My poems, like Aurora's rays,
they shine sometimes on summer days.
Each laureled line of lyrics lays
like nun, on holy ground, and prays.
Then when the savage salt sea seethes,
each poem’s born again and breathes.
Amidst the graves and withered wreaths
its sword, like Samurai, unsheathes.
And verse then bares its biting blade
is deadly as the plant, nightshade,
destructive as a hand grenade,
or Napalm, dropped in forest glade.
My poems penetrate like pain.
They shed cruel tears as acid rain.
These children, of my heart and brain
are lethal, like Abe’s brother, Cain.
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Author:
Blue-eyed Bolla (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: April 8th, 2022 01:47
- Comment from author about the poem: lethal lines, a tad unstable. Composed by Cain, not brother Abel.
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 10
- Users favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek
Offline)
Comments2
A great poem, should speak to many on this site. Thanks for sharing
Many thanks, Katrina. 😊
insensitivity, imbued in words
hurts
always has, always will
but
sharing opinions, freely
is a gift of modernity, we all
should cherish
history tried
stoning people to death
for their
innate, diverse way
of thinking, living
it didn't work, too well - then
well, unless
maybe for the herd majority
that were doing the stoning
momentarily..
still, Personally
I try to apologise, for my words
at every opportunity
although, it may never be enough
to undo
what hurt, they may cause...
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