The day again,
Dawn is breaking around my walls, the sound of the world, aroused, it starts with a yearning symphonic score.
Breathe in your name, a delicate flavour,
It's not my time for life,
I'm feeling still the day that's gone before.
It's all a game,
A dance of love and lies,
A fight that grows and becomes a war.
The day again,
Sun rising over distant spaces, shining light into my eyes,
Blinding, finding darkness in my core.
Scream in my name, unseen behaviour,
I have no time for pain,
I'm losing what seemed so dear before.
It's all for fame,
A fanciful fling with fate,
A tie that binds bends and breaks the law.
The day again,
Painting shadows under clouds, blending the black with the white,
Shades of grey and vivid lashings of gore.
Bleeding in the name, a wanton saviour,
It's never the time for waste,
I'm on my knees praying the same as before.
It's all aflame,
A growing blaze of want,
It burns and heals leaves you begging for more.
The day again
It's falling from the skies, dying within a blink of an eye,
The mourning world greets the evening whore.
Seeking its name, a tender labour,
I'll make the more time for lust, a secret promise of what is in store.
It's all a shame,
A dagger from your tongue,
Shunned lovers come to settle forgotten scores.
The night again,
A mistress hiding the guilty, from the retribution of light,
An underground worship, an idol to implore.
Forgetting her name, a thought to savour,
It's now the time of id, let it take you to places you know you can't ignore.
It's all the same,
Love, hate, fact and lie,
The dark and light a need to explore.
The night again,
Justice and love stand blind, amidst this carnival of flesh,
They are saved disgust, and reasons to abhor.
Singing his name, note of exquisite splendour,
The time in the now, it's easy to relent to the intoxicating, gentle arms of stupor.
It's all insane,
A decaying festival of flesh,
Holding on to obsession not easily overborne.
The night again,
A silken cloak of stars, shimmering silently above,
Lonely guides to which oaths are solemnly sworn.
Wishing for a name, a divine favour,
It's a time for praise, its fleeting fast it battered, tattered,
Whipped, ripped and torn.
It's all defame,
A repugnant soul bought low,
Shorn of the innocent sheepskin it wore.
The night again,
It's losing its gloomy lustre, bust lights at the seams,
Show reverence soberly greet the dawn.
Crying for our name, our misbehaviour,
I'll end the time for us, the clock has stopped the hands still caress and adore.
It's all for feign,
The repentant unforgiving,
Embrace to story of the confessor.
YOU ARE READING
Soft Curses of Angels - Volume 1 - A Fistful of Dust
شِعرThe earliest part of my chronological anthology of bad poetry. Estimated age at time of writing 12-16. I both thank and apologise to any soul who takes the time to read these.
