This was the abduction of god.
You were shedding your plumage.
My Ars Poetica is showing the nude moon.
Visiting Lesbos once, you
filled the heat in your hands. You called
to murder the most innocent.
Sylvia Plath was broken.
The pungent smell was coming from
burning verses. You never asked for the blood game.
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: October 14th, 2021 01:51
- Category: Nature
- Views: 11
- Users favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek, James Michael
Offline)
Comments1
lol
wrath, how addictive
your bitter taste on my tongue
that scarlet decoration of anger's, bitten lip;
I shall dismiss your existence
by dedicating my poetry to you,
I shall refute your influence
by counting-out my syllables to your name,
Sylvia was broken
and Nietzsche, announced our collective blasphemy - early...
So, I ask 'you'? (that's a generic you)
and So, fckn what?
What exactly has changed?
What's 'gotten beta'?
What does it matter if you
'Worship'
a misinterpreted Deity,
a progressively corrupted Science
or that Nihilistic Atheism?
What, does it all matter
when all we're doing is making up
new excuses
just to distract from the fallibility in our own Nature's reflections?
Fck, stereotypes
Fck, all the idolised - idols
Fck, the new Awakening 'wokeness'
based on old texts and rusted philosophies
Keep your capitalism and your communism..
We should all build our own ships, for our own communities
and sail the rivers we Choose,
Leave the sea for those poetic 'Sharks'...!
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.