new and dark and sparkling
She should know who she is. And be slowly learning who I am, under this thin veneer of sanity and vanity.
wash tomorrow red
coming out of the clouds, loud and proud and drawing a crowd
to see what the fuss is all about, shouting words absurd enough
to stuff the toughened sacks of slack jawed, wadded-up faces traced
to shadows and silence where the violence is black and grey, today.
I do not know what is real beyond what I feel and seal away
in fey words and absurdities that freeze and tease the disease
of the middle path, the wrath of mediocrity. pretty but soulless.
give me the blood of your sorrow to wash tomorrow red, I said.
William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.
2 comments:
Touche, Touche, Touche :) The Poet has spoken and with such fervor and appeal....but then should we expect any less?
"Pretty but soulless."
Reminds me of part of Baker Street (the song)... (something like) this city desert makes me feel so cold... so many people but its got no soul... (etc).
You certainly have a way with words.
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