PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Apparently, the clean road only serves one.
And I, the banner man of well-fed starving artists,
takes a bow and a torch to the house of love.
Plucks the eye of every star-crossed lover.

We were friends once, at the river's delta.
And of course, the course led us astray.
There were forks everywhere, but not a bite
to feed your starving arms.

Crooked, we stood together, as Rome burned,
spices in hand, without a fiddle in sight.
Paralleled only by kings and beggars,
we refused the red tide together.

And it's fickle now to remember we shared,
the same gaping wide hole we called home.
Burying ourselves, dying as we lived.
Burning, eyes underwater.

Together we buried innocence, and it was not quick.
It was not merciful, and without respite.
We are the phlegm in the throat of the voice of the young,
And the stains on the knees of good men's daughters.