A Sinner in organised times...

A walk through this unfathomed dungeon,
Has unleashed this vixen.
For sadism can strike the pristine,
This speaks of purity stained...

A bloody sly prudish bugger,
Too dishonourable to be crucified.
For a good afterlife has tremendous grace,
Vengeance is too often sought by blood...

When your very creed is ashamed,
So very vain.
Natures wrath does backfire,
The honour is gone to the dogs,
They feast on it everyday.

So, who's to hex a sinner?
Life fails to understand relativity,
Brings about disorientation to the innocent,
In this very disgraced phase of transition...

The lies are damned,
The swing of life is not.
A very beautiful species,
Their harness is defied by lies...

The vixen dreams of the siren,
The knight knows his target,
The sinners brace themselves for their mid life crises and lonely death,
The King of fate mocks them all...

The exhibitionists are coerce,
The casket contains treasure that is never good to be flaunted.
Disharmony has its way of failing to see the great good,
A very strange kind of nugatory angst is at war with sunshine...

The dark ages were indeed oppressed,
Bred in agony.
Thus the impishness of a fool wounded a beautiful phase,
But the new era nourishes the madness...

A very undignified whorish soul,
Can dissociate the innocence of a vulnerable offspring,
Drifts from each tavern ,
By bad destiny brings about procreation,
This schmuck wanders by the proximity of your very shadow...

The air is bewildered,
Breathed by virtues and vices,
But you can never quite separate something so interdependent,
After all is said,
Life shall conclude that a curse is a cycle...

Words can never embody wrath,
Unless a certain evolution is attained,
That being said, my blood boils to a crimson like red,
Dishonour has left a real man shamed...

The closet of mystery was always a tale untold,
Stability is only loyal to the brave,
Helplessness is unfortunately a companion to every mortal,
Dignity is false until claimed...


( Painting- Saturn by Goya).

Hollow wallow

This dungeon is strange,
With a passage of grey,
Artless shadows that hover in its very essence,
The creek of life and death is so narrow,
To live this eccentric analogy...

Crops of disintegration were sown in the soil of the beast,
While my flower got rotten in utter disgust,
His stem wasn't enough to comfort me,
There's only an angle of depression from here...

I shall osculate this nutrition,
Introspection for the agriculturist and philosophers,
I shall assimilate all its power,
I want to cease the fire of resurrection...

Deep beneath our mother,
There is this magnet,
This core of civilisation,
Waiting to be elevated to the celestial ocean...

The salt of the waters of immersed fate,
That explores this crystal,
It can cast hate,
The germs that can battle for the crucifiction of dawn...

Wind that has gone deeper into the hollow,
While the lights want to battle sorrow,
While a different casket opened the casket to another world,
But then a shadow was left to wallow...

Picture from the net- ( amazingonly.com )

Unthanked souls...

Have you ever gone back,
for once in your life,
for all the souls you forgot to thank.

Those souls in their lonely afterlife,
laying in the grave,
they desire the light,
they just want to see your face.

Their spirits dancing in the corner,
dancing to the tune of loneliness,
to feel alive is a difficult endeavor,
but there's a smile emerging from the corner of their face.

Pangs of nostalgia,
that's only what happens to you,
but for them it's that desire that comes true.

While you live in the bright sunlight,
there's someone twitching and turning in the dark,
just a glimpse of them is enough,
just a glimpse of you is their light,
with that glimpse they will fill their goblets with the wine of pride.

Picture from the net- ( www.killmecomix.com/1_paintings.html)

The dark hour.`

It was the twenty-first hour of the day,
She was eating dinner her own way.
There was her five year old son,
getting some drawing done.

She heard a screech of pain,
she did think that was quite lame.
Her huge mansion she crossed to get to her room,
the night as she describes,
the night of the full moon.

She saw a shocking sight,
she didn't know the reaction right.
There she saw her dead husband,
she got a chill down her spine,
a lot like extremely cold wind.

Dead and cold he laid,
his throat was slit with a sharp blade.
Blood spattered across his face,
the blood was getting on to her white dress,
with the eccentric white lace.

Slowly a tear drop fell,
it seemed as if she just entered hell.
Then she saw her son,
with daddy her just wanted to have some fun.
He hugged his mom so tight,
the poor boy was in such a fright.

It was the speck of the second
since their lives changed,
she became a widow pained.
Her son had became a fatherless child,
poor boy, he was so mild.

The next hour as we know,
she and her sons heads low in sorrow.
Police and detectives everywhere,
so much pain they had to bear.

Did the killer even think for a second?
The lives he had changed an hour ago,
while they were eating their bacon and salad in a row.
This grief may never be forgotten,
Alas the twenty- second hour in the middle of Manhattan.


(Picture taken from the net.
By-Elizabeth Blauvelt - Galena High School.)