Diatribes focus their galvic courses that run pure elixirs through the festival of blithe soon to become ribbons of unfurling sulfur that putrefaction molts sun-like claws of flames that ensconce the sarcophaguses it is in truth a graveyard and a shift to be had in it, the myriad of barbaric strides just caught in the upwelling, so prance beneath the stellar blue moon that visits so infrequently as sure as the night's first bloom.
sparrow molts
a plume follows
the breeze
Fear molts like snake skin
From the couragous and the brave
While the timid refuse
to cut loose the bonds
For change they are afraid
The cowards sew their fates
Like leaves turn in the fall
And down they'll go
With the wind
No fight in them at all
Save glory for those who fight
Not against his fellow man
But against the tyrants
Who will their hands
And the cowards who's backs they stand
Much like
an ugly duckling
gloriously blossoming into...
a beautiful swan.
A butterfly
undergoes several molts
while maturing.
The egg
hatching into...
a caterpillar.
Then subsequently
changing into...
a chrysalis;
finally transitioning into
a winged, fluttering...
adult butterfly!
The same is true
for a budding romance;
the growth of a friendship.
BRIAN'S CHOICE Q,any form,any theme poetry contest
Contest Judged: 5/23/2020 (Winner: 3rd Place)
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Date written and posted: 05/28/2018
Darkness uncovered
dusty white sheets
pushed aside
tweets spilled out break the silence
as I'm perched inside
Oh how I long to be . . .
that bird outside your window
singing there for all to see
sweet songs of freedom
floating in angelic air
a rich blaze of blue
lasting liberation
caressing and undressing
the insides of you
I long to be . . . drifting
in your winds
feeling distant paradise
in every simple kiss
of your loving sun
but here I remain encaged,
your dawn
momentarily shining down
onto these painfully painted rails
yesterday's imagination molts
and the seeds of life lay lost
at the bottom of discontent
I was not supposed to want you.
Yet this touch, that touch, and everyone since seared in my mind
-has scorched a trail through my synapses
Returning to a core long lost.
To the face I feared to see.
I can not go back to blindness after sight.
There is an inner spiraling tunnel she tumbles in
-over and over peering over the edge of consciousness-
the lost woman I hid, afraid to see, she saw me.
In a mirror two sets of eyes- we recognized.
And ever since I’ve looked the other way
-afraid to see the lie I paint on in lipstick.
The kohl darkened eyes, attracting esteem I no longer need.
I need to be free.
Feathers clutter a cages bottom
-Hope does not stir anymore.
Perched behind golden bars-
Sequestered hidden-
She acclimates.
and molts freedoms path to the floor of her life.
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