A Minister of Self-Defense
Cruel purveyor of corrupted souls, Why is downfall so lurid?
Interpreting Brahman through such vicious prose—these are the decrepit plans of an oft frayed rage. Depiction blurs.
THE HOURGLASS IS BROKEN. THE SENTRY’S BEEN SHOT!
A dance such as the insidious corralling of unwilling minions from the comforting confines of distends—subhuman refugees and salesmen, each the politician, taking care of tears denied.
FRACTURED SPLINTER. GLASS—A SHATTERED PANE!
Unfortunate fates seeping wayward, an origin, sleepwalking past the gates of guardians, withering from their endless dreams—unfulfilled—clenching, to a lifetime of faded frames.
THE MENTOR’S LEFT FOREVER. ALONE, TIDES EBB FAR!
Clustered beyond forgiveness, into a tightly knit yet poorly ventilated space of claim. Our imprisonment is based on passion; our companions addle words dimly etched to crypt.
BOOKS ARE MISPLACED. VINEGAR’S ONLY CHILD!
Macabre spirits spy shanties not meant for mortal eyes—
Words lose translation, as beats grow too frequent to count—
Despair is but a punctuation of the marks hate’s strewn about
FEAR HONORS NOTHING. CANDLES FORKED, WAX BENT!
If not for our own mirrors, the ones we peer into to understand, we would go unnoticed, blending in, to this, a sarcophagus otherwise revered of as the Promised Land.
A CRINGE BLEEDS MONTHLY. A VOW—an ONLY FRIEND!
Knifepoint. Finely tuned, hilt to blade. Ribbed to gleam. Jagged, sleek. Reflecting upon each tomorrow never seen. The eyes of dawn approach while frozen knuckles creak.
OPPOSITION. INCHING TOWARD this Underbelly’s Seam…
A Minister of Self-Offense, on the defensive once again…
Well, wasn't sure I'd find the time to write a normal length piece, but this one sort of came to me, so here it is. And I can think of no better place in the world in which to share it with, then with my friends over at D'Verse for their outstanding Open Link Night. Stop on by and get full on some amazing poetry.