The Great Dead Masters

Only the great dead artists
understand our predicament
can see into our loneliest nightmares
& most devastating dreams
Only the great dead artists
can understand our predicament
how we’re slipping, slipping so far
from our place on earth
so deeply into the hallowed place of
eternal mourning, the darkest dawn
Never ever to let go yet slipping
far away as the cord runs thin
never to break, only disintegrating
into the universe which divides &
holds us together, until what we burn for
what we loath & cherish & hope for
becomes one with all of creation
& our ghostly legacy speaks through all that is
Only the great dead masters
understand what it’s like to exist in this wasted sector that our hearts have created
can feel what we’re feeling & see into our visions
can picture our most desperate sorrows & the moments we thought
would last forever, that we screamed, prayed, dreamed
would last forever
Only the masters could capture the beauty & desolation
holding true in our psyches
Balancing our cerebral elephants on fine pin lines there
Coloring those unearthly landscapes with empathetic strokes
unimaginable spectrums of color
Brushing carelessly through our eternity
with angels wings & circus rings
Strange creatures, all of God’s children
Faceless figures parading through the shadows
of lost gardens & mysterious watery horizons
Death skull charms, sad brides beneath dark veils
Clouded faces peering through windows & mirrors
which hold secrets that forever torment us, will never die
Sad jokers with the funny knowledge of death in their eyes
Two-faced knights & twin queens
poking their heads through both sides of the curtain
Reaching for the crest of heaven while
penetrating the underworld with all we ever were
Adorning our worlds with the card’s ancient mysteries
The symbols & signs that tell what we dare to remember
Was it spades or was it clubs?
Hearts or diamonds?
Changing as the day changes
blurry & uncertain as the never-ending flux of time
And now that we are slipping further & further away from one another
Now that I’m slipping so far away alone
our fate lies in the hands of every great dead genius
though madmen & sheisters in their time
they doubtlessly lived & breathed to create
that which would come to be the only key to understanding
what our hearts have not survived
Dwelling now only within high narrow rooms & galleries
existing on walls with bad lighting
watch-guarded by clueless curators
with so many zeros in their eyes
Our cosmic dilemma surfacing & resurfacing within
these relics which I follow through tired streets
scanning hallways, scouting hidden back-alley bannisters
for the wordless stories which will surely be our sanctity
as they circulate through the old city in ransomed arcane symbols
relished, cracked & fading
born from the great masters of the human & subhuman condition
Only there & in dreams
will our scandalous fate continue
this common ground we seek


About Unsungpoet

Life-long poet, numerologist, author of other previously unpublished works :)
This entry was posted in Photos, Poetry and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to The Great Dead Masters

    • Unsungpoet says:

      Wow thanks so much for taking the time….this poem really did come from a deep spot…a true story…and it was originally written about 5 or 6 years ago when I was living in the City, tucked away in one of my old journals it was time to bring it to the light of day…thanks again!

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