So this is a poem I wrote sometime ago, not exactly sure what inspired it. Looking back, it seems there are a few too many things going on in it, that and it doesn't flow that well, therefore not sure if one could call it a poem.
Brilliant din, the habitual stamp, quelling fear.
Vibrant hue, false innocence it cries.
Rosy countence, outlines the corridor
Shady masque of crimson regret
Golden Joy glides about,
The very air shudders in her presence.
Azure beauty, picking her way through the audience.
Captured attention, hints a shade of emerald.
Ashen fissures, tear the stitches.
Lovely spectrum, now grim vision
Desperate war, the palette wage.
Truth, cruel as her custom, emerge the victor.
Tarnished decay, it's roots sank deep, rears itself a throne.
Reaper's court, jubilant beasts.
Pestilent in their reveire.
The Watchers weep
Their hopeless cries, a dirge for the souls.
Foolish, their guard, Careless, their rule.
A magnificent stallion, ivory master.
With a flick of wrist, decimation greets the sullied horde.
The victor is met with delight.
Purity now reigns, sovereign magnus.
No longer façade
No longer unjust
Lucidity descends upon all.
