On The Bitter Scream Of Wind
On The Bitter Scream
You are frightening numbers; your infuriating illness
based in blue, bankrupt backfire
On the bitter scream of wind,
you tire my turquoise tolerance; you are Tolerance's reason
to kill; you are Love's reason to slaughter.
You sit in sorry-shade, always sorry! always repenting like bankrupt Baptists
learning by your own perplexed stupidity,
learning to sit comfortably in your willing deception,
disastrous is your desire to deceive...sick
is your avid attempts.
Dastardly, on the bitter scream of wind
as though your Love, the Love under which you repent
couldn't encompass a woman in her peach pajamas
kicking around a soccer ball and strumming a kid's guitar
Into your spineless spider's bridge I walk
Into your speak easy, diseased preaching
On the bitter scream
you put your deceit filled, envious eyes on me like you used to put
your hate filled, meddlesome hands under the guise of matrons
in my innocent baby hair
"she got rubberbands in there"...
Like an innocent child, I took notes on you.
He hadn't left the pulpit before you pounced
on what you didn't see as me
on the bitter scream of wind
On the bitter scream of wind,
you weakly, sickly sought each other for strength
in your malicious, meagerly disease
your intent to kill my mother as her sister-in-arms.
On the bitter scream of wind, only loudly quiet enough to speak a false second
to your attempts at spiritual bravado,
I give away my disgust
On the bitter scream
"Ew!"
On the bitter scream of wind,
Your malicious matronly, fence guided gossip raised a pedophile
while you were looking at me
your evil elevation raised a boy to be a boy
On the bitter scream of wind,
you place yourself among babies like you put your
diseased hands in my innocent baby hair
your intent to destroy rightful chances apparent
in your sick, diseased preaching
like bankrupt Baptists.
On the bitter scream of wind
That picnic table housed ferocious fear, ferocious thought facts
you based on past acts not of your own.
On the bitter scream of wind...
it's good to be an adult not guilty of adultery
it's good to be a woman wearing her own hair
it's good
on the bitter scream of wind
Take your eyes off me when you love me if that is your love.
Take your eyes off me when you love me if that is your love.
Take your eyes off me when you love me if that is your Love.
Poetry by Rielle Vobi
Read 166 times
Written on 2013-09-24 at 23:01
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
