This Is The Title

Filed in Gather Writing Essential by on October 27, 2013 0 Comments

A child,

amenable and innocent on paper

A prospective destructive force

inherently in nature

He cannot be autonomous,

so molded by his maker

Iteration of those come before,

A model for those later

 

The heart of Hell is silence

wherein valor’s a vice

Some say the angels are weeping

and that their tears must taste nice

There’s a malevolent current

underneath all that he writes

One more romantic ideologist

embittered with spite

 

Too strong to die

Too weak to see

He looks the Devil in the eye

and weaves a surreal story

In the vein of Achilles,

true love is a myth

Consequently, he determines that

it doesn’t exist

 

Her magnanimity is

devoured by her vanity,

and so becomes the ultimate arrogance,

utter humanity

It’s saddening to see,

somewhat maddening to me

Her sole interest; disinterest

as she aspires to be

the queen of magazines and a millionaire’s dream

 

Her skin is paper thin

Easily pricked at any slight

Her adoration is deadly

and her distaste a delight

Though she makes pretense to probity,

her paramour is sin

The perfume she exudes

only entices it in

 

She attempts to retain purity

with birds of a feather

but a passion for pleasure

is so pervasive in measure

Broken by him, a seraph’s wound

becomes a scar, her tear a star,

and she seeks vengeance indirectly

by breaking another heart

 

And so the cycle persists without a sign of desisting

Between a million empty words and sheets

mysteriously missing; Mom’s kissing somebody

other than Dad, and Dad’s out at the bar

holding some harlot’s bag

It’s a miracle our species lived as long as it has

The product of a broken union, somehow meant to last,

promptly lambasted in the instant it inevitably cracks

We’re both the angels that weep

and the demons that laugh

 

 

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