ShaneM Original Poetry Collection

Thyself

  It was never called upon thyself to deliver the devil, but it was brought forth to discuss the evil on this level. Disbanded and stranded, left alone and empty handed. Dark and cold, door shut, shadows fill. Power within, shower the skin and wither away the affects. Thyself is only a complex higher chief of control. To control the soul and dig deep down in the hole. It was stolen from the grasps of fingertips and flower petals, a damp flooded surface of bloodied metals. Wings sprout, but never fly. Opened in an attempt, they were failed to die. Sleepily and steadily, drifted out of reality, here comes the forces from within. Madness and sadness, mischief and disbelief, the evil horns of the red pouring into the flooded. Tried to take, to convince to wake and never cease to break, just for his own sake. Psychotically deranged, rearranged and better for strange. On the floor, surrounded by bloodied metals and flower petals, left alone begins to move. The dead and dreadful wings quiver and shake. Sprout open and here they must take, the life of a personal struggle. The demon from within must drown in red mixed water. The blood of the owner is the only that can defeat the hideous darkly depths of hell. Lights shine from wings, clean off the metals of red, bring alive again the flower petals. Arise the wounded, fly instead of die, take care of thyself and try. Move forward into the beauty of day and stay away and stray from the shadow darkness of thy own doubts. When a chance is given to discuss, don't ignore and throw a fuss. Take the chance and grow into a beautiful angel. Fly above and away from your blades, the metals. Keep your flower petals alive, your soul, your heart, your mind. Light drives out darkness, good drives out bad, just make the right decisions and it will be a life you've never had. 

5/19/16