Shorts and Poetry

5.

Ultimate Despair

Aching. It's an ache tied to the heart- no a soul torn apart.

You clench it in your blood red hands and steal it from the start

We have no chance lost in the dark.

What an imaginary work of art, that your purpose to outsmart

Boiled hope to despair,

before we could depart.

Shoved the words down our throat,

Injected feelings we'd never know.

You sit gleefully and gloat

on your throne of pink seas- stories that you have wrote,

In darkness which you devote.

And how is it we cope?

You hold captive all our hope,

A master manipulated- we're in your scope, tragically played as the scapegoats.

You could not afford one mistake, hell forbid you fail to take

Our lasting chance that you made fake.

A curl of lip as you awake, no sense of planning- hold no keepsake.

You're split in two-of one make,

Body calm as mind shakes.

It's an ache tied to the heart, a soul torn apart.

You clench it in your blood red hands and steal it from the start,

We had no chance lost in the dark.

What a masterful work of art, that your purpose to outsmart

Boiled hope to despair,

before we could depart.