Sunday, July 4, 2010


What did you say?
Why so blatant, why the blade?
Blood shed so early, in this crisp sun, promising day
Why, the severest headlock?

The meanest, degrading remarks
Grey depression flowers, that stay long after dark
Your supposed view, take on things, so clouded, rude
Like pity engraved marble, unable to capture the marvel

You slap thee face down, with the force of two
Burn thee, enslave thee,
In a blazing fire with your point fuelled
With your misguided truth, you anoint

Like a weaving hell, that you productively taunt, daunt
You leave no stone, no rock, with wit undressed to kill
You deform, as you bring in a draft to thy spring
Heart can't generalise or breathtakingly sing

Like winter's frozen all over the skin
Love finished before love begins
Cold, frightened, down trodden, no excitement
With all your supposed coward attempts to win

You steal thy necessaries, making thee gone
Thy nobility you shadow, derail thy purpose grin
Train wreck thy thought process within
All for the sake of your ignorant shine

You ruin spirits; like you are having a good time
Age thee, riddle thy nerves, hardened thy arteries
Where blood and great glory's once pumped fine
It's like you are annoyed, furious

At the morning dew's simplicity
You cunningly race at thee and undo thy privacy
Giving thee, no fair price for thy sanity
Appallingly you are, thy sickest torment

Twisted, with such large sunken sorrow
You offer no decency, no gift of support
Like a barren bullfight
You are the bull and I, a tattered matador

A nasty wind that blinds with fear and spite
Fading all thy precious neat execution, producing light
You come at thee with your charging, dirty, rotten tricks
Pounce on the mind's delight, with your sudden twitch

So thy see, no panorama sights or horizon pure heights
You control thy turn, make one resist with discern
Won't let thy labour to improve, curse thy rhythm
Thy own religion, trample thy calm braveness

Like a dark shadow, I'm living
Never letting one run thy natural, flowing course
With thy beauty intended and channelled, adored
Therefore thy end up, faced backwards

With a knife in thy spine called remorse

Copyright Wendy Brady

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