Armor of Impotence

Sitting under the spell of mist,

Amplified by the luminescent light of cresent moon,

We debated the half told lies,

And we advocated the teaching of pride,

And to bolster our fragile argument

Of moulded glass,

We wielded the flaming sword of icy desires,

And the armor of impotence.

And when the silent watcher

Wished to illuminate the one thing we didn’t desire,

The flesh ashened.

The flesh ashened,

Yet we were immune to raw truth,

The flame of all that we seek,

Drifted through the air like a dandelion.

Advertisements

Why So Much Pride My Son?

Why so much pride?
Is your heart full of hatred,
For the sunshine, and the shade?
Why the pause in-between?
Is your heart in rage, against the dirt, and the water?
Why the middle ground?
I know you are a man of few words.
I know you have a storm brewing inside you.
But why fuel it by suppressing your pain?

Continue reading “Why So Much Pride My Son?”

The Tale Of Forgotten Kingdom

On the cold mountain, we wait,

With two fists full of winter smoke.

Before the moment of past glory,

Repeating itself like two diligent arms,

Of a subservient clock,

We burned with precision.

Under the cover of withered rocks,

Churning the memories of ruin of past,

Flickering lights of red speak.

The lights inflicted,

With molten than revolutionized steel,

Red lights unheard by all but you,

And me.

The tale of forgotten kingdom, and

An ancestry long forgotten,

Whispered only by you,

Fed ironically by parasites,

Like us.

**

Via Daily Prompt: Churn

A Tale Whispered Beneath Raggedy Breathes

There is a tale,

Of weaved words,

That died,

Before reaching my trembling lips.

A cold tale that creeps,

Through the faint open doors,

Of my eyes.

A tale, suppressed,

Begging me, sometimes you.

A tale, crippled,

In dire need for its voice.

A tale of dancing words,

Embracing each other,

In their open arms.

A tale,

Stripped of words,

Yet filled to brim,

With confused affection.

A tale,

Diffusing through the air,

Like a faint scent,

Of spring morning.

The scent,

Without words,

But with pleasure,

That creeps through the pores,

Of our open skin.

A tale of wonders,

Of secrets that can’t be hid,

Despite persistent cloaking.

A tale of unyielding storm,

A tale,

Whispered,

Beneath raggedy breathes,

By you,

And,

By me.

**

Via Daily Prompt: Explore