One memory

death has fallen like the decayed fruit;

the shores have frozen,

and our bones are shivering

dark-blue; a shadowy world with beauty as it faded

there is no promise under the oak tree

nor the wilderness of the flowers

nor the maples on lashed dead rocks

there is no promise for me or you to keep.

Abstraction. Aren’t we brutal?

Chaotic symbiosis

animals kill, kill, kill

skin, bone, flesh, thought,

and we axe ourselves

to the most distant illusion

us animals, we kill, kill, kill

ourselves each day

more than we ever know

soon memories disappear.

They feast

upon every movement

instinct buried deep

an eternal hunt for desire

when all we have is an isolated existence

displayed in the sleep by a cherry fire

we’ve made for a lost god by summer’s end

for in the golden fields,

before life or after death

fiefdom of earth and memory

dissolve in the subtlest mask

reunion of consciousness and self,

the surrender in whole mind

far beyond the mass of thought

that kills identity in the old, shadowy world

we come apart,

acedia, the arch of a single death

without even have dying.

© 2020 All Rights Reserved.

A/N: I was really inspired with the thought of how we use different masks in life and how it is correlated to who we think we are as a whole. Are we who we truly are under the mask? Did the mask become us? This piece was also inspired by romanticindeed’s  thoughts on one of my poems that made me ruminate about this concept much more about the consciousness and how we can fool ourselves with our own inner lies.

I also was really enjoying “Video Stalker” by Mega Drive while writing this. It’s a great instrumental, in my opinion.

Do you listen to music or albums when writing? If so, what do you listen to?

24 thoughts on “Acedia.”

    1. lament
      in autumn grief,
      a shadow of a touch
      leafing as bones;
      empty windows and shops,
      isolation of sense
      when there is none left
      for you or I,
      for you or I
      as the river leaves
      in the wind
      it is a paradox
      in the cold.


      1. my name is light
        and I weave through the sloth
        on the tomb of mystical wings;
        I sit by the shore,
        ice chips await, sleeplessly,
        let us go.


    1. The way you describe that, it sounds fascinating! Fresh air and the beauty of nature do amazing wonders. It is heavenly.

      Sometimes, I switch with silence and music. It really all depends on my headspace when writing.


  1. Enjoying this, Lucy. Thanks.

    Sometimes silence.
    Sometimes sound.

    [recently i’m loving stephen malkmus/ early eno/ bohren & the club of gore/ django rheinhardt … but not all at once – that’d be insanity! :)]

    all love x

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you! ❤

      Those sound pretty cool. I think I have listened to Django Reinhardt before. I am now listening to Patchouli Blue by Bohren & Der Club of Gore, and it is absolutely stunning. I will definitely check out more from this group.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Oh, I am pleased. In similar way B&dCoG seemed to just appear on my radar. The name intrigued (though I held little hope for the music…). But Piano Nights has somehow become a desert island disc of mine 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you so much for the reblog, friend.

      That is very interesting! I can really understand that. I think, for some, it can definitely be easier to write when there are familiar sounds going on in the background. For me, I find it easier when I’m in my writing mode to tune everything out in the background, except to what I’m listening to. 😁

      Liked by 1 person

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