Desire turns to ire,
elation to vexation
Every single thing you do
Increases my frustration
Light shines through the colourful stained glass
It’s a sight to see such fine art
But the only glass I see stained are shards of red that you stabbed into my heart
Keep your head down
For your sins, you can’t repay
You will never be forgiven
On your knees where you shall stay
Staggering breaths
As you begin to falter
Trying to confess
all of your sins at the altar
You are no Angel
Nor are you a saint
One does not receive glory
for bragging of his attaint
Your time has come
for I hear the chime of the bells
Your lack of repent
shall send you to hell
Sometimes especially on days sunny and so quaint
I feel like tossing my bonnet without restraint
Just exposing my mind freshly vividly bepaint
How else strangers and neighbours can I acquaint
Flowers and sunshine and rainbows on my brain I would paint
Crevasses and all, Chances are I wouldn’t be mistaken for a saint
Maybe passers-by would gawk and possibly even faint
I would prance around hatless not hearing one complaint
Ignoring anyone who would frown thinking I’m attaint
For laughs I might pretend and blow a feint
But I would only laugh so loud ‘cause touched by them I ain’t
In my wildest rowdiest boldest colours without constraint
Imagine all the lovely people I would find
Who are exposing too their painted mind
And much too genuine to be colour-blind
Uplifting to meet kindred minds unconfined
Loving smiling faces of humankind
Read on air by invitation ~ April 10, 2022 'POETS HARBOUR'
AP: 2nd place 2022
Submitted on February 22, 2018 for contest MIND THE WET PAINT sponsored by VIV WIGLEY - RANKED 3RD
As the angels of
laughing ladies,
gently anticipated,
the doves of virtue
and grace, beautifully,
a bastard of mote.
A master of beauty
the essence of dazzling
affects, the whimsies
of witch, sorrowful,
attaint, ghostly dialects.
For the princes' coming
the giddiest of sickly
man-staggers. Proudly
the poltergeist wrote.
For triumph, proclaimed
victory, the blood of lazars.
The caduceus of darkness,
chastity and grim,
our righteous in light,
Sons of God, they resurrect.
As the light of
Venus, our amorousness
of pathos, an alliance
of golden virtues,
a dynasty brilliant.
The blood of evening,
vespers of red tides.
An eidolon choir,
the phantoms,
revenant. A man
of prickly ears,
keen senses,
an aporetic.
The blessing bestowed,
now upon, the harlots
of misery mysterious.
Her knowledge, her spare,
her wisdom, her wit,
the crux of
ancient Hesperides.
The jealousy,
dear Jeezebel,
the maelstrom of
eidetic hysteria,
an endorphin heretic.
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