My Muse is Black today!..
She is black today…
She weighs upon my chest
words that make no sense,
Much nonsense put on paper
with the many blip-blips to censor
dark expression flowing from a broken centerMy muse damns me to this inspiration,
Choke-filled with life’s putrid manifestation
Vexed from the stings of bites not felt
yet heard and seen…I am ANGRY! because its Death for breakfast,
War and Anarchy! My pain is palpable- come- cut,
taste with me- This muse is ours,
Awakenings to life’s woes she showers us constantlyEven in the comfort of home, exposed
by the media drawing my attention to the next bomb
that explodes, Reports of wars-disasters and poverty
“Oops! This just in, more fatalities…”
Fake- ass governments and their bullshit policies,
Resolute terrorists making God seem the enemy…Her essence causing these scales fall- BUT resiliently,
For lies will always be sweeter than honesty, now
lying naked to the truth and left questioning,
Existence!… is it Hell or is it Purgatory?
Tag: anger
Red
I’m not sure it makes sense anymore, how could it come to this?…. Maybe I should have seen it from the get go but all I saw was “Red”…
I fell in love with beauty I had never known. Vibrant, Sexy, Intelligent, Creative… A perfect gift of Cupid’s to me. She would be my gem and fortune, and she was. We gave into each other absolutely; the perfect couple… Everything was “Red”, but time is a wicked thing…. With it that vibrant color begins to wear and a faded texture I see.
Cupid’s gift gradually morphs into a fiendish curse. Aggression and anger is its gift to us. She, still my rare beauty, I look at her and the devil wears Prada comes to mind. My “Red” beautiful, powerful and yet vain flower.
Quarrels over the slightest matters ensue… Initially welcome, as passionate acts of reconciliation fuel “bittersweet” to a fiery shade! … In the time of “tainted Red”, Hot, Sexy, and Angry is how I desire her.
Soon “Red” becomes a warning; a stop sign which we both refuse to heed… The situation bears an ugly turning…
My beauty, I know she loves me yet here we are; a kitchen knife run through me…and as I lay here in my pool of blood; clutched in her trembling embrace, at the sight of the tears from my beauty’s face born from regret of her mindless mistake… I see “Red”
©2012 Festivalking
Festival King 