Inside Ink
In the pub reading poetry,
marking pages with cigarette papers;
Wandering the voyeur through their dying thoughts.
A Jet sheen Crow perched upon a verse,
shining black stranger in dreams of ink;
They publish the soul’s dance.
Naked hearts beating in the baking solar eclipse,
darkness breathing ancient fire,
searing light from the eye’s glacial halo,
frozen land of a broken gaze;
Torturing those expectant.
He can’t always smile,
love drinks blood from the tap of mercy,
fooling the jester into ringing bells;
Herald of the coming treason.
Naked death breathing life into Winter,
the sap rises,
banishing imagined demons from the human condition.
All for the dawn of a sleeping phantom’s end,
where we worship with a smile,
that which we blindly condemn,
with eyes of frozen fire;
Eternally burning memory.
©David Nickle Read 2015
All Rights Reserved By The Author
|