August 9th, 2021. SOUR

– – –

"Swamp Song: An Oddly Specific Love Triangle for Bastards who Chant Their Nights Away" by M.A.A. 
And here stood the great Egres, proud and sincere like no other
when the time came, not a moment later, vanished into the ether
apologies for what we have done, but he tore himself asunder

Once he took followers to virtuous standards and banners
wrote songs for the small ones who learned regret to grow taller
but his friends knew nothing of his achievements nor the latter

Beautiful little pond, when did you too go wrong?
Was it the chant of heat and mud, that you chose as your song?

He watched over the swamp, protected its life, hid it from the Sun
to keep the abyssal above ground, as a guide when there was none
creatures of the murky water were grateful, reciting his song

The daylight became more violent, and nights grew longer
so much warm ardent lightness, so much oppressing darkness
but dreams of the void kept him still in a hopeful wonder

It seems like sky has forgotten us in the cold black sea.
Now I believe in nothing, and let it present itself to me.

Committed he was, with a little shack next to the pool of water
guarding, loving, the beings in reflection of his meagre tower
but the unfaithful dreams became more vivid as the days got warmer

I had nothing but respect, and a bit of jealousy
for I also wanted such warmth and great purpose of joy
restrained myself but would I falter? oh, absolutely

Are these thoughts so impure, that they had to become clues?
Is there a mystery to be solved where we act as an example?

A man dreaming of non-existence deserves nothing but its gift
and all the while our eyes were bathing in the Sun's blooming rays so swift
his heart gravitated towards the quick release from his noble shift

Truly regrettable - he let out a desperate sigh in attempt to breath
I could see it in his eyes - extinguished stars, dead and gone, feeding his foul dreams
a decision out of love, we made sure he would never again give them sleep

In what kind of a profession one reads of nothing but decay and excessiveness?
A historian's career, where we succumb into generational loneliness regardless

His collapse was regrettable, his fate sour - and I too had to witness the scene
as I cut his throat, chopped up his body, threw the pieces into the murky green
so we let the swamp to dry, nature to bury his remains in the mud and shit

Now a field like any other, where once stood the great Egres, proud and sincere like no other
there's a fine for obscene dreams, a punishment for unfaithful thoughts towards life and creation
if not him, then no one, so the seasons turn the unguarded realms into dust and stagnation

Beautiful little pond, when did you too go wrong?
Was it the chant of heat and mud, that you chose as your song?
Or was it the murder out of boredom, where we made you play along...

I would lie about everything if it had any use
a "sincere" man turned into bits for running out of fuse
here's for the young lads: dream of death and end up in debt
bring in all the forms and make the gatekeeper sweat,

– – –

“Misty Vision” by Vian Borchert

– – –

“Pale Green and Black” by S.J. Delaney

Lying but not resting,
Dark and waiting. Just waiting.
For the pain to drain
from my jaw, and throat,
and ear, out of my mouth and out;
pale green and black,
tasting like steel
soured in the sun

– – –

"Serotonin" by Harris
Calming of a nervous nervous system
Sour substitutes stress with serotonin

The puckering of lips, the squinting of eyes
Relinquished by modulating moods, by the transition of taste
Memorising, learning, leveraged by zest
Sour settles suffering when solo and pressed

A relationship with sweet skews sour
Disrupting its nerve numbing nature

Sweet is unaware of its affect, its muddling
Dulling sour, sealing it in and from cells
Shifting power.

The nervous nerves interrupt,
Sweet incapacitates and exhilarates insulin to stop the nervous nerves from telling the cells

But it comes crashing down
Sweet suffocates the cells
The cells weaken, the body laches for its sweet high
Sour can only watch and wait till sweet is stress or lets go

Sweet without moderation steals growth,
Cortisol creeps in till sweet is banished or entangles its control by drip feeding serotonin
Sour would never do such a thing

Sour is powerless, hooked by sweet, forced to comply with the cells high
Sweetness fades, it eventually dulls
Till sour substitutes stress with serotonin, solo again.

– – –

"Sour" by Vian Borchert
If I had to define that relationship
I would define it as “SOUR”.
Sour to the taste
Sour to the touch
Sour to the eyes
Sour to the core.
A sour man
with sour taste
and sour manners
And, yes it is the manners
Sour tasteless poor choice of words
that soured our relationship
from sugary sweet
to bitterly sour.

How sour the memories
he manged to creep
up above to my head
with a quick spread
into my nerve cells.

– – –

Next exhibition theme: PAIRS

Deadline: MIDNIGHT, 22nd August

Submit at:

More information under ‘Submissions’ tab

Published by artisticdifferencescurator

My name is Seán and I am the creator and curator of the Artistic Differences Project. I started this project during the lockdown in Ireland due to COVID-19 in March 2020 as a way to get my friends and I creating during a troubling time. From there the project as gone from strength to strength and now we publish a new exhibition every two weeks.

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