The Metal
Thud
This thing born of breath and bone,
Seated on its secret throne,
A harbinger of ignition,
Pulling us from our perdition.
Thud
By the dream and the waking,
Anger ripe for the taking;
It reaps the spite from our minds.
By moon and star, flesh it grinds.
Thud
Distortion: its holy blade.
Singing songs of pain and rage
Wrought of mortal blood and steel,
Hefted high with fervent zeal.
Thud
The power of death endowed
While the thunder rolls throughout
This keen five-minute crusade.
In finale, the sin fades
Thud
The Metal cannot be stopped.
Born from those who rolled and rocked
It’s darkness: a warm embrace.
Rage released, a swift escape.
Thud
Thud.
And pounding, my heart feels the pull of the music, and it knows that it is free.
Copyright © Davis Mills | Year Posted 2022
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment