Poezja

The dead rise from the ashes
To play lyrical assassination
With souls that bury;
Deep in fields
The relentless growth
The relentless growth
 
As we look out to the fields
The flowers bloom
And souls do too
Gazing a far
In a hollow swoon
To love the angel
And death the martyr
The repugnant imitation
Of celestial order
Himself- Castigated liturgy
Momentary eclipses of the sun
To make the light less bright
And we can all have fun
 
Without the cancer
 
But my poetry has turned stagnant
Perhaps it has become mine?
Another empty hollow chore
Just another waste of time
The pressure was built for oh so long
To sweep across the streets
And be mauled by all the dust
To lay strewn across the asphalt
Demolished by an oncoming car
But fuck; If I was to be revealed
The soul-crushing aftermath
Will lie dormant
The river rises to greet the swell
And an abomination of the rats arise
 
Hatred grows deep within
As love is turned to steam-driven trains
And potholes, letting out gasps of vapor
Harshness arising as black soot
As the trains come-lookers greet their way
 
Good-bye mother
Good-bye father
I have lost my way
To never be found
The night has consumed me in its cold comfort
…To never be consumed