August 9, 2010

Day 217 - Weeping Disaster

The crisscrossing arches make a perfect scene
That curves viciously to trap one inside
Within such demonstrations even peace is mean
Each droplet representing thousands more cried
You see some warped beauty in this place
Or rather watery expression of endless time
But such is only comparable to death's embrace
And the path to it is a maliciously certain crime

You shall not ever spy the disaster's violence
Until ripples of blood interrupt the original liquid clarity
It spirals out and about in raging patterns of nonsense
Leaving what was once a solid base in the pottery of disparity
Solid messages no longer claim any single form or shape
Instead they mourn in drooping moments of lying
No super hero's long lost adventure wrapped in a cape
Just more evidence of infinitely desolate crying

You should have no experience weeping
Or not near enough to sculpt out a fountain
But the dread of man is somehow forever seeping
Like the ever growing satin layered red blush of sin
You need only a name, one as harsh as a brick
To carve out like icicles on trees in the winter
And finally a skin just as rough and tirelessly thick
That is so hardy it is never even challenged by a splinter

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