PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Awake at night in the
Midst of urban insanity
I sit in my hovel
Crouched against cracked drywall
and peeling paint.
I hear
The sounds
Of pandemonium
Lurid screeches of betrayal
and the whimpers of cursed
Bastard Urchins.
Scribbling, like an ember flaking
softly, but hotly,
on the walls, in coal, in chalk,
in paint.
One morning I awoke to discover
The wild tales of twilight madness
Here I am
At this mom n' pop hardware store,
standing in line, cold sweat piercing my brow.
A palmy blue mix in hand,
To conceal.
Just as hideous ugliness
Is dipped in sunlight and forgotten,
so shall I paint my walls.