Poetry by Matthew M. C. Smith

              Brocken Inaglory CC​




Your Rosary Broke

Your rosary broke into pieces.
The barbed scorpion coils.

People weave ways in warped light,
gaze with glazed eyes. 

You sit at the gates of the city
near the drains, spewing.

Prayers are the breath
of wind across sweeping sands.




Lost Frequency

There’s no wind in this canyon,
no sun, no rain. 

The red beacon
glares on the mountain. 

See his eyes, black-lidded, 
his body, skin and bone thin, 
a frame of blades in a strung gown, 
stick arms, where cannulas hang. 

Swollen-black pupils flicker 
left and right 
to dead-end valleys.

The only way is red light. 

A near-bloodless body will fall,
turn on this spleen of earth
and with a single drop 
scream a lost frequency.




Abyss

Light a taper, listen to a note’s
echo through the vault.

The draught will shake the flame,
at the end of a wave, there is silence.

Stand with black all around you
and feel anything there may be. 

Anyway you turn is eternity, 
as light sears the void. 

At the altar, stand before a window
of celestial light.

Dive through, dolphin-dark,
plunge in shattered glass.

through the abyss.

​

Matthew M. C. Smith is a 'Best of the Net'-nominated writer from Swansea, Wales. His work is published in the Lonely Crowd, Barren Magazine, Anti-Heroin Chic and Cape Magazine. Twitter: @MatthewMCSmith Insta: @smithmattpoet Also on FB.  Matthew M C Smith - poet/writer

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