Poetry

Poem: Young Blood

Young Blood

My nights are drenched with the rancor of young blood
of realism and rotting flesh
Beaten dry then dragged through the mud
Already scatterbrained, though the moon is still fresh
Wandering about a landscape of death
I laugh a spineless laugh, choking on my rules
Grasping for a hint that I have yet breath
I shiver through the stares of disappointed ghouls

I come upon a thought carved in stone
That I am but a vessel for silence
the ire hardens into bone
And I hold my prayers dearly, searching for guidance
But only uncover a place wrought with violence
Knowing that existence is imperfect
That life and death share an alliance
There is no choice but to accept

Since the beginning till the end, order is but a shadow
from a tiny infant’s eyes to ones covered with a coin
Why exert myself if awaiting me is an arrow
I have no dance to join
No stirring of the loins
With an ever dissolving face
Bereft of all joy
I’m entangled at the edge of a pit’s embrace

I keep one eye on God, and the other on my secrets
Hiding away all my lies
During the times I am at my weakest
I swallow half my heart and leave the rest to die
My mother she cries
Rend my mouth open to cut away my tongue
My father, he sighs
Outside my window, I swayed and I hung.

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