{"id":2941,"date":"2019-12-22T07:00:23","date_gmt":"2019-12-22T11:00:23","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/lineriderpress.com\/headlinepoetry\/?p=2941"},"modified":"2019-12-22T07:08:07","modified_gmt":"2019-12-22T11:08:07","slug":"the-hearts-of-tools-rust-black","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lineriderpress.com\/headlinepoetry\/2019\/12\/22\/the-hearts-of-tools-rust-black\/","title":{"rendered":"The Heart’s of Tools Rust Black"},"content":{"rendered":"

 <\/p>\n

Part 1: Unsung Life of Eulogies<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

\"bf5d70a77a7b6e64c3c990a9cb41f8ce\"<\/span><\/p>\n

You bleed fire like the remains of a symphony in the madhouse<\/span><\/p>\n

You scream frequencies in the bestiary of bones<\/span><\/p>\n

Tome\u2019s of loneliness and pits in our stomachs where we bury butterfly\u2019s<\/span><\/p>\n

Slipknots of apocalypse, hypocrisy double-crosses me like a crucifixion<\/span><\/p>\n

Leaving my stone heart on a mountain where the grains of sand go to die; I can never climb<\/span><\/p>\n

There is no time to be me, self-hatred rewrote my history like a fairy-tale gone snuff<\/span><\/p>\n

Everything is falling through like a body in the blackwater world<\/span><\/p>\n

Coming together, ripping apart, moving forward, backed in a corner<\/span><\/p>\n

I am a Shadowman shade of the overcast abandonment where the sun used to lie dead<\/span><\/p>\n

I want it all, every piece of your broken mind, every shard of glass, every mirrored image<\/span><\/p>\n

\"eqd_ZPLk\"<\/span><\/p>\n

Every grizzled visage, I want the remains of me to claim what was taken from me<\/span><\/p>\n

I want to hang onto the top of the food chain like a decoration, from the neck<\/span><\/p>\n

But I\u2019ll settle like the fallen leaves under the cold doubt of another renaissance of night<\/span><\/p>\n

Awake the man who gave away his memories like daydreams of happiness<\/span><\/p>\n

Forsaken the damned gruesome blazed avarice blight mayhem of dilapidated<\/span><\/p>\n

Unbreaking a stand rooted faze patterned light evening a dove decapitated<\/span><\/p>\n

Feeding on me like a leech within the blue veins of purgatories crematorium<\/span><\/p>\n

Dusty decay of malnourished hurricanes maimed with the emblazoned saviours of aether machinations<\/span><\/p>\n

Sin\u2019s of a windbreaker cold scarecrow folklore phantasmagorical oracles of immortal opal pebbles<\/span><\/p>\n

\"642c9fc651f406d44a6f20c176fca6f0\"<\/span><\/p>\n

Devils that swing by the vines of the divine as the mindless mementos of my torture<\/span><\/p>\n

When they took everything from me, and I robbed them of their reason<\/span><\/p>\n

Because I could not take back my life, my love, my reason to live, to be<\/span><\/p>\n

And so I burned the sins out of their shallow callouses amalgamated with their hatred<\/span><\/p>\n

And grew from the body of my happiness, a weed rooted to the corpse of life<\/span><\/p>\n

Unwanted, they tried to remove me from the garden of my own grave, but I rose up<\/span><\/p>\n

Because I had to take my stand to walk away from it all, on my own two feet, I made my way back home<\/span><\/p>\n

Burdened with the broken death of myself and everything I loved, still, they hated me because I stood<\/span><\/p>\n

I will not kneel and lick your boots, I\u2019m sorry, but my tongue has earned its freedom<\/span><\/p>\n

Do you think you\u2019re too damn good to give me peace, to take back your sacrilege basking in masquerade?<\/span><\/p>\n

I still wear the scars you clothed me in, proudly stitched with the finest silken soliloquy<\/span><\/p>\n

Take all the pain away, give me something other than broken bones, and fickle vows<\/span><\/p>\n

I will slay the emaciated demon\u2019s of the past until the very memories of them run like droplets of rain from the sun<\/span><\/p>\n

The gangrene jettisons Armageddon taking the venom like medicine of Abaddon<\/span><\/p>\n

\"6bc454097ae229f4cf162669da4b1e7c\"<\/span><\/p>\n

A reverend\u2019s requiem of neogenesis resonant emanating lonely hatred<\/span><\/p>\n

A vengeance of vendetta\u2019s agenda, a referendum of pestilence indefinite<\/span><\/p>\n

But I am not alone, beneath the throttled hope of disassembled heaven put back together with glue<\/span><\/p>\n

There are endless spectres of deathless deception<\/span><\/p>\n

The vessel of malevolence inside their chests, the prison called a cell, holding life captive<\/span><\/p>\n

Forging new blades from the iron hearts<\/span><\/p>\n

One man\u2019s trash is another man\u2019s treasure, maybe that\u2019s why you steal hearts<\/span><\/p>\n

\"History<\/span><\/p>\n

Maybe that\u2019s why I don\u2019t feel anything but loss<\/span><\/p>\n

Maybe that\u2019s why I stopped fighting for hope<\/span><\/p>\n

Disheartened to loathe the diablo of rope blackened by debauchery\u2019s insomnia<\/span><\/p>\n

For it does not understand what it means to beat without blood and lose the ability to love<\/span><\/p>\n

Because a weapon could never love in the first place<\/span><\/p>\n

But I am just a tool, rusted and dulled, ready to be replaced by another dead soul<\/span><\/p>\n

We remnants are nothing but a vessel of another\u2019s will<\/span><\/p>\n

As you take it all away from them, again<\/span><\/p>\n

Stripped of illustration, rusty still, we bleed<\/span><\/p>\n

We are the faces no one ever sees<\/span><\/p>\n

We are the shadowed tools who can never be anything but crevasses<\/span><\/p>\n

But you are the darkness itself<\/span><\/p>\n

For we are just the cold grave<\/span><\/p>\n

Not the undertaker<\/span><\/p>\n

But even darkness is not death<\/span><\/p>\n

And you cannot bury our souls<\/span><\/p>\n

For the heart’s of tools rust black<\/span><\/p>\n

\"7a356751e47144ea0b2442674426c354\"<\/span><\/p>\n

Part 2: Celebrating Death<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

As for the soul’s of gatekeepers to hell<\/span><\/p>\n

Hulks of buried cities may shine the way for darkness’ of wardens<\/span><\/p>\n

Born porous from the porcelain metamorphosis pitch with hieroglyphics of nonrhythmic obsidian
\n<\/span><\/p>\n

The soldiers’ guns never wanted to fire<\/span><\/p>\n

But inanimate scavengers torn undamaged don’t have their own desires<\/span><\/p>\n

The outside world is really just one big pyre<\/span><\/p>\n

Burning on the inside are the frigid cinders<\/span><\/p>\n

Yet we are still so coldhearted<\/span><\/p>\n

Hardwired by phosphorous Holocaust<\/span><\/p>\n

Even the cold feels warm-light, once in a lifetime<\/span><\/p>\n

Even tools can rhyme, while the four horsemen ride<\/span><\/p>\n

Trumpeter’s blight spites the living<\/span><\/p>\n

God has no forgiveness<\/span><\/p>\n

Broken winged singeing infinity<\/span><\/p>\n

I sing only the melancholy melody that has become me<\/span><\/p>\n

I speak only the words that made me break the bones of silence<\/span><\/p>\n

I do not wish to kill your spirit’s heresy<\/span><\/p>\n

I hope only to find this madness bearable<\/span><\/p>\n

Sweet is the despair of war, charitable<\/span><\/p>\n

As we choke on the marigold, of an alabaster world of shadows<\/span><\/p>\n

Where a bad end is a godsend<\/span><\/p>\n

And heaven-sent is the elevator to hell<\/span><\/p>\n

Shallow ghettos of cellos bent by three-dimensional world’s amalgamate<\/span><\/p>\n

In the alchemy of a weeping willows choir choking on blood-ties<\/span><\/p>\n

Inside the divide of wildfires cremating hatred<\/span><\/p>\n

Impoverished of the love we never had<\/span><\/p>\n

Shed wilting a guillotine’s petals as it fell through our hands<\/span><\/p>\n

\"christophe<\/span><\/p>\n

Art Credits to:<\/span><\/p>\n

Howard David Johnson, Christophe Hohler, offaesthetic.tumblr, ArtStation, Manu, The Bounty Hunter, and Paolo Troilo<\/span>.<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I don’t fight, I survive.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":22,"featured_media":3152,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"sfsi_plus_gutenberg_text_before_share":"","sfsi_plus_gutenberg_show_text_before_share":"","sfsi_plus_gutenberg_icon_type":"","sfsi_plus_gutenberg_icon_alignemt":"","sfsi_plus_gutenburg_max_per_row":"","_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"The Heart's of Tools Rust Black by Robbie Calzonetti\n\n\"The vessel of malevolence inside their chests, the prison called a cell, holding life captive\nForging new blades from the iron hearts\"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2},"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[253,170,213],"tags":[259],"class_list":["post-2941","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-canada","category-health","category-poetry","tag-r-j-calzonetti"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/lineriderpress.com\/headlinepoetry\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/12\/bf5d70a77a7b6e64c3c990a9cb41f8ce.jpg?fit=500%2C618&ssl=1","post_mailing_queue_ids":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lineriderpress.com\/headlinepoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2941","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lineriderpress.com\/headlinepoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lineriderpress.com\/headlinepoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lineriderpress.com\/headlinepoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/22"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lineriderpress.com\/headlinepoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2941"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/lineriderpress.com\/headlinepoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2941\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3443,"href":"https:\/\/lineriderpress.com\/headlinepoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2941\/revisions\/3443"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lineriderpress.com\/headlinepoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/3152"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lineriderpress.com\/headlinepoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2941"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lineriderpress.com\/headlinepoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2941"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lineriderpress.com\/headlinepoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2941"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}