Canines howl throughout the night
As the sirens' blares becomes clear
A tragedy...
Most likely..
I wonder what's next.
It probably isn't anything new
If only more or less creative
I've seen it all...
Heard it all..
Imagination cooks up the rest.
The humble home of miss Mary Carter
Bright and engulfed with flames
I can only guess...
Maybe conclude..
Someone's patience was at test.
Blunt force; a blast of a bullet
Red spilling on rare white carpet
I can only wonder...
Oh so ponder..
When it became much more than a jest.
The loss of innocence
To pleasured moans in the darkness
I start to think...
How long did it take..
For the lust to have reached its crest?
To live without fear; an unobtainable wish
The illusion some foolishly believe
Some people think that...
Some people wish that..
They can find home within a wilderness.
.
They can't. They never will.
And we made sure of that.
We made it that way.
~
Ballagàrraidh; a word from the dictionary of obscure sorrows. If you have the time, curiosity, willpower or interest, you should check it out. There's a website, YouTube channel and, pretty soon, there'll also be a published book.
Do you agree with Scarlett? Do you think we've made this place we're supposed to call home a wilderness?
Until next time,
Ade Alethra
YOU ARE READING
Early Stages
PoetryThis book is going to be a compilation of all the poems I wrote between the age bracket of 12 to 16. Though not in chronological order, let's see where the poetry writing journey has taken me.
