I, The Conductor.

Ever defeated lashes quarrel the break,
Chancing lucid thoughts
And beams against shadow.
Contusions and confusions
scream against tedious movements
But my orchestra calls.
I, the conductor.
Fingers trace blurred prophesies to perilous flutes
and scarlet delights.
Valleys swallow haunting melodies
And never ending warm notes,
sneaking from marked vessels
to me.
Flames tear the dark and chalk kindling joins
My choir of shame, painting rings afloat
as I ascend the boards with
pink circles, lined and draw in,
crushed with Gideon.
Arduous breaths and leaping drum,
I sing an alabaster chorus
To the sleeping audience.