PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

They both grew sour in the hour of headless moments

both boasting of constant renditions of previous stories

where the next is often more fanatical than the last,

It's when their tounges settle and stop meddling 

that the instantaneous light of truth shines through,

They are there, in black deeds with devil wings

kicking up a storm of misfortune and tsk tsk's,

A waste of good pulse in the waning hours of time

to be blunt I wished for a moment to snuff it

and in this class act, they would die,

The pressure would expel itself and the blood

coagulates before turning dry

Where do devils dwell when hell is on stand by,

When the carpet is being spot checked for bugs

or the dark prince himself has grew weary of company,

These two are for sure the makings of red waste,

The smell of sulfur cascading down his fashioned suspenders 

and a look of dread paints me at the pin on her dress,

The pin reads,"The faithful are the first to fall"

For better or for worse

She's right in this moment of fourth dimensional clarity,

it's a rarity that we waltz with truth 

lift it's skirt later after too many highballs 

and have our way with it until satisfied,

The lie would often smile like a baby playing peek-a-boo

unaware that even grown-ups don't know they're gone for a moment

or for much, much longer at times,

I've grown suspect of demonology but the frightful conclusion is that

we are living in hell right now as we speak,

These two are merely playing their role 

and the rest of us who go against these acts of cruelty 

are leading a double life,

You would enjoy rotten acts if you so choosed,

A cardinal instinct for capital punishment is in the air always,

Even the priests gather in the streets for a public execution,

That is where I feel most comfortable to actually find 

the prettiest bell in the crowd to meet and greet

grab her hand before the die is cast

and say don't blink,