Anthony Bianco Poet Rhyme

Song of the Blessed

Skin trophy draped over chandeliers
Champagne corks popping below
Gyrating doves chanting like crows.

Though wounded, it slithers alive
gathering hate for a big fang surprise
venom trumps feathers with a roll of the die. 

Sated by sun and wrecking ball fate
at the bottom of the nest it quietly lay
donning a necklace of blue shattered egg.

Surround the coil with a halo of respect
most victories drown in shallows of brevity
silent rattle is truly the song of the blessed.

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Reason A. Poteet April 23, 2018 at 8:35 AM Great write, Anthony. Enjoyed a ponder through your piece this AM. Like the lion’s roar, the rattle has been heard for how long? how much longer?The blessing indeed can be temporary, eternally relative and feigned.

Gregory Richard Barden March 26, 2018 at 2:49 AM Love your flavor and phrasing, Anthony - I will be back to read more. I enjoy the dark, crimped edges of your writing, and the wonderfully thoughtful phrasing and metaphor, (something I strive for) ... keep up the great work! :-)