Poem-A-Day: Day 43

Heresy Hearsay

here it comes in wild destructive glory
riding valiant on a steed
held together by sinewy chords;
sound that gallops through the brain
from ear to ear,
in a grinning fashion
that exposes the dirty underbelly
of everyone’s own indifferent
bastardization of what we’ve come to love.

we love fucking up
and blaming everyone else
for some misbegotten gathering on,
like some accidental injury
rubbed deep with shit
so it stands out better on the skin.

there isn’t that big of a difference
between the
sacred,
scared
and the scarred,
because they’re all lying about something
far deeper than the dropping
of salutations and the sacrosanct
solution of some saving grace.

the best thing to do
is to remain calm,
and follow the fall
of this fastidious fellowship,
because it’s far more fascinating
than thinking
about inevitable obliteration.

Poem-A-Day: Day 34

44

the cold steel flashes brilliantly
and fades to gray
in callow hands
sallow eyes
and flaccid fingers probing gently
amongst the pile of dead.

the diadem is no more diamond
than it is a golden halo of thorns
shattered softly on a furrowed brow
sweating bullets.

the ground is soft and malleable
and it pings metallic
rings ironic
and washes thoughts away
in crimson tides drowning borrowed souls.

the trumpet sounds spewing flames
glorious in hues of blues and reds
leaving burnt ember husks
still smoldering
tinder in the hand of god’s callous grace.

all worship the same devil
raining death
reigning death
from high above the skies
clouded by the cinder smoke
and reflected on the scarred land.