The Grahamburglar Poet Quatrain

Scorn

Dust swirls heavily in the air
I choke on each painful breath.
Wailing cries from everywhere
mingled with blood and throes of death.

Turn cloak! You sneak off with jingling gold
singing some cowardly song.
No moral creed, no worthy code
a vile traitor you’ve been all along.

I will not die, not here, not now…
these grievous wounds aside.
I’ll hunt for you, and this I vow,
my vengeance shall not be denied.

So make your peace, you pathetic worm
together to hell we’ll abscond.
I’ll be your escort, if just to confirm
it’s the devil from whence you were spawned.

Who making acquaintance, shall mightily hiss,
your perfidious deeds he’ll revile.
Forever you’ll anguish in silent abyss,
to hell’s deepest circle,  I’ll see you exiled.

And when you regret ever having been born
and seek desperately, an end to your strife,
I’ll come with a sneer, and a token of scorn: 
the gold which you thought worth my life.

07/30/15

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Kp Nunez July 31, 2015 at 9:45 PM An eloquent expression of the emotions that come with the title! I can almost see the curling of the lip! It would be so interesting what was on the writer's mind that inspired this. You amazed me here, Preston. A 7. hugs!

Emile Pinet July 31, 2015 at 12:00 PM You call upon an army of emotions to come forth from their slumber and carry you through this ordeal. An outpouring of emotions that surges up from the heart and splashes against the page. Emile. The Grahamburglar July 31, 2015 at 4:10 PM Emile, your comments are always so poetic, they're a pleasure to read. Thank for taking the time to share your thoughts and encouragement.