Rome is
nothing to this creature-
this mass of filth and slime
this political debut of dust.
And grime! Within every consul,
caked with crusted sweet caramel.
Writhing and twisting!
It once was harnessed, now,
so unleashed-
its innate flaws gather
to head the rising storm-
and the cup is overflowing
with the liquid of death.
Once more-
the people cry out,
but silenced-
For the Act has reached fruition
and the machine will not stop
until its nefarious goal
is reached and all love
is chained by the bonds
of Wall Street's Jones.
|
Leave
it behind you, leave it beyond you. |
Sometimes-
When I feel still alone
And looking around at empty rooms
in empty houses in empy hearts
Am I the only full cup,
brimming with water and sweet wine?
Am I the only one
that cries all the time?
Am I the only one
that loves what was once discarded
by the past self and the past flaw;
of the dying moans of lust-
and for tears never shed.
A regret for misdemeanors
that I've long since been forgiven
if forgiveness was ever truly given
Because sometimes-
I find it hard to breathe.
From the
tip of your tongue,
encompassing the meaning,
of every soft touch and kind word;
I evaluate to madness.
Love's dove is pecking at silk,
the silken waves of a once-pure maiden;
and in the shadows is the death,
and dark-
dark of love when love should not be had.
Sunrise
Writing my sentence of death
I find the most colorful display
of gold and pink;
of red and blue;
shining in the light of days long dead-
but eternal in its rising.
My thoughts are clouded by things
I should forget as defense.
But as for the revenge
of a lover scorned,
all he need do is look-
for the sunrise, with its beauty,
tortures lovers everywhere.