Tempest is brewing the bridge overhead,
sways the strands of titanium on pillars of stone,
dusted in my fists like onyx beneath gold.
Crows circle the lonely woman in the desert,
as she crumbles they make quick like piranhas,
cadaver for a school class dressed in a shirt.
The leaves crunch and crumble in the moonlight,
the sounds of footfalls and heavy breath,
not from me but from it I am afraid.
Salt water crocodiles deep beneath fresh river,
anaconda makes one roll like a top sideways,
a door opens in a pyramid in Egypt.
Pharaoh calls forth a sandstorm of mummies,
their faces of birds and dogs howling cawing,
then later there is screaming of children.
Crepuscular ball room we dance my eyes kitty,
cat got your tongue claws not genitalia sweetie,
they all float in the river with scarlet necklaces.
Pandora’s box is a labyrinth known to Alice,
Wonderland is hatters madness and we, dead,
are all inside drinking tea and eating cakes.
Zenith of onyx razor blade and black rose petals,
tilt a whirl of viscera and crimson matter turn feathers,
phoenix of legend has returned and darkness with it.
That’s why I am here meandering rodents,
you think you’ve seen dark poetry mmh,
with eyes sewn shut I highly doubt that.
First rule, art is not painted holding back colors,
I don’t conform and I don’t jump hoop to a whip,
game they say, well let’s see you play darlings.
Oh, and I didn’t become a poet, I was born a Poe hit.
Egomaniac is necessary when you walk gothic,
down an alley sliding a blade sparks fly off the wall.
Marsupials scurry…. I’m hungry for mahogany meat.
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Author:
Beatrix M (
Offline) - Published: May 23rd, 2024 06:05
- Comment from author about the poem: Someone told me to be a poet you had to play the game, this was my response because if that’s true then your but fodder for maggots skill outweighs such notions and if you don’t recognize it your not poets.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 3
Offline)
Comments1
Who gives songs in the night; Who teaches us more than the beasts of the earth, And makes us wiser than the fowls of heaven?
Your gonna just love my next piece, just adore it, I don’t care for Salem witch hunt behavior from devil worshippers. How’s it feel to be a sinner? Because I am not burning in hell if it’s real, you are…. Who acts as if they can judge and aren’t the lord? Who thinks they are better than the lord to cast judgement? Oh forget that? Sunday clears right up interpreting a deity, not any books I’ve ever read. Dress light, hot where you’re going hehehe stupid fervor……
Judge not: for the measure you judge will be metered back to you.
Oh will it enjoy my next piece sinner
There you are enjoy my new piece, you inspired it
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