storm in my eyes, rain on my hair
i rise in glory from a million wars
tip of the cruiser
where stars sing to me
the lone rhapsody:
a million eyes on me
(bonaparte boy)
/
painted me gold, a sword-point sovereign
"if only our father could see us now"
fist in my waistcoat, no crimson velvet
"but beloved pope, i crown myself"
/
tip of the cruiser, seventeenth floor
chin in my palm, i hold the world
raise a blade
and oceans march
a whistle and they fall:
a million lights on me
(bonaparte boy)
/
yet the pretty word is my josephine
and she speaks in riddles.
a trudge, a halt, a slump, i sink
opening my eyes.
a floating prison, seventeenth floor
the glazed crowd blares:
l'empereur!
/
i rise, a final shepherd of glory:
gaul, syracuse, cannae, troy
yet the pretty word is my josephine
and i forever her bonaparte boy.
"qu'il est drôle, bonaparte"
YOU ARE READING
cacophony
Poetrya trail of poetry drawn between inward glances because i gave up on shouting myself down. | voice one: 01-13 | voice two: 16-29 | voice three: 30-36 | voice four: 37-42 | p.s. the first few poems are really bad. ~ hymn ©2020
