Le Poetry

At three in the morning,
the phone sometimes rings.
A cheshire smile on the other end,
it's a man with black wings.
His caller ID says nothing,
except for a symbol that some cultures revel.
That's right my dear readers,
I had a 3 am call with the devil.

A rose as vibrant as fresh drawn blood
Lain out upon the harsh morning sun.
The mask that holds you slowly cracks;
To the point of forcing your own collapse.

You walk the halls rather silently;
Glancing at portraits of who you used to be.
Smiling eyes and blushing cheeks;
A loving smile and gentle touch.

Covered now by thorns and poison,
The brittle blossom now cold and frozen.
You watch on as others smile and hear their laughter;
Just to have your pieces crack and shatter.

You wander aimlessly through your own mind;
A facade and continuum laid in line.
You try to stay strong and try not to break;
Soon your gold throne, you will retake.

A melody as calm as water
is played upon the fields of god.
Angels sing and dance and play;
to start again another day.
A solitary person lazes about
they watch the other's dance and shout.
He lowers his head
and raises his cloak.
Never again to make a sound;
his head, once crowned, now upon the ground.
An abysmal maze of rot and decay
Many shan't see another day.
The harmonic tune of the
Addicting symphony.
Brings many to their feet with glee.
The ones filled with sobriety;
others drunken with lust and ecstasy.
Who are those who rule the world;
and who are those that wander.
An ephemeral silence,
to guide and cease violence.
The song is finally over.

Thin metal guarded
by a cardboard box.
Placed nearby
the fastened locks.

A door held fast,
that shall not budge.
Warm water to run
started by a gentle nudge.

The kings and queens
of Death's grand door.
Watch as one
falls upon the floor.

No such time
to pick it up.
Another is retrieved,
from the thin paper cup.

They lay upon
the cold white porcelain.
To begin the ritual
to call upon the horsemen.

The blade of metal
and blood of crimson.
Are mixed inside
water once crystalline.

The gash runs deep
the blood runs cold.
No one knew,
they'd be so bold.