The Voice of Desperate Hearts

By: Bailey Tulloch

Among the freezing breeze of swastikas,
The only awakened robot
Was the word of the innocent.


She was of three hearts,
Like a sphinx,
Child, escapist, and thief.


The small girl whirled in the whip of tongues
And let the words flow, falling, and flailing.


A fervent Soliloquist and a Jew,
A Soliloquist and a Jew and a Thief,


She knew now which to prefer,
The beauty of the alleged,
Or the beauty of destruction;
The Whistler whistling
From the silence after.


Death consumes the long cold walls.
With a barbaric laugh,
The shadow of the Soliloquist
Crossed it, to and fro.
The laugh
Echoed in the shadow,
Beating on the drumming of a thieving heart.


Oh, voice of desperate hearts,
Why do you imagine a golden blue world?
Do you not see how the darkness
Wobbles, defies the tears
That you have so promptly set before it?


There are no noble accents,
Only poundings of agonized cries.
You know, I know, she knew,
That the stars swallowed in the darkness
Weren’t shining as meant to.


When the night flew out of sight,
Death scraped the edge
Of one of many chains.


At the sight of a finally risen star,
Swimming in the pink of beginning,
Even the eyes of a spoken word
Would cry out sharply.


Death soared out of their sanctuary
And into another,
Once a scream pierced him.
In that he cried out,
The shadow of the Soliloquist
Haunted ever after.


Her pace is quickening.
The river must be flowing.


It was night for an eternity.
It was ashen,
And it was going to be a luscious midnight.
All the winking stars went to sleep,
And Death shuffled on.