The world has committed its sins
Now is the time for justice
In the forage for beauty
The monster prepares his death.

I collected moments in a paper bag
Screaming fragments desiring blood
Art nailed to a symbolic frame
Each day pushing closer.

Coins fell into a laughing hell
Slots, buttons, toggles and bad breath
A table holding audience
Strangers eating cheese.

A mantle with carved faces
China beasts and chiming temples
An overturned bottle looking
Sideways at a candle.

Grease loose to wander
Observed by portraits on a mission
Peasant children..faces pressed
Against the steamy window.

A coffin stood to attention
In the shadows of a recess
The carpenter still unpaid
Growling of injustice.

A white shroud with beer stains
Whores on tables
Feet on chairs..smiling
As a poet scribbles verses
Desiring not only flesh
Gaining only scorn.

A little more blood..sigh relief
To the top room
A makeshift bed to serve
Romantic ideals and poverty
But her kisses are sweet
Demanding to squeeze his soul her dreamy lust
As he coughs blood..attempting silence
Awaiting angels..not her desires
Straddled..easing life from him.

His tears melting over memories
Sunshine with butterflies in flight
In the awakening of his nature
His deepest absent
To the brush marks of a whore
So fluent..eyes his
Hers satisfaction..his death.



  • Author: nephilim56 (Offline Offline)
  • Published: January 24th, 2023 03:33
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views:

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