Tuesday, 20 March 2012

Sugar Skull & Death Masks

I never cared to lay in sunlight, alone and exposed to rays. Never crept above deck but to bathe in violet light of the moon. He walked forward in his death mask as I held my sugar skull in symbolism of matrimony. Fingers fall to mastectomy scars wrapped beneath mottled rags. Their removal never did serve the purpose intended. I am still, standing, delinquent, muted by  a singular stitch in my lips.

Roses &  velvet & lace knitted together by seventeen pairs of hands and sixteen pairs of eyes. Veils dipped in reddening dye. Eyes hidden by puckered skin, drying since removed from its head.

Heathen voices call out mockingly as we waltz along our dusty aisle. I had been agile in my youth, now stiff with lethargy and melancholia. Vocality stifled in a malformed vocal box. I have not sung aloud in the catacombs when walking alone since I was a child. I have not walked alone since a sun set upon a distant shore. Our witnesses remain static, impaled where they stand, evidencing two shadows merging under a bitter testament.

Until death shall part us
To dishonour and obey

Two corpses laid shrouded in their marble sarcophagus. Silent but for hushed sounds of laboured breathing. I am birthing his fantasy under a weight of virginal lace and taffeta. Wrapped in tissue paper a list of lies I told...

I love you.

Mourners do not weep amongst themselves, fall to knees begging the Almighty for why.  He, He lays next to me, stoic, solid, clasping a frail hand in his. Faithful. To keep safe, to keep silent. The blind are leading the blinded. My lips have turned blue and the sex of humanity leaks from my mouth.

Stigma did not manifest as I imagined.  In spite of my bringing my own nails and handing him the hammer. Sweet kisses touched my eyelids and words stung as sung in baritone vibrations. There is no salvation for sinners
Nor penance. Not redemption.

I say Revelations lied, he laughs steadily. Deafening tone echoing mockingly from stone walls and lid. An airtight grave does not whistle with wind, rain may not seep into my bones, but I sense a sentiment of suffocation setting in. He smiles again and says something I cannot hear. His teeth are missing, his teeth are missing as the last note of morning passages is played on a piano. Low notes drifting down or up or across, I have lost a sense of space and time move back and sideways and from itself.

Saturday, 17 March 2012

A Full Metal Armour

Cripples are confined by cages
of bodies miss-grown from source
or malformed under weight of circumstance

This vessel (physical) uncontrolled
out of reach
torn from tethers I had
weighted to the ground

Fists bloodied from pounding stakes
snatches of time teasing rust shards
from blistered palms.

A salient wind has risen
squalling ‘cross fields North to South
barricades are crumbling.
My solitary Centurion abandoned her post
and I have lost strength to carry
full metal armour

Exposures oracular intent
hangs loosely upon
a fertile air.

© Samantha Ledger 2012

Thursday, 15 March 2012

Twister to Jordon

Desire has burnt itself into states of ash, white and hollow. These simple dreams once laid bare under a vulnerable sun have turned delirious. Chime saccharine beauty. There are bells ringing out in a cacophonous peeling. Listen though deaf, a heart cannot discern if they call out in worship or warning. Fires have been lit with tinder dry willow and birch. Burning acrid stacks to guide home weary weakened warriors.

Once they claimed Crusades were directed by Christ.

They lined us up to eat his flesh, one by one. Storms rolling over horizons. Old women lowered themselves lowly to earth waiting for dust to lift them skyward. Off in the ferocity of twisters coming to claim only the holy. There are no chambers deep enough to contain my sins and bone marrow seeps its substance slowly around the skeletal frame.

Doves beckoned, broke formation to swoop down amongst sinners. There are no saints sleeping here, each sacrificed in a letting of blood.


Or blackly moves shadows about the page. Here weep I scriptures meaning. Leviticus has demands I stone myself to rid an essence of evil. No other hand will raise rocks despite laying my head at their feet. Prayers of forgiveness still themselves upon bloodied lips. Nothing shall sing me sweetly back to God, shout me to salvation. I have never travelled to Jordon. Going nowhere to meet the naked etching of myself. Hollow. Unclear.

I am only a stranger to strangers with no map to guide me home or back to Jordon.
My body made to lay under
and then blindly to roam.

Copyright: Samantha Ledger 2012