The Beautiful People
For the Haven’s advancement,
the Elite may extend a courteous backhand,
or a fist wrapped with opinion
that some may mistake for abuse.
Dante’s girl fell from her steeple
head first into a cauldron of pride,
now her feeble corpse twitches
trying to vomit the blackest pitch grey.
Stains her soldier’s dress blues
duty has him answer the bench’s call.
Gaveled verdicts now deleted,
appeals one site’s ambitions.
Often found in a library,
their little boy plays with
his toy box full of straw men
and overused emoticons.
Each breath billows the forge,
black smoke void of The Father,
they beat a gift’s beauty into a weapon,
the cutting edge of the Deceiver’s con.
Copyright © rob carmack | Year Posted 2020
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
to post a comment