The Music Box
This is the first of my Halloween 2020 offerings this year...
The music box
As I am reading I am watching this old music box; I have just gently lifted the lid
The ballerina is turning, and the music is playing; however, the clockwork mechanism is loudly clanking, and the ballerina is crying tears of blood.
On the inside of the lid is a mirror that shows an entirely different image from the one you would expect. It is this poem unfolding… the ballerina steps off her pedestal and passes through the mirror into the unforgiving landscape of…. ‘The Bog’
Could this be real? This alternative reality… This nightmare of such epic proportions
Such as the like of which no human has ever seen before.
Slamming the lid shut the ballerina bursts through the dark polished wood as the music builds to a crescendo she sings out of tune words from her desecrated tomb.
The mechanism sounding now like insidious drumming, as the drummer boy enters through my ear
Three soldiers standing to attention, two flanking the ‘nutcracker’ wise
Bayonets fixed at the ready, sharp and shiny so pointy the ballerina her body to precisely incise.
Now the drumming is growing louder and louder cannon balls starting to fall. Craters appearing on the ground all around me, as the mists of time turn to smoke slowly rising casting visions in my mind so repugnant water seeping upwards start gurgling mixing with the blood and the bones
Bodies strew, and stew like five sticks engender a memory of childhood so dejectedly broken. Horses smashed into smatterings and smidgens headless, and legless empty saddles there lay with paint slowly peeling my mind can’t stop reeling regaling in a cruel form of insidious joy.
A church bell starts clanging the echo resounding bouncing back from the depths of hell
A bowel so impacted stomach so extended distension and an insidious smell. Sulphur, fire and brimstone and other concoctions, stories only the bible can tell.
The pits of hell surely opened with the lifting so gently of that lid of the box on my mums dressing table top, scREAMing loudly; sounds once drowned out by the sounds of a battle, beginning to swell bursts the drum inside my ear Then silence descends I awake and pretend reALLY I’VE got nothing to fear.
For you, my Son in all its savagery and exceptional beauty and wonderings, assaulting, saluting and also polluting the innocent mind of you, my firstborn boy child.