Cracks appear over a vermillion egg
Intense heat radiates from its deep fissures
With a high chirp the creature is born
Among the heated gravel, ember and thorn
The beast quickly takes wing with a blaze of glory
Raining upon humanity her incandescent fury
Setting ablaze all that man has foolishly created
One life inadequate to keep her anger sated.
The aviatrix ruffles her aged crimson feathers
To this mortal world she has no meaningful tether
We have failed her in this lifetime, once again repulsed
In a burst of iridescent flames she is engulfed
Brilliant fire surrounds her scarlet frame
As she crumbles into ash, wings aflame
From the cinder she will once more be reborn
To continue this cycle of fanatical scorn.
Tag Archives: Adjective
Stardust
Image Courtesy: www.sergioalbiac.com
Imprints of the past left behind,
Gears of time in a reverse wind.
Fast forward through all our days,
The morbid feeling of an intoxicating haze.
Always trying to get through life with ease,
Never stop to feel the invigorating breeze.
A moment will come when we will regret not giving,
A piece of advice we can pass only to the living.
Neither desire nor passion to leave a mark,
No fuel to set your life on a glorious spark.
Rotting away in the confines of your mind,
To this world you have no worthy bind.
So what have we left behind but our bones,
Our stories written only in the language of stones.
Lived an incomplete life gathering rust,
In the end we will be nothing but stardust.
Writer’s Dissolution
Image Courtesy: http://www.anatomicalromance.wordpress.com
Words and syllables spun of eloquent vocabulary,
Impellent thinking leads to an intangible slurry.
Calm your mind and the words will follow,
Weaving them into feelings, anything but shallow.
Wounded interior and a scarred soul,
Pain and Sadness resonating from my core.
Elaborate language your only remedy,
Fraudulent verbs my only clarity.
Geniuses we are not, just skilled at weaving,
A necessary sin to prevent sanity from leaving.
You believe us writers to be truly talented,
When all we have is a psyche that is multifaceted.
Commit this crime of passion we must,
Or crippled, we’ll be lying in the dust.
Our words, nothing but emotions of nature,
So when we die, we shall be immortalized on paper.
Writers write for they are egomaniacs,
A fancy poem our soul’s aphrodisiac.
Spinning words, the most heinous temptation,
Desperation for eternity our only salvation.
Northern Nevermore 