Poetic

Here lies the likely lad

Acutely unfurled
To be all but crumpled
All monumental here
Then combustion. You’re a million debris
Courtesy of a million degrees
Of frictional white-hot head
Seeing in and reading red
Cursed contradictor
Rasping against your innerspeaker.

My love is a dying breed
For better or worse
Though probably best
For there are not many like me.

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Poetic

Dirty deliverance

The one half,
born to forgive and forget afore the dagger point even grazed our feeble hearts, our half-baked haste.
The other half of us to live and die by dogged decree, serving the final course of our repast, cold riposte at every turn.
But jury purer, justice pending. By my word, what became of integrity delivered by the scales.
This day we heed the colourful, the contemplative.
Hollow criminal. Hello shotgun conscience.
Pause it on the black and white, and cue the grey to wash the crimson bright.
Let love linger, let faith gape, met with sickly sweet humane abundance, bathing in the dusty light.
Overkill in the first degree.
Pleading with the hellbound, the soon to be departed.
But what of the judge-penitent, whose just heart serves us well. Like hell it does.
By my soul, crux of my being, we cannot abide by this dearth of morality. This stately sodomy.

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