Eloquence.

Eloquence pushes through my throat,

Screaming logic that trembles

As I breathe through my cowardly past;

Kill my stand – burn my image.

Diabolic it seems that I am deserted,

Clotting my wrists as I shout my name,

As I track to my past that I once lived

And I staple my mouth shut.

 

Insane angst picked out my eyes,

Stuttering temptation, not staggering to the exit,

The door bolts as I fall to my hands and knees,

Let me see them – let me…

 

(To the sin that hides below my black insides.

Crimson seeps over my fingertips and my eyes

Scar and crumble to a powder)

 

I was a figure, high and polished before

I darkened and caught up in the battle,

The battle whom nailed me to the floor,

The war that screened the dead hills and skies.

 

Failing corrupted oils, leak from my tongue,

Sentimental lives within my hands valued nothing –

Give me the secret Eden to run.

Give me what I had before.

 

A myth I was tailing behind for the guidance;

Only the shadow bled abnormally.





Poetry by John Ashleigh
Read 1156 times
Written on 2005-11-15 at 09:03

Tags Violence  Dark  Deep 

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Daybreaker
This one really got a grip on me! The sadness and anger are taking me over.

What relief we have in our words, don't you agree? What would we do without them?

This is a favourite!
2005-11-15


penfold18
I read this as past deeds encroaching on present times, possibly undeserved and so creating anger and the desire to return before the event, this has power and depth and seeths with emotions, great stuff john.
2005-11-15