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: Poem
Hazed
School is supposed to be fun they say,
Yet I just spend time trying to keep my tormentors at bay.
Always fearing the bullies around the corner,
Preying on those they deem a ‘Loner’.
Passing through hallways trying to be a ghost,
Not to invoke the anger of those who boast,
About the pain and anguish they cause,
Not once do they think for a minute, pause.
Kicking and screaming I’m dragged to hell,
Always subjected to the same torturous cell.
While others tremble for their mundane beliefs,
I fear the children you see playing under the trees.
They corner me in class, boisterous laugh,
Hoping to be saved by a winged seraph.
Can’t be brave anymore, waiting to be set loose,
Maybe I should heed the dark calling of the noose.
The Painted Lady
Image Courtesy: http://www.pinterest.com/pin/168181367307542346/
Ripples of color in every hue,
Temptress drags you in with baby blue.
Further and further into her swirl of paint,
Notice how there is no white, gown of the saint.
Shades of red, yellow and green,
Morphing into a tone that can only be a dream.
Constantly enchanted by the rainbows in her possession,
Until she finally bathes you in fiery crimson.
Basic knowledge of swirling dyes is what you lack,
Maybe then you would know that all hues together give black.
Exonerate
The flow of words has come to a halt,
Swirl of vocabulary has stopped with a jolt.
No rhyme nor reason to explain why,
The feeling of the poet has left me dry.
Digging for the verbs that might beautifully rhyme,
To create a poem that is utterly sublime.
However the search has been proven a waste,
For the inner sonneteer has left in haste.
And then the idea struck like a flash of light,
To jot down words that could explain my plight.
Write about the unyielding block itself,
And create magic with adjectives that speak for themselves.
Thus this piece of eloquent art was born,
Truth and patience from where it is shorn.
Maybe now the letters will come like a breeze,
Oh who am I kidding ? The life of a poet is never one of ease.
Wildfire
Image Courtesy: www.youtube.com
Emerald flames rise and consume,
Corpses of the lost shall be exhumed.
Finally everything will be reduced to ash,
And the world will implode in a green flash.
Embers from below constantly grow,
Not a soul can understand how to stop the flow.
Could this heat be not of physical form,
Started from a tormented emotional storm.
Lightning of grief, thunder of sorrow
Rains of sadness fall like theres no tomorrow.
The eternal wildfire will not be expelled,
Until the monster inside is quelled.
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.
The Wooden King
Image Courtesy: srilanka.for91days.com
Crown of moss upon an oaken head,
Streaks of starlight woven in a thread.
Darkness engulfs his city of thieves,
Soon he too shall bear blood red leaves.
Like an age old elm tree, roots he shall sprout,
Turned into a mighty tree preserved even from drought.
The Wooden King shall pay for his ghastly sins,
For in the end Karma always wins.
Possession
Image Courtesy: nikka-akkin.deviantart.com
Whispers in the dark, plagued by ghouls,
Demonic creatures tether his weakened soul.
Strength waning must give in to the night,
Fading away in to the sinful blight.
Resolve once mighty to evade Satan’s calling,
But soon angels shall watch his inevitable falling.
In to the pitch black crevices of hell,
Where the abominations of lore dwell.
Dire circumstances are given the blame,
For his ultimate descent into the flame.
Heated arguments, feign happiness to deceive,
Force him to seek a demons reprieve.
One more glorious spirit condemned to agony,
In the eyes of heaven nothing but blasphemy.
He failed everyone by joining evils incarnation.
Or have we, by pushing him towards unholy immolation.
Hysteria
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Panic induced confusion,
Head spinning, life in motion.
Legs moving as fast as possible,
Footsteps approaching, screams inaudible.
Death catches up, bound and gagged,
Stabbed in the heart, away I am dragged.
Hidden away in the bowels of the earth,
Rotting in a closet awaiting rebirth.
Hoping someday for my remains to be discovered,
So finally irrevocable justice may be delivered.
Fire and Flood
Image Courtesy: www.knowledgehi.com
The dreaded day is nearing of a fiery hail,
When man shall bow with tucked tail.
To the one they so wrongly smeared,
To the one they should have strongly feared.
Waves of heat shall fall as he bestows his wrath,
In payment for all we have destroyed on our path
The path of glory, wealth and growth,
Soon terror shall the heavens bring forth.
Pandemonium in the form of unholy kings,
And death in the shape of opalescent wings.
Faith in a higher power we must form,
To evade our Creators mighty storm.
But what happens when we refuse to believe,
In angels and demons like those we call naive.
Will we too then be resigned to a life of scorching penance ?
Or granted forgiveness in the name of ignorance.
Northern Nevermore 