Steel Sharpened Spurs
Endurance is not of your nature,
Solidity glides in wavering motions upon my pitiful neck,
Now brazen silver does linger,
Trite lance, ravenous knife does make one last,
Sorrowful trek...
I know you'll adore each compassioned endeavor,
And your canvas lay pared, splayed and sculpted tissue.
You've rendered such precious jet-black clouds...
They drape their vile vined misted shrouds...
Within my gray eyed gaze,
Such hues temper your violent palette...
Vanished breath-flickered candle haze.
Lifeless wick, gurgling crimson wax.
Your beloved paint trickles in balmy clotted puddles,
I shudder adorned in radiant rubies rolling from my fingertips,
I feel your veteran-mastered art pouring from my throat...
Am I not your first? What imaginative vision you possess!
For it is not to say mine is fading, fleeting plasma afloat.
They told me of your gift,
How endowed you are,
Able to plunge, plunge, plunge,
Your hands into the crevices of torment,
In your swayed, celestial delusion,
You heaven's exile, wicked-bound and hell sent.
Engraved in lifeless form ascending from tip to hilt,
Still I lie mesmerized by the atrocity,
Of apathy jaundiced guilt.
Predator, what is your name?
May I slip your ill-willed syllables from my lips,
for you have brought my tamed veins shame.
I value your corrupt knowledge found pledge,
As you mar my shivering body to your own image,
Ingenuity, you said was the plight laid upon razor's edge.
Poetic justice you explained was reason to heal,
Mankind in his errors,
Of humanity's devil-signed, soul-phantom deal.
If I could speak I'd ask for the pen,
Should I sign in ink? Skin pricked red-wine?
Rolled parchment, contract or covenant?
Sign here along the dotted line?
I lift the golden-feathered needle,
And pierce, finger signature in place,
Advocate of Satan take my soul,
Where we are then,
Vaccuum-voided into fiery space.
I look back up at you with word choked reply,
Sputtering the eruptive branch volcano,
You snicker an exaggerated pain cry,
You tell me my soul's been granted,
I was never given choice,
You said, "You gave that up when I slit,
Your moral stained choral-voice...."
How I regret your wicked lures...
Your profound and deafening words,
The afterlife has no meaning,
Only death does gleam,
On Steel Sharpened Spurs...
Copyright © Ashley Mccauliff | Year Posted 2006
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