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About This Poem
The Death of the Poet Destroyer
Mid-morning she sees the sun ahead.
Her death flowed in a messaged bottle.
Gazing her brown eyes upon the open shores,
Her conscience dark and grey a never-ending war!
A giant cyclone of a thousand thoughts swirled around this little girl.
Inflicting away the pain, through the comfort of others pen.
The way she twisted and twisted life’s perception was out of her control.
Inside she knew the glass slipper was never hers to showoff.
She is baring nothing but a tainted pen, walking throughout eternity’s sand.
A prosecutor of misdeeds, accomplishing what, without knowing the way.
Departing from her fractured self, she begins to slip into a righteous form,
Twirling her twilight pen like a baton, spinning it to one final stand.
She awakens in a dream, where her sadness does not allow the light to reform
Her body is weak and pale against the birth of her undying sun
Staring down into the deepness of every-bodies abyss
Inside all souls is where she felt more light, than the retarded sun gives
A crimson sky follows her just to reveal her diminished soul,
A life of shunning out the city glow will always dwell deep inside her
Sleeping under society as one, insulting the taste of innocent blood
Forgetting the vengeance, in a dimension where the pen is mightier than the sword
How did she let it come to this?
In one feeling she fell in love with the spirit of the living rhyme
Watching from a cave, with a diabolical look
Refusing to grasp self-nature and kill off the destroyer's will
A price beyond this enigmatic world, craving to be just like them
Condemning her meaning to a blasphemy of white butterflies
Destroying her poetic meaning that was destine to dance a tangle of endless rage
In love with the essence of her deceased will
She clings on to the dimness and brilliance at the same time
All corpses lost beyond the girl in question,
Sympathetic in a bizarre language, she mutters out sweetness
Her heart mended, recognizing all the adoration and poetic addiction
Exchanging the real terror, fixated by the life force of her poetic destruction
Giving birth to a new revelation
Now she will never deceive her love for the mocking of true art,
Not wanting to belong in this wretched world with her destroying criteria,
Her soul sails looking for a new era where love will no longer generate
As she loathes the love and decides not to destroy this generation with hate
At last, longing this one day with the angel of death
With a closing teardrop, one last thought
My death will not be the end; only the ascension~
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