“Diamond Skies,” by Tyler J.
Trouble seeks the tired heart
abashed with red hands, —
a seething beast, bleeding! —
rampant under diamond skies.
Atop the empty hill, crucified,
the lonely heart bickers
and stumbles against the bricks.
Peace! peace! cry the bricks,
but the body falls, laborious,
and the softened sobs alight
against the cracked marble.
Somewhere in the naked eaves
of thickened shadow-weed,
a tambourine-man plays,
rattling his hands to the beat
of blood in a desiccated body,
one stuffed with straw and string.
And he sings, soft and sleepy,
like the bard at midnight,
his eyes glossy, his hair afire,
as his hands try to flee, but can’t,
catching on the jagged notes
which erupt from the tambourine.
And under the wild diamond skies,
the tambourine man sighs, a breeze,
and serenades the tombs dwindling,
as tends to ’cur, in the silver moonlight.
Beckon the quiet lungs, say his hands,
and hear Love break as she tears
her chest and bleeds the world red,
like a wound in the side of God.
But soon the tambourine is silent,
as the hills drag away his music,
and on the horizon the sun awakes,
his hair like dilapidated yarn, stringy,
and when the clouds burst and drop
tassels of purpled rain on a world
dressed in diamond tears, so pretty,
as finally the tambourine-man is gone,
the lonely heart, vapid, black, dies.