Fear, and fear, crowds
Spearheaded,
To violently push
All that is dreaded,
And cower me, like a daughter
Beaten with fists,
Cleverly threaded.
One day you will die and I,
By feelings of guilt,
Will hunker surprised
With the sympathy, shame
Which I have built
For that I so despised.
Still now fear plaits your anger.
The Angel, on whom
Your storm raged and sank her,
Does sit a light amidst
Your steps: which darkly
Clumped and cankered.
The powder which
Spurred on your river,
Did make skin envy
And fingers quiver
With ash, to which you will go forth,
By your own hands delivered.
So now you rule a
Subject-less home.
Through fear, desired
Respect did not come,
And you sit thin and greying,
Guiltless eyes atop a violent throne.
YOU ARE READING
Bloody Words
PoesiaPoems for the twisted souls who dance at night. The cauldron stirrers, aorta slurpers down right damned to hell life usurpers. We all have a dark side, I invite you to enjoy yours. For the broken and the damned walk amongst us every day.
