire to recreate the womb. ~ Waiting for the water heater To refill and reheat, I must only do nothing. I huddle against the cold, Remembering to remember, Gathering wool that will never provide warmth. ~ "Thump-Thump-Thump-Whirrr" My reverie offers silent melody. Unrelenting insistence that luxuries matter, That we must indulge while we can. Today will take care of itself, In accordance with my wallet. ~ I re-engage the faucet, The water in the pipes growing tepid with inaction. Rivulets of fresh memories run through my hair, Dripping in chilly awareness on my thighs Before flowing into the depths of the greasy drain pipe. Was I overeager, greedy, in my need for creature comfort? ~ Sinfully hot once more, The cost has been appropriately paid. Exulted by the baptismal font, I offer gratitude to the water. Everything runs down the drain- ~ We should all be so lucky.
By Aaron Richmond2 years ago in Poets
Comments (3)
Oooo, this was soooo awesomeeee! I loved your poem so much!
What!? 🤯 That sounds so awesome! Like some kind of fantasy Revelry turned reality! You wrote this so well. The colorful imagery really painted a vivid visual😍
enjoyed reading it