My ravenous friend with feral
feral eyes
your voice is shrill
but two inches from being serene
chirps and bitter warbles
entwine together
tumble, fight and fall in order
to become
a poetic symphony
only they end up
in more of an absent muse cacophony.
Winged oppressor of the masses
black, black angel of death, doom, or simply
three-ply destruction
I often
wonder
how badly
I exaggerate your harbinger qualities.
Three red roses and a half empty bottle of
Martel cognac
doesn’t exactly seem
like the mark of the devil
nor does it match the zealotry
of the gods
either
So you are an enigma
a practical
impracticality wrapped up
in a shroud of lies, deceit and pure honesty
Confused?
That is only the natural state
for one that sips the booze
laughs at the stars
paints with fire
and dances
dances
madly dances with
other obsidian birds
of hypothetical
sinister prophecy.
(I will kill you)
|
|
