Posts tagged Poem
Posts tagged Poem
"Touch me." I didn’t know what she meant,
but I knew what I wanted.
To ruin her. To ruin me.
To hit rock bottom and bounce hard.
To look like bullets set on the heart of God.
I wanted our sex to be cancer, bane of Holy.
I wanted to break her, find another,
and aim again.
I wrote a sentence in blood once.
It was false.
I wrote my name in dirt once.
I was as proud of it as I ever was.
I wrote my heart in ink daily.
I thought it more precious than water.
I wrote her heart in place of mine.
The medium - my body.
I’m writing my heart today.
The blood has run dry. The dirt is where it lies. Its story’s in the ink.
You spoke softly. A tone so weak,
it rivaled my confidence. I drank your words
and watched my heart sweat from your pores.
Clad to the core in my morals; I made you.
Yet, I’m intoxicated by the proof of your words,
Yours. The thoughts you created. The mind you found on your own.
The path you chose by yourself. The one that led you from me.
Watching the last of me pool at your feet… I wonder how much of you keeps me alive.
I’m wise enough to size her up, thick lips…
type to rush knights front with a quickness.
I’m listless on the outside, vicious on the in,
to win is my intention - from the game to her id.
I play with a mix of tact and past lessons,
no passive aggression, but my passion’s aggressive.
The way she moves to match is impressive,
every time I push, she attacks with new leverage.
Each move’s a weapon let loose in just seconds,
wars rage in the minutes, none given to get a breath in.
They pass in tens; I don’t feel the time slide.
Bishops on the side, mortified by the war crimes.
It’s hers or mine, the win is still set to chase…
Two lovers, and each wants to check the mate.
The man spoke in low tones with cold eyes,
he told tales of old flights and boat rides.
Most nights, his audience applauded him;
not really sure if these tales all belonged to him.
Still, they went along with them, stuck on every word.
Even though the stories were increasingly absurd.
The people, undeterred, lived for the man’s stories,
giving up their lives for vicarious glory.
Some shaved off day jobs for words of the bard,
to chase lost causes in that wondrous bar.
They cast away every single piece of corporation,
while the man sold thoughts about the greatest explorations.
They vested faith in the man as he painted them pictures.
Slick words reigned in elated pretenders.
The weight of the ventures splintered jaded beginners,
because at this point… the man only catered to winners.
Each that gave up structure was the apple of his eye,
and every word he spoke, meant to satisfy their high.
At the end of this man’s life, these outcasts will come together…
with the stories he once told to continue the storyteller.
Folded hands atop a bible, it’s my role.
Psalms flow quick as the wine goes.
When bells and chimes toll,
bottles disappear and mass is spiteful.
Brimstone’s my home, this tone they know,
but they come, they go for tales from this tome, so…
I speak the pages, reap the age when
men ruled religion and freed the nation.
Cause thought’s a burden, will’s the same,
why not kill a goat and displace the pain,
take the skies as places where the angels lie,
and men can fly, provide we repent and die?
You delight in my misery,
dance upon my bleeding heart.
You salt the hearth where love once bred.
You mistake the seed for salt.
Misery doesn’t delight the soul,
It stands as the dance’s name.
That blessed tango of reckless abandon?
Sweet, merciful liar where have our love gone?
The steps are second nature.
Memories past call its elegance to block its name.
Lover, I dance between truths to save you their pain.
And in that moment,
That moment between half-truths,
The love we once had was engulfed in the turbulent sea.
Clear waters beneath black skies.
The steps were to stir no more than the heart.
Sinking beneath the waves, where are we now?
-Quill and The Mad Artist
Tumblr of The Mad Artist
Another time around the block. Stock look with book bag.
Average student, not much to look at.
He was hooked bad - mad for music. He lacked attunement.
It was sad, but true. Kid had no knack for the path he moved.
Jazz was smooth, blues proved equally slick.
He would just sit and spin accompanies with the sticks.
Off beat as he was, kid was elite in his mind,
leading the times with sticks, leaves still on the vine.
I put a little of my history in each association,
'til my past is my present and I lose the strength to face it.
The days I filled with anguish repeat until I trust…
that the me I built today isn’t half the man I was.
I listened up, wide eyed and child-like ‘til my suspicions sunk.
He spoke of whole visions from wishes he wants to give to us.
Me and a friend of his. Then on a whim he said,
"That’s about the gist of all of this, are you interested?"
I fought a minute, recalling all he had mentioned then.
A woman brought up on thought and hearts of lesser men.
All eccentric with penchants for intellectuals,
I was all set to go, thoughts a little sexual…
Fast forward, she’s more than I could’ve hoped for.
Mind bright as mine, and divine behind closed doors.
I’d give a line about her shape, but honest…
She’s more into the fact she graduated with honors.