Retaliation Grows Slow
Take the time to lock it up inside.
Salvage the devil from the details.
Buried a hatchet, and
it grows without soil.
Silver scars upon my hands –
reminiscent of swallowtail butterflies
birthed from rotten silk cocoons.
Once a flower bloomed from my mouth,
and I swallowed all its frothy pollen,
stamping out its pride.
A faceless child came to me,
and asked to be set free from
retaliation.
I drew a bland face upon its soft head.
Unfortunately, I drew its mouth upside down.
Now, all its words come out skewed.
Slowly, a monster stalked me in the mirror.
I told it I was watching it very carefully,
annoyingly it only repeated me.
I spilt black coffee on the ground –
dark as the night above my head after I'd
snatched all the stars from their greedy throats.
The pig was throttled and it wasn't the wolf's fault,
but everyone blamed him anyway.
The lady in red stole his sanctity,
but no one blamed her,
for their righteous lust deemed her moral.
Author's Note:
Are you enjoying these poems so far? Vote, comment, and follow - I'd love to hear what you think. And, if you have time, check out my fantasy novel: Dark Prince & the Doe!
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